Stateless
Stateless
I should have done something today, at least gone down to Group Health to look for jobs, but I did not. I didn't quite do nothing; I fiddled with my little sonatines (?). I went to the library & fiddled some more. My arm hurt. Quite a lot--though now it doesn't much. I didn't get a job. This means that my financial condition is critical--if I don't work 5 days out of the next 7, or sell writing & get a check... Who would loan me $?
The thing I have to do is remove myself from the situation. Enter the non-being state. The door only swings one way, and I don't know where to score. I still expect--half expect, I know better, but I can't give up—some irruption of deus (ex machina) (ex cathedra) (ex nihil) or (ab ovo) — I don't care.
Other people have succeeded, even as writers, others as worthy (& therefore unlikely) as I, so why not me?
Why fucking not me?
It's as if failure is embedded in my DNA. All those know-their-place Norwegians. Then under-achiever Grandma S.
So am I a genius, or (/and) am I a schmuck?
Nothing changes; I dare hope my cold is getting better despite lack of clear progress. Nose still running.
In order to get my nodule taken care of by the NIH, I'd have to go to Maryland.
BM Starbucks 1/19/01
Sans peur, sans espoir
Well, maybe a tiny bit of peur, realistic, and a smidgen of espoir, because, well, because we must. I'm not that strong. Though I'm trying. Strength through soy.
I could, I suppose drag myself through a month, year, decade of filthy drudgery.
Except that I've left it too long. I've ended up on my little bit of eroding cliff, grabbing at the wild strawberry vines and....
Yes, those are alligators down there.
Hang on. Why? Umm
I asked for a sign. I got two rejections. I don't just find the natural world impenetrable, but people everywhere as well.
Am I turning into an alien? Turning??
I'm revolting. I am.
B.M. Starbuck's 1/20/01
One Candlepower
A winter Sunday: sky fuzzy gray like a lambs wool sweater. Dropping low. The view from my front window sans the 3 towers. It never got light. I finished (re)reading Princess Missy's war. I wasn't happy. Partly my arm being sore, but mostly waking up from some not-bad dreams—even if the cats hadn't been properly taken care of. (Dingo was there & part of his tail had broken off — a piece of tail?!?), and it meant I had to solve these problems. Some of the cats were 'Mas-cats. And I was young & attractive & money wasn't a problem.
Then I woke up: I was old & ugly & my arm hurt.. I only have $250 & no Likely Prospects.
I told Lee that he had to help me come up with a boffo idea, but does he? Something quick n easy to write & an instant money-maker. What does everybody Love?
15th Starbucks 1/21/01
What Does Everybody Love?
Sugar
Sunshine
Love & Glory
A good night's sleep.
I'm not sure about Love & Glory, though I expect that nobody hates them. As for all the other bonuses (boni?), different bonbons for different gens. I think many, if not most, folks like puzzles or mysteries solved. But that's where the conflict comes in. Because getting rich or well is better than simply being rich or well.
Improvement. Put that on the list.
Pretty pictures, violence—we'll never please the men & the women...all together.
But it's not right to dichotomize—that's the trouble with looking for a formula. Well, there's the love at war story: Casablanca.
No mail, no phone call. I didn't go downtown. Maybe tomorrow?
BM Starbucks 1/22/01
Trying to Cling
I try to cling to the remnants of my self-control. I wish to keep my determination solid. Or fluid but contained.
I hate getting nervous & upset. It's just my body reacting. Overreacting. Who or what threatens me?
My sense of failure. My boredom with ordinary people and ordinary life. I can appreciate ordinary people's secret or at least subtle greatness, but not enough to hang around with them all day. Anne W. is right though--in her Walter Mitty suggestions. There are possibilities I haven't tried. (Though I don't believe bartender is something I should try.)
What I am good at. What I am...
What am I good at? Sarcasm. Something unsuspected from time to time. Pithy wit. Nonsense. Vituperation. Well, criticism.
Procrastination becomes a choice in itself. Should I steel my will? I mean my Won't. Stiffen my backbone till it breaks?
Remember all the times I called Tomas and he wouldn't come? How many times did he call me when I wouldn't?
