Day 6, And then it rained

I turned off my alarm. I decided to skip yoga and felt sleep was more important. Up til 3AM but didn't write. Sent off writing samples to two places who requested them. Two places that don't necessarily want to pay me to write but two places that want me to prove I can communicate information clearly and in a concise manner. I confirmed a job interview for Monday morning. I laid in bed dissecting the emotions swishing inside me like too much whiskey. This took two hours.

Three Categories: Real, Hormonal & Imaginary

I thought about who to throw off a bridge when my story becomes unbearable.

I passed out at some point and woke up to the sound of rain. I smiled, turned off the alarm and fell back asleep.

I woke up and found an email from my old boss to call him. Hmm. Assumption: He cannot find my phone number.

I called him.

Chris: Some things never change. You're not here for me to ask you what your cell phone number is. I found myself starting to yell to you through the door for it.

Temporary misc. hospitality job possibilities. I don't like that they entail me going to Fisherman's Wharf but I'll survive.

I putzed around on wordpress.

I'm not sold, but it made me nostalgic for my previously extinct blog and banner.

I listened to some old Elvis Costello.

Sadia only communicates via twitter.

novicecrafster: woo hoo you're a busy girl! i rode my bike toe the shuttle this morning and it started raining. i got really wet

novicecrafster: is it me or did that second sentence make me sound like i'm 5 yrs old

I shouldn't be on twitter as I swore off social networking for november but really, I only wanted to swear off facebook since facebook makes me feel like I'm 15 years old. Twitter too, but I can swallow 140 characters or less.

lilpinkdresses: rain i love you.

lilpinkdresses: i'm unshowered at my kitchen table in a dirty nightgown. i feel like a tennessee williams play.

I need to get some writing done today and I think this means stomping through some puddles and possibly putting on a sweater. This means more hazelnut milk lattes.

Maybe this time I won't drop 1/2 my doughnut under the couch.

Day 5, In Which I Wear Pants

Welcome to a shitty picture of me in interview attire. I can't even tell you how surprised I was that these pants fit. The last time I wore them was in 2004 when I was eating chicken breasts and working out everyday. Sure they were a lot more roomy back then but the mere fact I can button these pants closed without popping a vein is amazing. I confirmed a 1:30PM interview with a dude at an internet startup last night around 1:15AM. I am convinced that computer people run on a vampire's schedule. I had not planned on being up until 2AM, but I was busy doing what I said I would not do - EDITING. I stopped myself before I lost too much of my word count but I went from 6,014 words to 5,559 words then back to 6,014. I deleted and rewrote 455 words. This took 2 hours. I wasted 2 hours to be back where I started but I feel somewhat better about the changes I made. I'm just glad I stopped when I did or my word count would have decreased to something ridiculous, like... 18. When I looked at the clock I figured I'd just throw some coffee down my throat in the morning and I'd be fine.

My alarm went off at 8AM and I immediately reset it. I had given myself some wiggle room in the morning and predicted the resetting of the alarm. I know me so well. I managed to crawl out of bed at 9:30 and didn't even need the assistance of coffee. I hopped on the bus downtown for a meeting I had set for 11AM to test a new blog feature the fine folks at Freebase are working on.


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Built to Spill

Built to Spill is an American indie rock band based in Boise, Idaho. The band has released seven full-length albums. Their most recent...

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Musical Genres: Indie rock

Place Musical Career Began: Idaho, Boise

Active as Musical Artist (start): 1992

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Interesting, eh?

Demos were done on wordpress and it made me want to move out of blogger. Another project I can take on to procrastinate from writing. While I'm at it, I should start going to Bikram 6 days a week again.

Afterwards, I had timed it so that I would have room to grab lunch and make it down to Bryant St. for my interview but I received a voice mail while I was at Freebase asking to reschedule.

This cleared up time for me to wander around the FIDI in search of VEGAN FROZEN YOGURT.

Which I couldn't find. They've either closed or I am stupid. I didn't remember the address but I had a general idea of where to look on Sacramento and well, I didn't see it so I went home to take off the interview attire and get down to writing.

I started but found my brain wandering. I fiddled with the playstation controlers. I made some popcorn. I read. In an hour I wrote a paragraph. Then Blinky decided she'd rather be on top of my laptop instead of at my feet and she would not stop until I gave in and cuddled.

I needed to leave the house.

I made my way to Haight St. to Coffee To The People. I've written there before and I remembered they had decent vegan treats to fuel myself if need be. While I did putz around online a bit I managed to get another thousand words or so done. I can't say that my plot is going anywhere but in reading some Nanowrimo tactics to move things forward I've realized that I can kill someone off if I want to keep things moving. (thanks d@n) Sweet.

I'm going to give it another try tonight and see if I can squeeze anything else out of my brain. We'll see.

