Tag: life

The Wall

Ever do distance running?

The race begins and after a brief interlude of finding your pace, you enter your zone where your legs and arms are moving with orchestrated pace and you are where you want to be and where you expected to be. Interior dialogue begins to help focus. Time and distance pass and you feel good, even great as your body feels its power and responds.

And then, without warning, here is the wall.

The wall is many impressions at once. It feels like you’re running in sludge. Where your feet were lifting and dropping with relative ease and precision, you suddenly feel wobbly and your feet are heavy. Your legs feel heavy. An undertow has sucked all your energy out to sea. You just want to completely stop, sag and breath.

But you know that this will pass if you can keep your arms and legs moving. That’s why you’ve trained, to learn how to keep your arms and legs moving, how to properly breath, how to find the oxygen in your lungs and get it to your heart, into your blood and to your muscles. You’ve trained to know what to do when it happens and take the pieces of broken focus and put them back together so you can keep going.

Well, I’ve hit the writing wall this morning. My body is sagging despite my stretching and yawning, and my mind is screaming, “I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna.” It’s cold, gray and wet outside. My eyes are tired. My morning coffee is cold and it doesn’t taste good. It’s Sunday, come on, aren’t you supposed to take Sunday off to sit and chill? You deserve a day off from dealing with the Penta Majur.

And I know some of this wall comes from unique places within. Emotional demands have eaten into the writing reserves. I’ve learned that a friend and family member by marriage had open-heart surgery a few weeks ago without telling anyone. Only his wife knew. And you wonder, why wouldn’t they tell anyone this? He didn’t have insurance and her insurance is a miserable and greedy company which is barely covering any of the bill. She’s well employed and a hard worker, with an impressive job title and salary, but this has drained their finances.

I know some of this wall is holiday related as I pause to consider what was and what now isn’t. I understand my nostalgic nature even if I can’t control it.

And I know some of this wall comes from dealing with news and protests and murders and deaths and hatred and racism and bigotry and –

And there is the wall.

My dreams reflected this last night, too, putting me through the paces of trying to sell a car, a sports car which I owned for twenty years but traded in for a new SUV, a car that reflected some of the pleasure I felt with what I’d achieved, where I was and where I was going, a car that then became a reminder of where I’d been and what I’d achieved and that I was no longer going anywhere, car that reminded me that time had passed. And yet a car that I missed because I’d enjoyed considerable pleasure driving that car on trips, and it was associated with the validation found in work and promotions.

I saw all that in the dream as the dream masters chastised me for not following proper procedures while selling my car, ordering me back into line, and confusing me with demands that I need to write my requirements in white on black socks, which totally befuddled me because that makes no sense. And then, there is the waking reflections on what makes sense and does not, with gentle chiding amusement over the expectations that everything is to make sense. That’s the interesting thing about writing: that you must always make sense in a world that doesn’t make sense.

The writer within is demonstrating remarkable patience. He wants to write but he’s telling me, you’re just a little tired. It’s understandable, that’s okay. Take some time to sit in quiet, relax, drink some more coffee, read, surf the net, look out the window, watch the trees, the birds, the clouds and rain, and the passing pedestrians. Observe life. Let your energy build.

The wall is there but you’ll break through. Be patient and persevere.

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The Good Fight

Some mornings, you got no get up for the good fight.

You’ve been fighting the good fight so long, beginning when you were just little and didn’t understand what they meant by the good fight.

Now you’ve been fighting it across decades of living and you wonder if you ever understood what was meant by the good fight.

You look out toward the horizon and all you can see is a lifetime remaining of fighting the good fight.

The horizon don’t seem to get no closer.

You wonder what other people are fighting, and if you’re all fighting the good fight, who you fighting against?

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A Normal Special Day

Cold drizzle glistened on the asphalt, darkening the cement, and dismaying the cats. Quinn and Meep ran for the door when I opened it. Tucker and Boo were already back inside. Pepper curled as sentry by a potted plant on the porch’s corner. Safe from the moisture, her thick black and rust coat kept her warm.