BM Starbucks 1/23/01
I should have done something today, at least gone down to Group Health to look for jobs, but I did not. I didn't quite do nothing; I fiddled with my little sonatines (?). I went to the library & fiddled some more. My arm hurt. Quite a lot--though now it doesn't much. I didn't get a job. This means that my financial condition is critical--if I don't work 5 days out of the next 7, or sell writing & get a check... Who would loan me $?
The thing I have to do is remove myself from the situation. Enter the non-being state. The door only swings one way, and I don't know where to score. I still expect--half expect, I know better, but I can't give up—some irruption of deus (ex machina) (ex cathedra) (ex nihil) or (ab ovo) — I don't care.
Other people have succeeded, even as writers, others as worthy (& therefore unlikely) as I, so why not me?
Why fucking not me?
It's as if failure is embedded in my DNA. All those know-their-place Norwegians. Then under-achiever Grandma S.
So am I a genius, or (/and) am I a schmuck?
Nothing changes; I dare hope my cold is getting better despite lack of clear progress. Nose still running.
In order to get my nodule taken care of by the NIH, I'd have to go to Maryland.
BM Starbucks 1/19/01
Sans peur, sans espoir
Well, maybe a tiny bit of peur, realistic, and a smidgen of espoir, because, well, because we must. I'm not that strong. Though I'm trying. Strength through soy.
I could, I suppose drag myself through a month, year, decade of filthy drudgery.
Except that I've left it too long. I've ended up on my little bit of eroding cliff, grabbing at the wild strawberry vines and....
Yes, those are alligators down there.
Hang on. Why? Umm
I asked for a sign. I got two rejections. I don't just find the natural world impenetrable, but people everywhere as well.
Am I turning into an alien? Turning??
I'm revolting. I am.
B.M. Starbuck's 1/20/01
One Candlepower
A winter Sunday: sky fuzzy gray like a lambs wool sweater. Dropping low. The view from my front window sans the 3 towers. It never got light. I finished (re)reading Princess Missy's war. I wasn't happy. Partly my arm being sore, but mostly waking up from some not-bad dreams—even if the cats hadn't been properly taken care of. (Dingo was there & part of his tail had broken off — a piece of tail?!?), and it meant I had to solve these problems. Some of the cats were 'Mas-cats. And I was young & attractive & money wasn't a problem.
Then I woke up: I was old & ugly & my arm hurt.. I only have $250 & no Likely Prospects.
I told Lee that he had to help me come up with a boffo idea, but does he? Something quick n easy to write & an instant money-maker. What does everybody Love?
15th Starbucks 1/21/01
What Does Everybody Love?
Sugar
Sunshine
Love & Glory
A good night's sleep.
I'm not sure about Love & Glory, though I expect that nobody hates them. As for all the other bonuses (boni?), different bonbons for different gens. I think many, if not most, folks like puzzles or mysteries solved. But that's where the conflict comes in. Because getting rich or well is better than simply being rich or well.
Improvement. Put that on the list.
Pretty pictures, violence—we'll never please the men & the women...all together.
But it's not right to dichotomize—that's the trouble with looking for a formula. Well, there's the love at war story: Casablanca.
No mail, no phone call. I didn't go downtown. Maybe tomorrow?
BM Starbucks 1/22/01
Trying to Cling
I try to cling to the remnants of my self-control. I wish to keep my determination solid. Or fluid but contained.
I hate getting nervous & upset. It's just my body reacting. Overreacting. Who or what threatens me?
My sense of failure. My boredom with ordinary people and ordinary life. I can appreciate ordinary people's secret or at least subtle greatness, but not enough to hang around with them all day. Anne W. is right though--in her Walter Mitty suggestions. There are possibilities I haven't tried. (Though I don't believe bartender is something I should try.)
What I am good at. What I am...
What am I good at? Sarcasm. Something unsuspected from time to time. Pithy wit. Nonsense. Vituperation. Well, criticism.
Procrastination becomes a choice in itself. Should I steel my will? I mean my Won't. Stiffen my backbone till it breaks?
Remember all the times I called Tomas and he wouldn't come? How many times did he call me when I wouldn't?
BM Starbucks 1/23/01
posted by K. E. Ellingson at 4:05 PM
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