Inflamation of the Brain

I feel like there are things I should be doing as there is simply not enough time in the world to read all the books I want to read, go to all the classes I want to go to, write all the words I need to write down, 43,986 before the end of the month. People want to see me. I want to see people but sometimes I fear that I have more lessons to learn on being alone although I've spent a majority of my life somewhat alone. I'm scared I will turn into one of those people who lose their shit when they don't have things to do and people to see. It's all so ridiculous because I don't think I'll ever be one of those people. I lose my shit when I can't get away and when I have more than three things to do in one day. Too many things and too many people and my head caves in. I think that's why I stayed in today and didn't venture out to write. I like cocooning in my own home surrounded by my own things without anyone to complain that I've had Pinback on repeat for 4 hours.

I feel like SLO happened a really long time ago although it didn't. I probably just miss jeff. I woke up this morning to a find an email from him about tablecloths and I like that I'm still ridiculously happy when I see a new email from him as I was 9 months ago when he was an exciting new shiny thing in my life.

The moon isn't full but it's beautiful tonight. I walked home from yoga and I could feel the sweat from my nose evaporate. My clothes are wet from sweat and I probably should just take them off but I feel too lazy and too full of words today for some reason. The house is cold but it's always this cold at night. I'm re-reading Tim Sandlin because I find that my writing gets better when I'm reading good writing. I found an old picture of me stuck between the pages. At some point while living in Los Angeles I thought it was a good idea to put tiny braids in my hair and pin them up every which way. While I don't feel particularly old, I do think I looked significantly younger and my choice in clothing and hair color (as well as the previously mentioned hairstyle) reflect that. These days I just look how I look and that's ok with me although sometimes I feel like I should look more creative...whatever that means.

Laura talked about being involved in your own life in class tonight. I wanted to tell her to get out of my brain. So much of this year has been about the fear of actively participating in my own life. People are so scared to engage. I am scared to engage. I don't want to step over any boundaries, worried about making mistakes. We tentatively reach out to people but not too much lest we seem weird, needy or overbearing. At what point did things start to feel like puberty again? Summer was fraught with this strange frenetic worry. The word frenetic is derived from the Latin phreneticus, a modification of the Greek phrenitikos, which is from phrenitis which means "inflammation of the brain."

Which basically translates to insane.

People don't care about what you do as much as you think they care.

I look forward to taking off wet clothes and getting into a hot shower and slipping into a warm bed with my sweet smelling cat.

Day 4, I Washed My Cat Last Night

I made up more chores to do to procrastinate last night. I took a break when Ian came over. I realized I could not live on brussel sprouts and toast alone and made real food. I washed my cat.

Ever since flea fest 2009 I've been following the train of little black specks Blinky leaves behind with a wet sponge, wondering what has been happening to my poor cat.

So I filled the tub and eased her in prepared to get my face clawed off.

Blinky stood in the tepid water up to her belly looking at me confused. Not once did she mew in protest nor try to attack me to get out. I poured water over her, rubbed her down while she wandered the length of the tub with Blake and Eric taking pictures.

When I let her escape, she ran into the hallway and shook herself off.

Oh Blinky, who knew you had such dainty little ankles?

"So what's the book about?" Ian's the first person to really ask me that. I stood in the living room somewhat dumbfounded. Eric walked into the room and handed Ian a plate of spam and scrambled eggs. The boys ate while I tried to explain that I wasn't too sure what I was doing.

"It's like," I started. "I have an idea on what it's about but I'm not sure that it's going to go in the direction I think it's going to go. So, I don't know. "

"So you're going to figure it out?"

"I hope so?" I sat down and held my hands in my lap so they wouldn't nervously twitch. "Let the story tell itself. I don't know. I don't know how to plan these things. I don't outline, I don't think ahead, I sorta just do it."

"Completely understandable," he said, sounding satisfied with my answer. I expect people to want a synopsis when they ask me about the novel. I don't have one.

The house smelled like breakfast. It was still pretty early in the evening and the sun was already gone. This whole daylight savings thing makes me feel rushed. As soon as the sun disappears I think it's 8PM and I've got so much more writing to do. I'm still not completely happy with the quality of my prose, but I'm trying to keep that part of my brain on lockdown. The need to go back and start editing the measly 6,000 words I have is great.

I was going to venture out and try to write at a coffee shop today but felt lazy and looked around thinking I like my surroundings better. I have my own music, I have food if I get hungry, I have Blinky curled up next to me. There's a bottle of whiskey nearby. The only thing is I'm easily distracted here and it might help me focus if I was stuck in a public place with only my laptop and no other distractions. At least my distractions here involve cleaning. I've never been so proactive about removing ever single cat hair from every single surface in my living room. My house is incredibly clean.

Day 3, In Which I Use the Word 'Behoove'

After three loads of laundry, followed by sweeping my room, making my bed, rearranging the clothes in my drawers and reading several travel essays I finally started writing.

Writing about someone else feels odd. I don't remember the last time I had written fiction. It felt awkward and forced. I felt like what I was writing would read badly but instead of going back trying to fix it, I kept going. Whatever. I can fix it later, just keep going.

When I looked up, it was midnight. I was still in gym clothes and sneakers. Blinky was passed out on the kitchen table to the left of me. Once I got going, I couldn't stop and once I stopped thinking too much about it, it became easier and I started to remember what it was like when I was a kid scribbling stories, writing G.I. Joe episodes drinking Lil' Hugs with 'Revolver' on the record player. It was either 'Revolver' or Irene Cara, which proves that there was always something preventing me from being cool.

