Some day I will write something worthwhile. For now you will have to settle for the following. And while the content my be trivial, even a bit repetitive, I would like to think my deliver is slightly different. With a few surprises thrown into it.
In case you were wondering, I am employing an exercise I learned from a YouTuber whom I highly respect and admire (and who is nothing like me, right down to his skinny body covered in tattoos). He goes by Struthless. When he struggled to draw regularly (he had a mental block created by a negative teacher), he employed a lesson that a professional artist shared with him.
Draw the same object each day for a year.
Struthless chose a cartoonish bird. And every day, he drew this bird. Not the same way each time, but slightly different iterations. In the beginning, the bird found itself alone on a page. Eventually, forests would spring up, or a building would appear. There were days in which the page was covered in doodles and designs. And some times there were days in which the bird appeared the same as it did on day one. Except the lines were darker, more confident.
In the end, Struthless broke from this habit, and started his own animation studios. Well, a lot happened in between, but it began with drawing the same object every day for a year.
I am not ready to write every day, however, I am committed to blogging once a week. Even if it means rehashing the same material, with some slight adjustments.
(A second pile of mulch, which I managed to spread in two days.)
It is seven minutes until eleven on a hot, humid Sunday morning. A passing shower left about an hour ago, but the clouds refuse to scatter. Unshowered and unkempt, I am lounging in flannel pajamas and last night's t-shirt (which bears a long, jagged wet spot I am hoping is not a stain). Despite sleeping well (I did not get up to pee once), and waking up early (around five AM without an alarm), I went downstairs, and crashed on the couch, daydreaming until about seven. Finally, aroused by a desire to be somewhat productive today, I got up and did some chores. The usual stuff: clean out the sink, empty the dishwasher, remove trash that people left out, prepare someone's daily coffee. Then I surfed the net, if that is what it is still called. Mostly articles on the Google newsfeed. Some of it was politics. Less than a handful were entertainment. Unfortunately, one too many were the Dear Abby columns. Sigh. I need to stay away from those.
Then came the laundry (the first of many loads--I start with the heavy stuff, the towels), the food prep (tonight is boneless, skinless chicken breast, and I have marinating them a few hours in buttermilk works wonders), and tidying up the mess that likes to appear after my early morning attempts to clear out the kitchen (seriously, I am beginning to believe in gremlins).
None of this was performed in a single, direct, and sequential action. Tasks were broken up by bouts of my special brand of "planning". Simply, I stand alone, or pace back and forth, in a room, playing out how I would like to get something done. And, if no family member interrupts, or I fail to realize I am doing this in front of the large, bay window in front of the house, for all the neighbors to witness, the planning evolves. It becomes a sitcom, or a drama, depending on my mood. Characters, usually from my family or circle of friends (some times famous people make a cameo appearance), enter stage right, and exit stage left, as the plot requires. I am scripting dialogue and choreographing movement (a few times I am composing songs--yes, my mind creates musicals) in an attempt to mentally wrestle with a task or project.
It can be the raised bed gardens. How do I want to build the retaining walls, without spending a fortune? How should they interlock? If I do it that way, will it fall apart? When am I going to get the supplies? Will anyone be impressed? I am explaining my solutions to a friend, who does not have the faintest clue about gardening. Perhaps in front of a classroom, when we should be discussing history. Or, in front the women from the View (I hate that show, and in my mind, none of the hosts speak, they just sit there listening attentively).
It can be a response to a political article I just finished reading. Why the hell do people think like that? Here are a million reasons why they are wrong. And who are these people in the comments going along with it? I think we all know who are the real sheeple (but apparently not, because I read the comments). In these moments, I am usually walking about, energetic, face contorted in disgust (once or twice, okay, a million times, people have called me out on my facial expressions). In my mind I am on a news show, ranting. Some times I am a politician, at a town hall, giving it straight, telling it like it is. Once in a while, I am a professor lecturing. Once in a while, I am a prophet-like figure who smacks people these obtuse people over the head (and not always metaphorically).
(Yes, on occasion I pretend to be Christ-like by telling off the the modern day Pharisees.)
Or, especially if it is a Sunday morning, I will spend time daydreaming about a potential blog post. What am I going to talk about? Maybe pick up where you left off the countless other posts that ended with "too be continued"? Usually, one of you dear readers, in my mind is reciting that line to me. At that point I call "cut", and reposition the camera. Perhaps I could discuss my reaction to the political article that had me pulling at my hair and grimacing? Yeah, sure, if I had given myself time to do some research: I refuse to be yet another raving opinion on the internet. If I am going to delve into political and cultural issues, I want to provide something positive and informative. Even if such actions garner far less attention. Or, I could write an update of my gardening experience? Except, that post would be as sparse as my garden, or filled with a list of wishes.
And now, here I am, forty-five minutes later, still in my pajamas, feeling a bit ripe, knowing that another load of laundry is ready for the dryer. I am still unsure about how I am going to build those raised beds. I am no closer to sharing my political thoughts--they are vague for a reason. And this post is nothing like what I had set out to write when I first started this blog, what I promised last week , or even since this morning.
Yet, here it is. Lengthy, too. And all before lunch.
Speaking of which, I wonder what I am having today?
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