Archive for June, 2008

QWERTY – The New Vicodin

June 22, 2008

I’m not one to suffer writer’s block, generally.  My worst moments of “blank-page-itis” last only a minute or so.  Maybe this is because my mind is constantly racing with an as-yet undiagnosed case of mild schizophrenia.

But this weekend, at my monthly writer’s group, I had to confess the venial sin of having Written Nothing.  At least nothing worthy of sharing with my co-writers.  My most recent blog was informative and fun, but it didn’t seem to rise to the level worthy of distribution to my peers.  And truth was, I had written SOME things – an updated resume, a shopping list for Wal-Mart (desert cake, photo frames, shoe liners, hooks, etc.).  But I guess those things don’t count.

And yet, when I do “write,” I write nonsensical musings that aren’t good enough for even the Martinsburg Journal News (yes, I’ve been rejected by even it!).  Meanwhile, my fellow group members write amazing things like, “As the sun set, it shrouded the forest in a glow, the aura bursting forth with colors only seen in the dreams of creative artists.”  Things like that.  Then I write things like, “I think Courtney Cox looks a lot like that Monica chick on Friends.”  And, “But I digress.”  But I digress.

When I confessed my sin of type-stinence, our moderator Sharon asked why I hadn’t written.  (She asked in an inquisitive, polite way, but Oh, I heard the sharp, accusatory tone just beneath the gentle lilt of her curious voice.)

I opened up to the group.  “Well, I’ve found myself in a wonderful relationship.  And I’m happy in my life right now, for the first time in a long time.” 

To this, my peers all smiled and nodded.  “Yep,” they seemed to be saying.   “Happiness doesn’t equate to good writing.”

So there it was.  In my tortured past, I’d used my writing as a drug to dull the pain and ache of every day life.  And given the way my peers concurred, it would seem many (most?) writers dull their pains this way. 

Suddenly, I feel kinda bad for prolific writers – the Stephen Kings of the literary world.  Are they so tortured that they retreat to the keyboard for hours and days, weeks and months on end, churning out books upon books upon books?  Or maybe they just become addicted to the fame, the glory, the hefty royalty checks.  But again, I digress.

So today, I’m writing again.  As I test this “Writng is My Vicodin” hypothesis, I see that I feel no pain.  And the writing is coming naturally and easily.  Mabye it’s because my girlfriend is spending the weekend with her sister.  Perhaps it’s not just emotional angst that leads me to the keyboard, but also relaxation bordering on boredom (which is a great place to be, emotionally).

Hell, I might even write more tonight.  Yesterday, I saw a mouse in our house.  My schizophrenic mind has already raced with thoughts on this bastard’s life story. I’ll share them next time, but for now, I shall digress back to bed and take a nap.

P.S.:  Thanks to my colleagues in my writer’s group for allowing me to share some of our day yesterday, and to Sharon, whose permission I didn’t seek as I wrote this.  I’m sure if she has a problem with it, she’ll let me know in her polite, lilting voice, which belies her occasional sharp, accusatory manner.  (I’m kidding, of course!)

 

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What’s this Keyboard Thing Anyway?

June 16, 2008

I hate being so confused.  Life is good when things seem to be in order, and one understands the elements of his or her world.  And for a very long time, I’ve felt in control.

 

But technology, the beast I embraced, loved and admired all these years, is passing by me.  How dare she?  And I place the blame squarely upon that bastard myspace.

 

And I also blame Shelley’s myspace page. Not Shelley herself, of course. But it was her myspace page that wrought this angst. 

 

Shelley (who either misspells her name as Cheli on her myspace page, or who has been kind enough to look the other way when I’ve mis-spelled her name on countless cards, letters, scribbles in the dew of her car, or with my finger tracings on her hand) and I have been dating for the past month.  I could write more – I could write volumes – but in kindness to the nasty Mom at the water park and others of her ilk, I’ll just say we’ve been dating for the past month.  But I digress…

 

Shelley/Cheli (let’s try SCheliley  – it’s easier) reminded me last night that, “You still haven’t added me as a friend on your myspace page.”  In the hands of the wrong couple, them could be fightin’ words.  “Why won’t you add me?  Are you embarrassed?”  “Why won’t you add me?  Don’t you want anyone to know you’re seeing someone?”  “Why won’t you add me? Is it my breath”  (SCheliley, if you’re reading, you have delicious breath.)

 

The fact is, I haven’t added my sweetheart because I haven’t even seen my myspace page in the past month.  Haven’t blogged much, haven’t played online euchre.  Between SCheliley and some labor-intensive work projects, my laptop has found itself orphaned.

 

SCheliley understood.  She’s cool about that.  Hell, she’s cool about everything, as I’ve told her.  But this morning, with a rare bit of time on my hands, I decided to appease the gods of romance and do my duty.  (Okay, there was a great toilet joke here, but SCheliley will probably read this.  Sorry.)

 

I opened up my myspace page and, after quite a bit of squinty-eyed surfing, I finally found the friend request.  Of course, I added her as a friend, and then hopped over to her msypace page.  

 

Did I mention she was cool?  Just look, for example, at her musical interests:  Throwing Muses, Flaming Lips, fIREHOSE, Jonathan Richman, Yo La Tengo, old REM, Neil Young, second wave ska (English Beat, the Specials), new wave, alt country, Son Volt, Hank Williams, Cordero, Tom Waits.

 

I’ve heard of Neil Young, of course.  And then there was REM, but I’ve not heard of old REM – are they a tribute band?  And Hank Williams, of course.

 

So I looked over more of her page, impressed all the way.  Then I thought I’d return her favor and ask to be listed as one of her friends. 

But how?  I found NO link to ask to be added as a friend.  I think I looked everywhere.  I know I looked everywhere.

 

Lookit – I was computer before computer was cool.  I had my first PC in 1990.  Not only was I one of the first couple thousand people on AOL, I was also one of the first to defect to a plain old Internet Service Provider.  Hell, I’m the webmaster of my company’s Intranet.  Yes, I was late to the whole blogging phenom, but sometimes, it’s just easier to be a follower.

 

So why can’t I find the freakin’ link to request to be added as a friend on myspace?  SCheliley, if you’re reading this, help me out here, okay?  My failure to ask is not because I don’t love you – I do! – but because that bastard technology, she has passed me by.

 

By the way, her myspace page has a blog entry in which she describes feeling overwhelmed while attempting to purchase a new computer.  She mentions she wished she had a boyfriend at moments like that.  I think she since has purchased the new computer.  So maybe I’ll just offer her some other advice on, oh, I don’t know, matching colors of shirts and skirts.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

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