Exactly Why I am NOT a Writer or You Get A Prize If You Make It All the Way Through This Post
Every day I make a pact with renewed vigor and determination to do any number of different healthy and life affirming or merely productive tasks that I feel have been grossly neglected in my life. Which of the various tasks are included in the daily littany depends upon the day, but almost always included is writing more. This blog can attest to how overwhelmingly successful I've been with that endeavor.
On the one hand, writing would provide the creative outlet I desperately need and crave, in addition to an emotional outlet, since this is a "tell all" style diary of sorts. It would also be a great oportunity to collect the stories and feelings and crazy roller coaster ride of this journey with cancer....which, opportunistic as it may sound, could later be compiled into something useful, such as ...oh, a one woman show? I mean, what's the good of painful life experiences if you can't magically turn them into a self indulgent horribly trite theatrical vehicle in which you play multiple characters and show the painful, the tender, and the comical all in one heart wrapped package that's too clever for its own good?
On the other hand....cancer and life (or the lack thereof) just doesn't seem funny or interesting these days. There are only so many ways to make "this is hard" sound like something interesting that you might perhaps want to read about, and I think I've exhausted them all and crossed over into something resembling teen angst, which illlicits more of an "oh god! help us!" response than an "hmmm...this blog is interesting" response.
For example (my not so subtle way of bringing up what I really want to write about without feeling like a total loser, just merely a partial one), who really wants to hear about how my relationship with my father is deteriorating faster than the speed of the sound of my damaged childhood sobbing? That sounds about as fun as repeatedly squirting bleach in my eye, which while I've never personally attempted it, doesn't sound fun at all. In fact, it reeks of self-pity, a disease I have neither the stomach nor the patience for.
Am I feeling sorry for myself these days? You betcha. And now I'm about to try and make you, oh hapless reader who is now trapped out of guilt, feel sorry for me too. Because that's what kind of a mood I'm in today. That, and in a mood to spike my co-worker's coffee with arsenic because he is wholly incapable of silence and will not cease and desist, despite repeated desperate pleas, from making little negative comments under his breath to himself every 6 seconds. But that's for another post that I will undoubtedly never get around to writing.
And to make matters worse, I just raided the Halloween candy here at the sdj, despite the entirely-too-depressing-for-words fact that I split my pants Wednesday morning by merely sitting down in a chair. That's right, I, fattty mcfatten, split my pants. Can someone please just severely maim me now? (because, you know, if your brother killed himself, yuo're just not allowed to say "someone please kill me"...it violates some sort of unwritten suicide survivors' rule. plus people tend to worry about you a little more, as if it were a familial trait)
I love that I've strayed so far off the real subject I fully intended to explore, and managed to spend 45 minutes or so talking about absolutely nothing. Well, that and spontaneously devouring an obscene amount of candy in a relatively short time in the hopes that I can burst out of my dress just as I sit down for dinner at the Italian restaurant I'm meeting one of the Wonder Twins at. I'm not sure yet which is the more coveted of skills, but I'll leave you to ponder that (since I've left you with relatively little else) while I roll myself, dress precariously attached, uptown to gorge myself on copious amounts of pasta, all with very thick cream sauces.
And one day I will actually update the 2 year old blogroll withering away into oblivion over on the side there. (No matter that I haven't even had this blog for 2 years, exactly...) That's on the to do list in between clean the space between the stive and wall and work out you lazy slob. We'll see if it ever happens....and if it does, someone owes me a drink just for accomplishing something.
Well, at least I posted....
On the one hand, writing would provide the creative outlet I desperately need and crave, in addition to an emotional outlet, since this is a "tell all" style diary of sorts. It would also be a great oportunity to collect the stories and feelings and crazy roller coaster ride of this journey with cancer....which, opportunistic as it may sound, could later be compiled into something useful, such as ...oh, a one woman show? I mean, what's the good of painful life experiences if you can't magically turn them into a self indulgent horribly trite theatrical vehicle in which you play multiple characters and show the painful, the tender, and the comical all in one heart wrapped package that's too clever for its own good?
On the other hand....cancer and life (or the lack thereof) just doesn't seem funny or interesting these days. There are only so many ways to make "this is hard" sound like something interesting that you might perhaps want to read about, and I think I've exhausted them all and crossed over into something resembling teen angst, which illlicits more of an "oh god! help us!" response than an "hmmm...this blog is interesting" response.
For example (my not so subtle way of bringing up what I really want to write about without feeling like a total loser, just merely a partial one), who really wants to hear about how my relationship with my father is deteriorating faster than the speed of the sound of my damaged childhood sobbing? That sounds about as fun as repeatedly squirting bleach in my eye, which while I've never personally attempted it, doesn't sound fun at all. In fact, it reeks of self-pity, a disease I have neither the stomach nor the patience for.
Am I feeling sorry for myself these days? You betcha. And now I'm about to try and make you, oh hapless reader who is now trapped out of guilt, feel sorry for me too. Because that's what kind of a mood I'm in today. That, and in a mood to spike my co-worker's coffee with arsenic because he is wholly incapable of silence and will not cease and desist, despite repeated desperate pleas, from making little negative comments under his breath to himself every 6 seconds. But that's for another post that I will undoubtedly never get around to writing.
And to make matters worse, I just raided the Halloween candy here at the sdj, despite the entirely-too-depressing-for-words fact that I split my pants Wednesday morning by merely sitting down in a chair. That's right, I, fattty mcfatten, split my pants. Can someone please just severely maim me now? (because, you know, if your brother killed himself, yuo're just not allowed to say "someone please kill me"...it violates some sort of unwritten suicide survivors' rule. plus people tend to worry about you a little more, as if it were a familial trait)
I love that I've strayed so far off the real subject I fully intended to explore, and managed to spend 45 minutes or so talking about absolutely nothing. Well, that and spontaneously devouring an obscene amount of candy in a relatively short time in the hopes that I can burst out of my dress just as I sit down for dinner at the Italian restaurant I'm meeting one of the Wonder Twins at. I'm not sure yet which is the more coveted of skills, but I'll leave you to ponder that (since I've left you with relatively little else) while I roll myself, dress precariously attached, uptown to gorge myself on copious amounts of pasta, all with very thick cream sauces.
And one day I will actually update the 2 year old blogroll withering away into oblivion over on the side there. (No matter that I haven't even had this blog for 2 years, exactly...) That's on the to do list in between clean the space between the stive and wall and work out you lazy slob. We'll see if it ever happens....and if it does, someone owes me a drink just for accomplishing something.
Well, at least I posted....
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 6:17 PM
2 Comments:
you're so hard on yourself - be nice to synge. we love her, and she's fabulous!
(big decisions i made about my life while dealing with cancer, later seemed to me to have been based on some sadistic fun house mirror version of myself and a tad less than reliable.)
If it's any consolation, I have never once thought that you might kill yourself.
But now that you brought it up, it occurs to me that maybe I should have worried about that.
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