Last week in San Luis Obispo, I remember laying sprawled out like little kids on the gigantic king size bed explaining to Jeff how I feel like I didn't have enough accidents when I was a kid. I felt like I should have had more head injuries. Maybe a couple of more scraped knees and I wouldn't be so frightened of hurting myself these days. I wouldn't be white knuckling it while he teaches me how to ride a bike. I wouldn't have to sit on my ass and slide down a tiny incline because I don't trust myself. Instead of running around, causing havoc and causing myself bodily harm I spent my time indoors in my own head, watching soap operas and making up stories. Figuring no one would ever read any of it, I wrote with abandon. I'd carry several marble composition notebooks with me, all of them filled with my (then)frilly girl cursive. I spent a lot of time alone when I was a kid. I was comfortable when I was by myself. I wrote. A lot.

I have forgotten how to write with abandon these past few years. I'm glad that it seems to be coming back to me.

Despite passing out around 2AM I woke up this morning and made it to yoga, came home and sent out a couple of more resumes. It's becoming rote behavior. I used the work "behoove" in a cover letter and didn't blink an eye. I also found myself describing my box office experience at the HOB as more than "Rock Stars and All-You-Can-Eat-Fried Chicken". If I'm penalized for being too comfortable in a cover letter, oh well.

Tonight? More writing but I need to step away from the computer before my eyes bleed.

Day 2, In Which I do Nothing But Almost Eat a Potato

In an effort to undo some chocolate cake and non-vegan candy corn (for shame) consumption I got up and made my way to the gym this afternoon. I spent most of my morning scouring the internets for work and decided that I should add ROCKET SCIENTIST and RABID JULIE ANDREWS FAN under my "Skills" category on my resume. I've sent out so many resumes and cover letters at this point that I believe that companies are so inundated with hundreds of responses that mine go unread. At this point I am going to embellish and add information on how I invented Goo Gone, have mad ninja skillz and survived the occupation of New Orleans by Monkey War Lords.

IT WOULDN'T MATTER. NO ONE IS READING MY SHIT ANYWAYS.

And if someone is maybe they'd at least get a chuckle out of it.

In true hotpants fashion I nearly ran out of fuel on the way home and arrived back at my apartment on the brink of starvation. I started the water to steam some veggies, grabbed an apple and with laptop in hand, plopped down onto the couch.

I thought it was an apple.

I nearly sunk my teeth into it before I realized I was holding a potato to my face.

Crisis averted.

I decided I should concentrate on food before sitting down to write. Now it's almost 5PM and I'm searching for chores to do so I don't have to write. Laundry, mopping, reorganizing my books, scrubbing the toilet. I'd rather scrub the toilet then pick up where I left off. My main character doesn't have a name yet. The last we see her she had just watched her boyfriend throw up and apologized for not helping him. She may or may not have been hit by lightening. At any given moment she can hear Pachabel's Canon playing somewhere.

Needless to say, I've got a lot of work to do.

Day 1, Nanowrimo & Other Things

I woke up and loitered in bed for an hour or two wondering what time it really was. 33 years and Daylight Savings still fucks with my brain. I knew I had to write something today but I didn't really have any high hopes on how much I'd get done. I got out of bed, made some breakfast and set up shop. 300 some words later, I felt pretty satisfied and walked away from the computer and crawled back into bed to finish Issue 30 of McSweeney's. Reading is the key to getting writing done for me. I read something and it seems to plant seeds and I'm drawn to open up and write more. I put on a pot to boil, grind some beans and make some coffee. This novel will be fueled by Girl Talk, coffee and chocolate cake. 2 pages and I'm 1214 words in. I finished a scene and decided to take a break, make my bed so I don't get back into it and am now contemplating making a loaf of sourdough.

Oh and I sent off a handful of resumes today as well.

I just need to make my way through and do what I can to keep forward momentum in everything I do.

Sorry my blog will be hijaked by writing about the process of writing. It's not the most exciting stuff in the world but I'd like to be able to take notes on this process and at the end have a comprehensive picture of when the highs and when the lows hit. All I remember of last year's Nanowrimo was the strong start and the college-like all nighter ending. It's all a blur. The novel, coupled with a crumbling relationship and the death of David, I seem to have a limited memory of last fall.

I think I've been carrying around some sadness since returning from Portland in October. David sadness. It's been sitting pretty still, close to the surface but not breaking through. I've managed to keep it at bay and occupy myself with other things so as not to be consumed by it. I wonder if there is any internal damage happening. I wonder if I go to dia de los muertos if it will come spilling out of me and if I want that to happen or not. The pain feels so personal sometimes and it's not necessarily something I share. I don't know if I'm keeping it close to my heart because that is what I want to do or because that is what I'm used to doing.

Last night I pulled my laundry basket out of my closet to remind myself I need to do the chore sometime soon. The removal of the basket left an empty space that I climbed into and shut the sliding door because there is something comforting about hiding in closets. Without any real thought I cried for a little while because it felt safe to do so in there. I miss him and it's ok to be sad about that.