I... I don’t even know if I am a true Bohemian revolutionary
I left here yesterday at ten to four. I really should be more careful, but I was tired and quite done for the day. Dearest was starting to irritate me over email even though he was home sick, so I decided to hike it to the train. It’s only a little under two miles to the station but my legs were burning halfway there. A sure sign of my extreme inactivity. It did me good though. Especially if I am going to try and start running this weekend.
I got home and lounged around; falling asleep on the couch around eight and waking up just after nine having missed the first few minutes of 'Queer Eye'. I debated just going right to bed but ended up staying awake till ten. During the middle of the night I woke up very startled at one point. I am not sure what happened but there was a loud noise of some kind and I think it was caused by my left arm flailing into the TV stand next to my bed.
Sometimes at night I sleep on my arm awkwardly and the thing literally falls asleep to the point I cannot feel it. It is nothing more than a dead limb and there is no sense of touch or attachment and no ability to move. I am assuming it fell asleep and I rolled over and the thing went crashing into the TV stand; but I felt nothing so I had no idea at first it was me.
Then I woke up at 5:18 which sucked because it meant I had ten minutes before my alarm went off. It was pointless to even lay there, but I did anyway.
I received an email yesterday from ChicagoPoetry.com and they are having some "big" to-do in a few weeks at a local bar and are looking to fill ten more spots with readers to do a poetry slam of sorts. I’ve received and ignored dozens of these emails but this time around they said there was going to be some kind of talent scout there.
I feel as if this is one of those many, many opportunities life presents to me that I will ignore or push off until it leaves me because of fear. Of course, I cannot blame it all on fear. I correlated it yesterday to Halloween and how, though my heart and soul always goes into all the costumes I create, I enter contests and lose to mediocre competition and suffer through severe personal humiliation.
Not to mention my poetry is even whinier than my journal entries and I just feel I’d be misunderstood or laughed at; or worse yet.. that people would think my writing is mediocre.
I know nothing of what goes on at these type of readings. I don’t know anyone that would be going and from my brief experience going to The Green Mill for their poetry slam, I sense that these Chicago "poets" are probably all very cliquey people who, like myself, think they are the best of the best out there... and I’d just be some outsider.
Which, of course, is a paradox since I long to *be* the outsider. Plus, I haven’t been in front of a crowd of people since high school. And, back then it was never a cake walk.
And, if in the end nothing came of it, my fragile ego would be destroyed.
I want to be unconfident and yet I see the pointlessness in the very act of it. I wouldn’t dare want to do anything different that could potentially reap me some benefits. This is why I suffer at a job I hate and why I deserve every ounce and more of that punishment.
I got home and lounged around; falling asleep on the couch around eight and waking up just after nine having missed the first few minutes of 'Queer Eye'. I debated just going right to bed but ended up staying awake till ten. During the middle of the night I woke up very startled at one point. I am not sure what happened but there was a loud noise of some kind and I think it was caused by my left arm flailing into the TV stand next to my bed.
Sometimes at night I sleep on my arm awkwardly and the thing literally falls asleep to the point I cannot feel it. It is nothing more than a dead limb and there is no sense of touch or attachment and no ability to move. I am assuming it fell asleep and I rolled over and the thing went crashing into the TV stand; but I felt nothing so I had no idea at first it was me.
Then I woke up at 5:18 which sucked because it meant I had ten minutes before my alarm went off. It was pointless to even lay there, but I did anyway.
I received an email yesterday from ChicagoPoetry.com and they are having some "big" to-do in a few weeks at a local bar and are looking to fill ten more spots with readers to do a poetry slam of sorts. I’ve received and ignored dozens of these emails but this time around they said there was going to be some kind of talent scout there.
I feel as if this is one of those many, many opportunities life presents to me that I will ignore or push off until it leaves me because of fear. Of course, I cannot blame it all on fear. I correlated it yesterday to Halloween and how, though my heart and soul always goes into all the costumes I create, I enter contests and lose to mediocre competition and suffer through severe personal humiliation.
Not to mention my poetry is even whinier than my journal entries and I just feel I’d be misunderstood or laughed at; or worse yet.. that people would think my writing is mediocre.
I know nothing of what goes on at these type of readings. I don’t know anyone that would be going and from my brief experience going to The Green Mill for their poetry slam, I sense that these Chicago "poets" are probably all very cliquey people who, like myself, think they are the best of the best out there... and I’d just be some outsider.
Which, of course, is a paradox since I long to *be* the outsider. Plus, I haven’t been in front of a crowd of people since high school. And, back then it was never a cake walk.
And, if in the end nothing came of it, my fragile ego would be destroyed.
I want to be unconfident and yet I see the pointlessness in the very act of it. I wouldn’t dare want to do anything different that could potentially reap me some benefits. This is why I suffer at a job I hate and why I deserve every ounce and more of that punishment.