Gathering in the morning as I shifted and shivered through the forty-four degree dampness, collected the paper and hunted the gray shroud for signs of blue, I thought, the weather forecast is off. We will not reach the mid seventies today. Returning to my office in the house, I checked the forecast for updates. They insisted that right now, it was partly cloudy, so my eyes were deceiving me, because I saw no blue sky. The Weather Underground site also held firm it would be in the sixties by ten AM, with a high in the mid seventies. I didn’t believe them.

The weather had otherwise little impact on my days’ plans, except I wouldn’t be able to paint more furniture in those conditions. Exercising, cleaning, dressing, I went to the coffee shop, had a QSM and wrote. Instead of shorts, I was in jeans, and wore a sweatshirt, along with my Tilly hat. The sunglasses seemed like an optimistic statement but I kept them on.

Afterward, sunshine had shyly approached through some flimsy openings. The air had gained a little heat, if I was fully exposed to the sun. Shadows introduced chills, and the wind had a wintry bite. While it was now sixty, I doubted seventy was possible, but I was beginning to believe.

Dressed for the chillier air, my wife and I went downtown. Holding hands, we strolled through Lithia Park where the shimmering maples displayed split coats of red and green leaves, and enjoyed coffee at a table huddling in partial sunshine. Window shopping books, shoes, clothing and real estate in Main Street stores’ displays followed, and then we attended the mid-afternoon showing of Snowden. Long, the movie held our attention, with the usual acting expected of Joseph Gordon Levitt and the remaining cast, and Oliver Stone’s production values.

More walking progressed afterward as we discussed what we recalled of Edward Snowden and the press coverage of his activities. By now, the clouds had fled. A rich sun ruled and the temperature was seventy-six. I felt warm and overdressed. We dined at an outdoor table at a Chinese restaurant we wanted to try, and I enjoyed a Worker Ale. A drop in to a store to pick up a small dessert was last, and then the short drive home.

A clear sunset was falling when we turned into the driveway. And we both said as we arrived home and the garage door closed behind us, “That was a very nice outing.” Yes, low key, well paced, relaxed, like walking through a comfortable book.

More days so normal should be so special.

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Knots, Life Particles & Tachyons and FT…what?

So in thinking about ‘Long Summer’, the sequel to the science fiction novel, ‘Returnee’, much reading about theories of relativity and unified theories, tachyons, chronons and parity symmetry is being indulged. Fascinating that tachyons would lose speed as they gain energy…hmmm, which was a worthwhile direction for thought.And they travel faster than light, with their slowest speed being the speed of light. Hmmm…yes….

Meanwhile, watching the final final final ‘Inspector Lewis’ (and I enjoyed the ending, with its gentle knotting of different directions and issues), knots became key to me. I’d been thinking about matters in terms of valance and atomic structure, but there’s no reason for that, is there? Not when knots also exist out there as part of the interaction of existence….

It’s all coming together, stirring up that exciting stew of writing creativity. Of course, on the negative side – because, in this physical universe, we mostly live in a parity symmetrical existence, especially when dealing with social relationships (and marriage) – the positives and negatives directly affect one another and a balance is sought – I’m listing too far into the writing side, growing quieter and quieter, more distant to others as the stories unfold in the universe of my mind(s?). Greater attention and energy is needed to untangle the knots so I understand them, and then tangle them back up to make an interesting story.

Over on the sequel side of the Lessons with Savanna mystery series, things are getting darker. That’s giving me pause; do I embrace that darkness and run with it? My instincts urge me to go for it, and I usually give into them. That will make ‘Personal Lessons with Savanna’ a much darker novel than ‘Life Lessons with Savanna’ and ‘Road Lessons with Savanna’. Yet, that’s where the roads are taking me, so here I go. As I conceptualize it, the fourth novel in that series acquires greater structure, too.

