(no subject)
I'm sleepy and I have a job interview in the morning. I really should put some beans on to soak before I go to bed. I may be moving into Hippie Mansion in a few weeks.
I'd like to stay up and play on my mandolin, but sleep is a better idea for now. I noodled on it a little bit earlier, so I guess that counts. I have calluses on my fingers and that is exciting.
There is a part of me that really wants to hate the inconsistencies of people, but is that what makes us human? I'm so tired of making it up as I go along.
I can't remember if I ever posted the story about the dead cat and nearly getting hit by a truck on here, but I spent my afternoon reworking it into a poem. Sent it to a couple of friends and totally disagree with Eric's assessment, as taking the cat out annuls the story the poem is supposed to be telling. But he doesn't believe anything should ever be written with any sort of logic, so I'll take his advice on revision with a grain of salt. I am going to start erratically submitting stuff to little indie magazines for the sake of building up my confidence and getting some feed back. I may rework it to have the ghost of the cat having a presence, or not. I want to read it at the open mike in a couple of weeks and hopefully have a few more of my essay-style posts similarly reworked and ready for such a venture.
I read some Virginia Woolf this afternoon and now I feel inadequate.
I'd like to stay up and play on my mandolin, but sleep is a better idea for now. I noodled on it a little bit earlier, so I guess that counts. I have calluses on my fingers and that is exciting.
There is a part of me that really wants to hate the inconsistencies of people, but is that what makes us human? I'm so tired of making it up as I go along.
I can't remember if I ever posted the story about the dead cat and nearly getting hit by a truck on here, but I spent my afternoon reworking it into a poem. Sent it to a couple of friends and totally disagree with Eric's assessment, as taking the cat out annuls the story the poem is supposed to be telling. But he doesn't believe anything should ever be written with any sort of logic, so I'll take his advice on revision with a grain of salt. I am going to start erratically submitting stuff to little indie magazines for the sake of building up my confidence and getting some feed back. I may rework it to have the ghost of the cat having a presence, or not. I want to read it at the open mike in a couple of weeks and hopefully have a few more of my essay-style posts similarly reworked and ready for such a venture.
I read some Virginia Woolf this afternoon and now I feel inadequate.