There’s a feeling you get when you know something is about to happen. But then again, something may not happen. So you question it, back and forth like a pendulum. It’s a little like nervousness and it’s a little like throwing up. I know I’m not describing this feeling very well, but I don’t think there’s a word out there for it yet. I guess you just have to be in my body feeling what I’m feeling to really know what I’m talking about. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
You’re not going to ever feel exactly what I’m feeling. But it’s okay because I’m not ever going to feel exactly what you’re feeling either. There’s not another person out there exactly like me and there’s not another person out there exactly like you. Isn’t the world a wonderful place? So knowing this it makes me sad to think someone would feel so unworthy to be in existence they end their life by their own hands. Or someone would cause physical harm to themselves. People have seriously made life a lot more complicated than it is, but then again, maybe the way I experience reality is different from the way you experience yours so who am I to judge you for how you live? But if I don’t voice it out loud, I’m still going to do it in my head whether I notice it or not. You know what I mean?
More and more her thoughts grew, like an ulcer inside of a stomach. Then one day, the VCR in her brain ejected a novel.
After I come home from work, my mind is usually a blank slate. It’s the worst time of the day for me to write because all I want to do is dump all the thought garbage out. I remember a Joel Osteen sermon about negative thoughts vs. positive thoughts and how he compared negative thoughts to carrying around trash in your head all day. This analogy always stuck with me and I’m thinking of it now. As a result, I take a long time to come up with a topic, but once I come up with one, the word vomit just starts pouring out.
Sometimes I really do like how things flow in my brain. I can come up with some really weird ideas when I just let loose like I’m Eminem or something. Especially when I’m in the shower. (I don’t know man. What is it about water flowing down your skin that just relaxes you and almost makes you feel like every little thing you have been worrying about is going to go away because you are in the shower?) But other times things that flow in my brain drive me crazy. (Hello, Britney Spears!) When this happens I just need to let them out somewhere safe. The tricky part is figuring out where that safe place is. And this is where pen and paper come in handy.
Sometimes I’m writing and the only good words I’m getting I’m deleting. And that feels good.
OK, so to an outsider that may sound weird. I mean, who writes seriously, deletes words, and feels good about it? Let me tell you why. In my wee days as a writer, I was afraid of deleting anything. I would just write things down, compiled into a blog post style, and then either post it as is if I was writing by typing or leave it on the page and not type it up to be posted if I really didn’t like it. I guess, now looking back, maybe the second one is a form of deleting, but to me, unless it was something I was typing up and physically pushing the delete button, it wasn’t counting as an act of deletion. And I’m talking about pushing the delete button as something that feels good.
I think this fear of removing words just came from “oh, what if I want to see what something originally looked like, but then I deleted it and I’ll never get that first version back?”:O But then after some time, I realized deleting is a sign of a maturing writer because there is no way something sounds right the first time you write it every single time. Not deleting would be like not editing and editing is a crucial part of writing. So now that I actually like deleting, I guess that means I’m accepting my flaws as a writer and understanding that it’s not always going to sound right the first time I write it and that’s OK. Not that every time I didn’t delete anything I thought the post sounded right. I think sometimes I’d just be in a hurry to post something so I’d just post it without thinking too much about it.
I actually like the pep talks in every Halls drop. They are supposed to make you get better faster, but wouldn’t it be cool if there was a hidden pep talk in every little thing we picked up? Like if we saw a penny on the ground, we could pick it up and there’d be a pep talk hidden on one side of the coin. That penny would be worth more than one cent in my opinion.
Winning the lottery would be like me getting to go to Victoria’s Secret and splurging and not feeling guilty about it. Wait, if I won the lottery, I could do that. (Oh YuMin. You are a genius.) Wait again. Isn’t part of splurging not feeling guilty about spending the money? (I’m redundant.)
I can’t believe there were examples of girls in “Mean Girls” where they wore lingerie as part of their Halloween costume. Well, it is a satire. At least, that’s what I like to call the movie. I laugh in my head every time I see the word “lingerie” because I used to pronounce it “lean-jerry.” (Am I using my quotation marks right?) Is it a French word? It looks like it is French.
The little bit of French I know I learned from Michelle Branch. Well, not directly from her, obviously, but from listening to her records.
Urban Outfitters carries vinyl records and every time I see them I think of how cumbersome it must be to have those around, but how nifty they look.
So over the weekend I identified for sure my two loaded questions: how are you? and how’s your writing going?
The first one I appreciate, but find annoying to answer; the second one I find aggravating to no end.
I always lie when I answer the first question and never reveal how I’m actually doing so I don’t have to elaborate. The second one I usually get tricked into revealing too much than I meant to about what I’m working on so I try to avoid altogether by either changing the subject or now recently just awkwardly telling the interrogator I don’t really tell people about my writing process.
I try to think of something witty to say every time you come near me, but I end up with a pounding heart and a frozen mouth. I’m hoping you can’t tell how nervous you make me, but sometimes all it takes is for a little pink to show to give me away. And after all this time, months and months, seeming like years and years, yet like nothing at all, you still make me feel this way. I want to stop before I sound like a repetitive pop love song, but it doesn’t seem possible. So I keep going, day after day, hoping you will come over, yet not really, not wanting to talk to you, but hoping you can read my mind, that my sign of no attraction is a sign of attraction. I don’t want to have to spell it out for you, I just want you to already know. I make no sense at all, but I’m hoping that makes absolute sense to you.