Other tasks remain on the todo list. ‘Everything in Black & White’ is awaiting its publishing process. Love to get it out before the year’s end, and a dozen other books require editing/revising while more clamor in my head to be written. I’ve not really touched ‘Fix Everything’ since I finished writing it, what, one, two years ago? Poor ‘Peerless’ and ‘Spider City’ have been out there longer, awaiting editing and revising. There’s the whole advertising thing for all that’s already published, too, but bleah, and people asking, what’s going on with Lessons? When is the next book coming out?

Socially, in the real world, my walking is curtailed by smoke drifting in from the Gap fire down by Happy Camp, in California. The smoke is keeping the air temperature cooler, and gifting us with glowing red sunsets. I wish all the people and animals safe passage.

Visitors are coming, and the end of summer picnic is coming up with bullet train speed. Cats are sick, with some sort of flu like problem passing among them, Meep being the latest victim. Each have endured it by not eating and sleeping long hours, but it’s so worrisome when they go off eating. This smoke is affecting Tucker, too, and he’s very snotty yesterday and today.

I must also clean this laptop screen. Apparently I sneezed while eating or something, from the evidence.

Minor problems, fortunately, knock on wood, which I do. Life is so very knotty.

 

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Five Points

Getting ready to walk and write. Writing dominates my thoughts but other matters press in. Cats. Home improvement. Trips. Phone calls I owe people. Beer night this week, and whether to go or not.

But the walk and writing are the current play.

1. Pen; check. Ink is a little low. Take an extra pen. Notebook, check. Half full. Should be sufficient.
I’m still on paper, with my laptop returning to me tomorrow.

2. Naturally, zombies also worry me. Multiple species exist. I don’t know which zombies inhabit my region. What if I’m attacked during my walk? What will I do? They never addressed zombie attacks during my twenty years in the military.

I haven’t heard about any attacks. But the US POTUS election is underway. The Olympics are happening, and there are a million celebrities eating, drinking, farting and divorcing. Plus business news, and new movie releases. Zombie attacks might not make wide news coverage.

3. Received a royalties payment. Enough for a week of beer. That’s something. Haven’t done any advertising in July. Haven’t checked any sales reports. Awaiting the computer’s return.

Haven’t done anything with the website, either. It also awaits the computer’s second coming.

4. Five points is of major concern. I’m writing a short (5K) story to occupy me with writing until the computer returns. The short story is Merger. Science fiction. I’ve come to the point where I realize four different endings for Merger. (See, I’m on one path, and I’m coming to a point where the road splits into four directions – five points…in case you didn’t catch that.) By endings, I refer to the climax and denouement. Considering it today, I think, why not write all four endings? That would be fun.

5. The nature of my novel writing process prevents me from pursuing writing them. Two sequels are in progress. I’m eager for the laptop’s return so I can return to them.

And I also need to type up the short story.

Not having the laptop increases my awareness in the different types of writing and my approaches to each. Novel writing is a complex, organic process involving a lot of ongoing revision, like painting with oils. Short story writing is also complex but more like sketching with pencils. Emails are less complex and easy. Blog posts are generally barely edited stream of consciousness spewing. So I can do that on the iPad mini (with its keyboard cover). Not much movement and back and forth is needed for my blog posts, unlike the novel and short story writing.

6. Another novel concept’s topography is developing in my mind. I’m picturing a science fiction detective thriller, and it’s exciting to embrace it. Can’t wait to start writing it. There are always so many writing projects.

But for now, it’s pen to paper. I have my quad shot mocha. Time to write like crazy, one more time.

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I’m Fine

I’m fine

Just countin days till I die

Tryin to dredge up a will to survive

veggin on tv scenes

I’m fine

Wishin death would come

Permittin me to end this run

sleepin with my eyes open

I’m fine

Talkin to my machines

Because they’re the only ones who seem to seem

to care about what I say

 

So when you ask how r u? 🙂

I don’t care if you smile and walk away

Bcuz we both know what I’ll say

 

I’m fine

 

Words from the the spectrum’s dark side

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The Usual

He wakes up

the usual time, after a usual night of sleep

with the usual shifts and movements

falling asleep to the usual thoughts

He does

the usual things,

feeds the cats the usual foods

in the usual order

He checks

the usual items,

the temperature outside and in

the forecast

the stock market

the news

the blogs

And he eats

the usual breakfast

drinks the usual coffee

shaves his usual face

dresses in his usual clothes

and embraces his usual self

on a usual day.

