Showing posts with label booklings. Show all posts

my favorite redhead

things are progressing, my dears.
see new blog for booklings: http://thebooklings.blogspot.com/
I am proud of the work I have done so far.


but this blog is not for that - I have decided to keep them separate.

i wanted to tell you today about my favorite redhead. i moved out of her neighborhood and she quit her soulless job downtown (where i also work), and we have managed to loose each other. it's rather disorienting, and the loss has contributed greatly to this melancholy month of may. i didn't realize how much until i was speaking to my councilor about it and couldn't manage the ball of emotion in the back of my throat.

this little girl is scared of loosing her friend.

so we went to dinner last night, me and my favorite redhead. again, despite my best efforts to stay composed, i was unable to keep the emotion at bay. and let's face it, repression is highly overrated.

turns out, indian food and tears pair well.

people need to communicate painstakingly clearly to those they love. people cannot meet you where you are and love you unless they KNOW you.

so i told her. she is my cornerstone. as you may have guessed, she received it well. and thank god, because this month has been horrific for her as well.

i was trying to write a poem to describe this lovely woman. instead, i will let one of her favorite poets speak the language we know only in our stomachs.

for jmg:
"[her] hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and [her]eyes, like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves." ~Emily Dickenson (emphasis mine)

your determination to face the disintegration of your soul has surprised, motivated, inspired, and loved me...as only you can. i close my eyes, see your ivory, motherly shoulder - bespotted with your maze of freckles, eternally wrapped in green and your eyes always abrim with someone else's suffering.

in this quest to find your soul, you've managed to find mine. again.
booklings emily dickenson friends
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you know it. you owe it to yourself.

i am in a quandary today.



and thanks to and idea by both umber and plume (see comments after yesterday's entry), i am feeling the damned hope creeping back in, slowing refilling the trenches dug by yesterday's battle wounds. (and let's be honest. part of my ultimate fear was that i lost the hope forever - that these last two years of health were a fabricated season).



actually, yesterday was so curious for me. i was just really thick in the marshy darks of deep, man-eating doubt - thicker than it's been in quite some time and in it's wake managed to produce ever-familiar anxiety and suffocation. sometimes i wish someone would punch me in the face so that i would finally stop beating myself down emotionally. you know, something physical to focus my pain on, rather than constantly being (as matthew arnold put it), "swept up with confused alarms of struggle and fight." honestly, who is the enemy is this self-contained scenario anyway? this is what frustrates me so much...

but back to yesterday. every time i post something about my internal frustrations, i get some sort of overwhelming validation that this is what i am supposed to be doing. the first time, it was a dear friend's tears. yesterday, it came in the form of an amazing email from andrew. this man should be the one blogging, because his words hang on the gargoyle-statues guarding my soul.
"i miss the conversations that would lay it all bare, and the simple time with friends that wasn't necessarily limited by clocks or consciousness."
his letter of ultimate validation freed some tangley weeds that were bloody-ing up my ankles.


i guess i am just constantly reminded that i have to write - and that writing is cleansing for the community.

but i am still in a quandary.

you see, i was talking with tice and niki last week and we were imagining that this generation is really a new movement - but a movement without a name. we have art and beauty and freedom and a message - but no real option to sell all our possessions and just do it. i envisioned with them a monthly art show where tice could play, everyone's art could be displayed, i could write, jessica and jason could promote, etc. so this monthly idea is bouncing off the pinball boards of my creativity.

and then with the idea of this bookstore bar, etc. perhaps i can have a bookstore that can be my business already - but then can patronize the monthly art shows. how does one start a business? any advice? i don't know if you know this, but i would be really good owning my own business.
and this bookstore would have the famous book/cocktail pairings on the menu (east of eden and a pale ale, macbeth and deepest red bordeaux one can find, the great gatsby and mint julips, etc...), as well as a bakery with pink boxes, art studio, music venue, (do i have to add coffeee???, i am so tired of coffee bookstores), etc. but overwhelming the walls would be all of my delicious booklings.

well, not mine. don't even THINK you are going to get your greedy hands on my collection.

anyway, the idea of this makes me ache so badly...wishing, longing, dreaming. but it's enough to refuel my heart and keep the doubt at bay. and i have many of you to thank for this. because even if it's only ever a dream. a dream can sustain.

but back to my quandry.


i am soooo curious how people make money off blogging. for instance, this woman gets paid bucko bucks (she supports her entire family and was on good morning america for the "mommy blogging" craze with this blog!), to write about anything. today's oh so enriching installment was about dog shit. i mean it. can i get paid to write about dog shit? cuz i can.

i am not discrediting her blog at all, in fact, two days ago, she posted about a recent miscarriage, and it was soo amazingly heart warming and honest, but i am telling you...even just this doggie doo post got over 500 comments. 500!!!!
so this is my quandary. how does this happen? i want to sit with this woman and pick her blonde brain - "dear mommy bloger/doggie doo expert, how do you get money from a 686-word post?" cuz sign me up.
the end.
(i feel sad that the blogging is over. just so you know, i could write all day)
(probably because it's free coffee wednesday)
blogging booklings books
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