Peeling Off The Labels, Attaching Them Elsewhere

I decided yesterday morning, before the wheels came off the wagon, that putting the NFSL and a dash in front of every blog title was probably getting annoying to my readers and sooner or later someone would join the reading and not know what the letters mean or someone would forget what the letters mean, so I removed it from the title. I'll still use it in the tagging, but the title doesn't need it.

It is, as one of my students said last weekend, extra information, and information that seems built to confuse as well.

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If you were following along the last 24 hours in the old Twitter stream and on my Facebook, you'll know that there is a big empty space where the tiny nubbin of my self-esteem used to be. FG is silent a good measure of the time and his silence falls at the worst times, and then when he does come back on line he thinks the silence and what was said or not said are no big deal. And then there is Jo, who chooses her words carefully not to hurt intentionally and then ends up reaming the other person a new one because they treat life so casually.

That's what happened last night.

I apologized and then left the message that he best find a friend who won't be as high maintenance as I am, won't treasure him so much or ask to see him so much (I see him once a month, but that's really too much because he has a lot of stuff to deal with). I know what I want in a friendship, and he wants something different, and what he wants in a friendship seems to fit the casual approach that everyone else here has had, so I know now and am fully aware to admit to the world that I am evil, that I expect too much, and that I need to be alone. P always said that I was too intense, and I know that. I should come with a warning label: "Please be advise that this person will expect you to, in order to be her friend, actually spend time with her."

As busy as everyone is, I will no longer expect that. I won't yell anymore to be heard. I will quietly take each day at a time, and eat the car one part at a time.

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I have told non-readers and non-writers about this blog, and they look at me as though I have lost it (ha! should have seen me last night, folks...), but I have found that between sticking to this and to the journal (which is something I didn't even come close to on a weekly basis in 2007) has hatched its first egg...I'm learning my writing "rhythms," if you will. I have been writing in the evenings after work, but I have learned that my writing is fresher and sweeter to my ear, my VOICE is fresher and sweeter to my ear, the first thing in the morning. (Please do not in any way assume that I think my writing is getting "better" at any time. I don't do this to make my writing "better"--I do it to feel as though I have burned through into my mind better through writing. Occasionally the writing may be really good for a paragraph for that reason, but the only consistancy here will probably be me showing up.) So I am rearranging my schedule a little to write first thing in the morning before work. This practice may also make it easier to wake up, knowing that I have my writing to look forward to.

The daily practice is almost a relief, too. Despite the storms that plunder through, I know that I still have my writing as what now seems like a real thing again, a real aspect of my person, like an arm or a leg. It helps me to treasure it more--those who overlook this aspect of me are basically ignoring a body part.

Not every part needs a label though. I don't know what I would name the part of me that is a writer to those who don't write, or read.

Selah, dear reader.