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Going Backwards

I dreamed I was going backwards last night.

It wasn’t a bad feeling, going backwards, although I was in a car, actually occupying the driver seat, and it wasn’t my car, but belonged to my late father-in-law, and it was a Prius, which I think is beyond what he would own. He was a Jeep man, fond of hunting and fishing.

But let’s step back to the dream.

I dream a lot. I don’t know the averages for people. Dreaming is a self-reported matter. According to people who study people, people aren’t reliable about self-reporting matters, and those are the people who would know.

My pa-in-law died in December of 1991, an intelligent, personable man from southern WV. A friend recently died, prompting me to think of friends, pets and relatives who have left one plane for another, but I don’t think that’s what this dream was about.

I was visiting him at his home, which, being a dream, wasn’t the home where he usually lives. I think dream experts tell us that dream houses represent ourselves. So do cars.

Which brings me to the car. Visiting my in-law, Jim, I gathered I was to drive his silver Prius (not the latest generation, but the last generation of car…an interesting side-bar, which could merit more inspection for its meaning in the dream), following a person driving another Prius that belonged to Jim (and, huh, also silver, it WAS the latest model). I thought we were going fishing. Fishing with Jim was a relaxing, meditative pastime, and a favorite. I miss fishing with Jim.

So I’m sitting in the Prius driver seat, waiting for the other fellow, when the car starts rolling backward. Jim and the others notice, frantically motioning for me to stop it. Of course, that’s what I want to do, but I’m unfamiliar with the car and don’t know where the brake is.

Can you believe that?

I think that confusion over something as simple as braking a modern car could be something to ponder.

Meanwhile, the car rolls down the driveway and into the street as I attempt to figure out what to do. Then, it stops.

That was enough for Jim. Like a TV sitcom, the next scene shows me being driven in the other Prius, indignant about being stripped of my right to drive another’s car. And then I arrive at a business and discover that I’m to intern there. Mildly astonished, I’m dressed in the sort of California Silicon Valley business cas that I wore for years so that’s not a problem. I also brought another pair of shoes, so I can take off my Nikes and put on something dressier, which I do. Wow, what strange forethought.

This isn’t a start up but a plush and modern office space. A guy is there, playing with a radio controlled electric car, racing it over the carpet. I watch him for a few moments before deciding I need to pee. Going to the first bathroom, I realize that their symbols for the bathroom’s sex are foreign to me (and they’re symbols, not letters). After looking at one, I go to the other restroom. There, I hear someone urinating. I think it sounds like a man so I begin entering. Two women exiting the restroom jokingly re-direct me. One knows who I am and why I’m there, and tells me she’ll inform HR that I’m there.

An HR woman arrives and tells me to go with her. But I can’t, I want to get my shoes, and also, where are my sunglasses? Ah, my shoes are on my feet and my sunglasses are in my hand.

A dream trend is developing.

I apologize for being there, explaining that I didn’t know that my father-in-law was going to set me up to intern, and get ready to tell my work history – twenty years in the USAF, a few years with different medical device start-ups, and then NetworkICE, ISS and IBM that culminates in another twenty years of work. The HR woman asks if my wife is coming. No, why would my wife be coming? She’s hoping she was because she liked her the last time. What? There’s discussion about my wife and her name and when she was there. That’s when the dream slides out of my awareness.

And now I see it all. The dream is about my confusion. What confusion? I’m not certain. See, the essence of being confused is that you’re unclear ’bout what’s going on.

I bet why I’m confused will come to me later, after I sleep on it.

 

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