Category: Writing

  • New Job

    Well, I went and got myself a job which starts on Monday. It has been a challenging, and at some points, difficult three months of job hunting, but the work paid off and I will be gainfully employed.

    I did wonder if the change to my employment status played a part on the latest jobs report.

    But with the new job came a reality, which was that we are staying in California.

    I know that living in California was the plan all along, but everything still felt up in the air until I found a job. Now that I have one, we can let out a sign of relief and also start planning for a future here.

    And the planning was the part I had been holding off on. I didn’t know where I was going to be working, if we needed to get another car, or if we had to move, again, so that our commutes were reasonable.

    Now, its decided.

    Now we have to start thinking about schools and all of those other things. Local elections and festivals, and relaxing weekends in the mountains.

    But for me…

    The thing I get to start planning is a study/art studio. Oh, that creative thing that I couldn’t have in New York, as our apartment was too small. Bookshelves to put my books on, and a desk to create at.

    A little thing, but something that I have been wanting to do for 20 years.

  • All Over the Place Today

    I have been working on this post for the past three hours. It’s not that I can’t think if what to say, or am blocked on being able to write…

    It’s more like I am being pulled in 100 different directions on ideas, and I can’t seem to focus down on one of them.

    I was going to write about Weezer’s new album…

    But then I thought I need to write about the shutdown…

    But then I was also thinking about that The Rentals did put out one good album…

    But what are my thoughts about those MAGA high school kids…

    But then I started thinking about how we might move out of our apartment which would mean two moves in less than a year, and I don’t know if want to deal with changing everything again…

    And that reminds me of how much most people hate change and that creates stress and miscommunications…

    And…

    See? This is how it has been today. And I have other things that I need to work on…

    I have a story to edit, then I wanted to do a writing/sketching session of new ideas, and also I wanted to draw some new landscapes…

    I will try again at this tomorrow…

  • The Unexamined Life Sucks…

    Which I think is a more accurate translation from ancient Greek.

    I watched a documentary on Freud last night, and it didn’t help me sleep. What struck me in this program was that it claimed that in moments when Freud was stuck and frustrated by his own theories, he would apply them to his own life to see if they stood up to objective scrutiny. Depending on how you feel about Freud, you may feel that he succeeded or failed.

    It reminded me of Socrates’ quote, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” I know that he said it, or supposedly did, at his trial, choosing death rather than exile. Now, my interpretation is that the ancient world was about examining the external, and the modern world is about examining the internal.

    I remember wanting to write books from a very early age. I remember wanting to have as many books around me as possible. I can even remember memorizing the books my parents read to me, so I could act like I was “reading” them. (My daughter has started to exhibit the same behavior now.) I remember “scribbling” with wavy lines on paper, like I was handwriting a story. When I did learn how to write, this might have been when I was 9 or 10, I asked for and received a child’s typewriter for Christmas. I also remember wanting to tell stories; make them up, read them, perform them, etc.…

    But where did this come from?

    I understand the nature/nurture dynamic, but it can’t be all nature, can it? Being given books by my parents clearly had an impact, but is that it? Did books give me a feeling of power? Were books my “friend” when my older brothers left me alone to do older brother things? Was it playing by myself in those situations where I was forced to use my imagination to create my own stories as I did not have the interaction with another child? Or is it just something that is in me that was inevitable?

    I’m not sure if there is a clear answer here, or even a need for an answer, as in, what does that answer really “give” me? I am who I am, and I don’t regret it.

    But…

    As I mentioned above, my daughter has exhibited one of these behaviors. Is that coming from me, genetically, or from the example I set?

  • On Thoughts of Breaking a Plate

    I broke a plate this afternoon. I was putting away the dishes, and I wasn’t paying attention. It slipped out of my hand and crashed onto the floor. The sound of the plate shattering was much louder than I expected. It was almost ear pricing as the sound was in such a high register. The plate broke into a few large pieces, but the majority was made up of tiny shards that went everywhere.

    First, I was angry, as the plate I had broken was one we had received for our wedding, and I don’t think they make them anymore. I started to move to clean it up, but then I stopped.

    I stopped to look at the mess I had made, though by accident; The strange pattern all of the pieces had made. As our kitchen is central in the layout of the apartment, shards had made it to the living room, master bedroom, and even the dining room. The spread was impressive.

    What if I left it? It was a silly question and couldn’t be answered with a, yes, leave it. A child’s bare feet would be home soon. Messes are made to be cleaned up. As are accidents.

    And so, I cleaned the floor. Picked up the large pieces, swept up the tiny ones. Vacuumed the tiles, and then mopped. I would say that it now looked like it never happened, but the clean floors will give away that something happened.

    I was reminded of a question that a history professor posed to us, his class; If there is no evidence of a historical event happening, did it really happen?

  • New Year Admission

    I had taken the past two weeks off to just focus on my family, and especially my kid, over the Holiday Season. With all the changes that have happened to us, I wanted to make sure she felt like she had my complete focus.

    When I did have time for myself, I read. This year for Christmas, my wife got me the novel “Transit” by Rachel Cusk. I have wanted this book for some time and placed it on list of books I would like. In all honesty, I think it was near the bottom of the list, but I was thrilled to receive it as a gift. I read the book in four days; that’s how much I enjoyed.

    But I am not here today to talk about that novel, or my opinion of it.

    I am here to admit that in 2018, I only read two books; “Transit,” and “Come as You Are: The Story of Nirvana.” I started reading half a dozen books this past year, but I only completed reading two.

    It’s a little shameful to admit that, but as we enter a new year, I think honesty is of the top order.

    I made this self-discovery as soon as I finished “Transit.” As I closed that volume, I thought about what I should read next… and that’s when I remembered about the box, which I still haven’t unpacked, that contains all the books that were sitting on my old desk I NYC, that I planned on finishing.

    And that’s the key; planned on, but never did. The scary thing is that I think this has been a trend for the past few years.

    As I start this new year, not that I really consider this a resolution, I need to read more than two books.

    Let’s see if I can do three.