Evil, and His Brother Ziggy
So one of my favorite shows on TV is the cop dramady Life. I caught it last season and just loved the entire thing. The writing is clever the premise is clever the quirky zen mess way of looking at LA and life in general is just way too much fun. The most recent episode was called "Evil, and His Brother Ziggy." When I saw the title I just had to giggle.
For the past three days I have been trying to write a paper that I have needed to write for the past month and a half. I have been failing miserably with increasing levels of panic. My mother and I refer to the issue as "white paperitis" a condition I have been familiar with for years as an English major and amateur writer but one that has never led to full blown hyperventilation and vomiting until now. I hadn't slept for the entirety of those three days, from the Sunday before my birthday until yesterday. I had to present my paper to the entire class yesterday at 1. I was tired, bloodshot, coughing and literally ready to cry like a baby in front of my entire class and moth-eaten professor (a sweety of a man but a bear to try and argue with when he has literally written TEXTBOOKS on Constitutional issues). I sat down, gathered what I had and talked to the other student who was presenting before me. He asked how many pages I had written and I snerked hysterically and said I have 6 pages of drivel (out of 30 minimum sans endnotes). He grinned maniacally and said "I have 9!!" and high fived me.
For some reason that just made everything smooth out. I presented my paper and asked the class to poke holes in my arguments so I would be able to fix them, they kindly and intelligently obliged. My professor, whom I was prepared to be skewered by, liked my premise and actually applauded my ability to find obscure references (I dug up a case from the Cherokee tribal courts, not as easy as you would think). I left school in perfect cold bright weather and went home. My stomach didn't hurt and other than being fantastically tired I felt OK. I still haven't written the whole thing but for some reason the entire surreal experience of panic and sleep deprivation gave way to a calm and contented buzz, I can write it. It won't be perfect but it will be good and I will be OK.
Then I turned on the TV while scarfing dinner and watched "Evil, and His Brother Ziggy." Laughed inappropriately for about an hour, while eating Flat Earth tomato ranch veggie chips (a new addiction I will examine later when coherent), and passed out on my couch with my cat. I woke up this morning at about 3 and I feel great.
If you are wondering what the point to this post is I don't know. I just needed to set out the day somehow and this was a way to get the old fingers typing. It felt vaguely like living a day in a Salvador Dali painting. Dutch Masters' lighting, rich colors outlining shapes and experiences that look real for a moment and then morph into something entirely outside the lexicon of my mind. I wonder if that is what LSD feels like....
OK, I am now going to savor some coffee and blackberry yogurt and finish explaining why the Defense of Marriage Act violates the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment to the Constitution.
TTFN
Christine
For the past three days I have been trying to write a paper that I have needed to write for the past month and a half. I have been failing miserably with increasing levels of panic. My mother and I refer to the issue as "white paperitis" a condition I have been familiar with for years as an English major and amateur writer but one that has never led to full blown hyperventilation and vomiting until now. I hadn't slept for the entirety of those three days, from the Sunday before my birthday until yesterday. I had to present my paper to the entire class yesterday at 1. I was tired, bloodshot, coughing and literally ready to cry like a baby in front of my entire class and moth-eaten professor (a sweety of a man but a bear to try and argue with when he has literally written TEXTBOOKS on Constitutional issues). I sat down, gathered what I had and talked to the other student who was presenting before me. He asked how many pages I had written and I snerked hysterically and said I have 6 pages of drivel (out of 30 minimum sans endnotes). He grinned maniacally and said "I have 9!!" and high fived me.
For some reason that just made everything smooth out. I presented my paper and asked the class to poke holes in my arguments so I would be able to fix them, they kindly and intelligently obliged. My professor, whom I was prepared to be skewered by, liked my premise and actually applauded my ability to find obscure references (I dug up a case from the Cherokee tribal courts, not as easy as you would think). I left school in perfect cold bright weather and went home. My stomach didn't hurt and other than being fantastically tired I felt OK. I still haven't written the whole thing but for some reason the entire surreal experience of panic and sleep deprivation gave way to a calm and contented buzz, I can write it. It won't be perfect but it will be good and I will be OK.
Then I turned on the TV while scarfing dinner and watched "Evil, and His Brother Ziggy." Laughed inappropriately for about an hour, while eating Flat Earth tomato ranch veggie chips (a new addiction I will examine later when coherent), and passed out on my couch with my cat. I woke up this morning at about 3 and I feel great.
If you are wondering what the point to this post is I don't know. I just needed to set out the day somehow and this was a way to get the old fingers typing. It felt vaguely like living a day in a Salvador Dali painting. Dutch Masters' lighting, rich colors outlining shapes and experiences that look real for a moment and then morph into something entirely outside the lexicon of my mind. I wonder if that is what LSD feels like....
OK, I am now going to savor some coffee and blackberry yogurt and finish explaining why the Defense of Marriage Act violates the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment to the Constitution.
TTFN
Christine