Bob and Weave

surrealtime1

Bob and Weave…current companions. Unlike the boxing reference, they lend themselves to a sort of waiting and watching phase.

I am adrift on a banal sea.  It’s unsettling so I work at letting it be, which is ironic because letting it be shouldn’t require any work.

Reached a creative impasse perhaps; took a dip into the bigger pool and I don’t want to return to the small one, where my legs hang over the side and I am unable to immerse myself completely. Taking some time to let the information soak in perhaps. After all this time cranking out little pieces, but dreaming of the next level, I took a successful plunge, and with just a  little more effort. Maybe I’m absorbing, conceiving, ingesting.

Ready to shuck off the last traces of a dead horse; tired of its hanging on, pleading conversations in my head. The back and forth Jekyll and Hyde. Something decisive done there. All that is required now is acceptance of the real truth that some things, some people, some situations will evoke negativity, no matter how I slather it in sweet frosting.

Second chances. I give myself second, third, fourth….many chances. In life, it’s how we learn and grow, right? I met a person yesterday who, I just discovered, must be going through a huge second chance. I wouldn’t have known about this person’s history if their handwriting had been legible but there the story was, on the internet for all to see. Initially, I wanted to find another company, but as the information applied itself, I realized this person deserves my chance, my opportunity. As long as they don’t mess with me because this girl can throw a punch.

So, although it may appear that I’m bobbing and weaving in a humdrum sea, I guess there’s much more going on behind the scenes. Which is fine; I’ll let the outside take a break, eat a Cadbury’s Creme Egg, and wait until the little beavers are done catching up.

 

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Afloat in a Shandy Sea.

Creativity is lounging somewhere getting drunk at a bar.  It’s stalled on writing but became ever so quietly excited at Goodwill when I purchased an outfit destined to be zombiefied.  I quietly plan on the sidelines while thinking of other things.  I love that talent.  The ideas form and gel in the background.  I stand back, press my finger to my lips, take out this, add that.  All the while, I’m checking ingredients in food, cooking dinner, doing laundry, thinking about things, worrying about my son.  Life rolls forward in an endless stream but behind the scenes, the nature of me does what it does best:  Plans, creates.  And I know when I have all I need in front of me, the thing that I’ve been visualizing will come to be as imagined.

The practical side has stepped up.  But I have a little bitch with a whip silently berating me for not making any progress with my writing.  I feel guilty which is so not the frame of mind from which to be doing this.  I sit down and write anyway, delete what I’ve written, start again, become dissatisfied and give up altogether.  I think perhaps I put too much pressure on myself to write long.  And by long, I don’t mean the length of time, rather the length of the piece.  It appears that I’m pretty good at flash fiction.  If only, I think, if only I could stretch out those 100 word pieces to thousands.  Driving in the car, I think well, I’m in my mid-forties…maybe I’ll have it together in my fifties – I’ve got plenty of time!

If I do, I do.  If not, well, at least I have two great kids, right?  That’s some wonderful creation right there.

I’m astonished that how day after day, week after week, I’m still surprised at the ebb and flow of life.  Of love.  Of feelings.  Of the past.  Monkeys occasionally jump on for a quick ride (sometimes the same terribly stupid monkey who won’t quit), sometimes I’m up and free of burden, sometimes I’m weighed down and sometimes, like this week, I’m treading water.  It’s probably a good thing to feel astonished because the alternative would be very boring.

At once, I’m feeling ironic.  Opposite.  Paradoxical.  This AND that.  Pushed and pulled.

I’ll keep myself buoyed with some disco. It reminds me of my little nine year-old world that came with this:

photo-of-old-portable-record-playerso that I could play and dance and sing to this.  All lip-syched and cheesy, perfect!