PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

sick but functioning

Wednesday, Nov. 27, 2002
Tonight Iím sick. Sick as in my head hurts, my eyes are hot, my throat is scratchy and Iím high on painkillers for my back. One thing I have to say first. I hate judgmental people. This probably goes back to my mother who determined a persons self worth within 2 minutes of meeting them based upon their appearance and the year of their car. She never engaged in any real conversation or exchanged thoughts or ideas with anyone, just sized them up, asked where they worked and that was that, she knew everything about them from that point on. Who did she think she was? Simple minded truly, thatís all that can be.

Earlier tonight despite feeling ill, I was able to complete a writing assignment and that always feels great. When I pull myself up by the bootstraps and apply myself and manage to get better than acceptable outcomes with my words. Itís a nice feeling. I think I am struggling with my novel only because it requires a constant chipping away. Itís not like a poem or lyrics where I sit down and mentally push myself to new limits for a half hour and then can breathe and relax. When I write, its is very intense. I am somewhere else. I am no longer inside of myself. I am floating above the desk somewhere trying to catch letters and line them up like soldiers waiting for the army of words to attack. Itís been so difficult for me to write that intensely for hours. I have decided to let go of other peopleís notions of ďhow toĒ write a novel and what should or shouldnít be. Maybe I should write some short stories. It would appear they are easy to do.

I have my package for England all wrapped and ready to go. I am a machine. Sick, but functioning. Tomorrow is the last day of work and then a nice long well deserved weekend. Weíre having turkey and doing the family thing. I am happy to spend the day with both of them and maybe we can go hang on the beach. When I first moved to FL I remember the first thanksgiving going to the beach just to say I was on the beach for Thanksgiving to my sporadic family up North.

My grandmother sent Bucky a birthday card this year with a gift of money in it. That was nice. I just wish I heard from her. The last time she phone me I thought someone died.

Thoughts of Christmas are creeping around the corners of my mind. Christmas, again? Already?

Bry just told me that itís snowing in PA. Heís not from there, but low and behold it is 27 degrees and there is light snow there. Makes this cold stuff we have here seem so tame. If youíre cold somewhere, I feel for you.

PoeticaL
1:10 a.m. ::
prev :: next