On Monday of this past week, I found the moon. It was fat, full, gluttonous, and bright. I have a picture to prove it.
I have another resolution for this relatively new year: to be as artistic in possible in all that I do.
I deposited my second royalty check – $23.22. From October 29th to December 31st, I have made $95.40. I am not, and have never been, a “numbers person.” I am not sure if this means I am doing well, average, or poor. All I know is that I want to keep writing, and I suppose that is the most important thing. I did little to no writing this week, which is possibly why this blog post is so scattered and superficial.
I am convinced that in a former life, I was happily married to Ricky Ricardo.
Running in the wind is romantic and freeing. Running in the wind and the rain is stupid.
There is a dry, red, and raw patch of skin on my hand between my thumb and pointer finger. When I stick the cap on the opposite end of the pen, the plastic irritates the area. I have icky winter skin. I am over the cold, bitter weather.
I am sick of being tired.
I am envious of Winona Ryder – or at least her hair, especially when it is short. I remember feeling similarly after seeing, “Girl, Interrupted.” I watched “Reality Bites.” I liked the tone of it and I do sincerely miss the 1990s somewhat. I really am a fan of the earthy, sloppy fashion that was considered chic. I would like to bring that style back, but am unsure if I would be able to do so single-handedly, and am equally unsure if there would even be any other willing participants; I might have no other choice than to embark on a lone wolf fashion revolution. Either way, I am going to dress and style my hair accordingly – I am excited to buy new clothes once I lose the weight. Manufacturers really do not make fashionable habiliments for larger people.
I am mostly excited for Spring Break and vacation in Florida. I called my Aunt Kim tonight and squared away the details. Dad and his friend Andy fitted my car with new struts and fixed a leak that had to do with the transmission. I am constantly making a mental list of what I want to do before leaving. Lately, the trip has been all that I have been thinking about. I do not mind going alone, but Mom is thinking about coming along, and that does not upset me at all.
Sometimes, when I wash my face, I make the water too hot and steam rises up from the sink basin in the bathroom, and the water burns my hands, and opens my pores so wide that they sizzle. Once I was worried because for a brief moment, I could not get the cold tap to turn. Eventually I did, and it made me think of that scene from “My Cousin Vinny” when Marissa Tomei and Joe Pesci are ironically analyzing the dripping faucet that is off-screen as litigators would in court. Then I wonder how a casting director could match Pesci with Tomei (or vice versa). I worry that such wondering makes me shallow. Am I shallow? Am I a bad person?
What if I do not find romance after my teeth are straightened and after I’ve lost the weight? Will I have to conclude the defect is not my physical appearance, but in my personality, my very being?
I am going to take up painting this summer.
I need to write.
My last baby tooth, which never fell out, was pulled on the last day of February. So long, Little Mandi. The very last tangible remnant of my childhood was violently yanked from me. It was for the best – it was causing an infection and discoloration – but I was sad to see it go. I am reluctant to grow up and relinquish my sometimes irrational passions, and I am unwilling compromise between responsibility and desire; I don’t wanna. But then again, I am getting braces. Maybe it all works out and I will never have to escape my adolescence.
The way to blast blubber this week was to give up extreme thinking. I set a realistic goal of losing two pounds, and I lost 1.8 pounds; just two ounces shy. I have lost 18 pounds total since beginning dieting and exercising and I am getting closer to my goal. Chipping away little by little is okay; I am seeing results without being perfect or extreme, and that is both a very important and difficult lesson to learn.
Today was long day. I taught, stayed after, and did three hours of home instruction. I am definitely exhausted, and am most certainly looking forward to crashing and burning.
I was a little upset I wasn’t able to go for a walk today, but congratulated myself for not overeating. I treated myself to a tablespoon of chocolate syrup in my coffee – an activity which is highly recommended.
I cannot stop listening to Phillip Phillips. He’s a contestant on American Idol. I think he’s devastatingly handsome and his voice is incredibly alluring and sexy. It makes me long for a romantic relationship moreso than I already do. In working on today’s prompt, I soon realized that absolutely everything I write essentially boils down to that one desire. I do not necessarily think there’s anything wrong in doing so, but I do hope to live a life filled with varied experiences so my writing can vary accordingly. I don’t want to become a broken record, and as much as I enjoy being restless, I do not want to remain unfulfilled in any regard.
PROMPT: Thankful I’m a Writer Finish this sentence: I’m thankful I’m a writer because …
I’m thankful I’m a writer because I relish the fact that it is both a blessing and a curse. I love duality and contradiction because I believe that power and universality lies within the abstract. Being a writer allows me to search for such power in my own life, and thereby allows me to feel things more poignantly because I subscribe specific meaning to every blessed detail of my life. If that makes me pretentious or self-righteous, then so be it. Being a writer simultaneously scorches and soothes – every set back is a catastrophe and every joy is a major triumph. I used to worry that such exhilarating highs and devastating lows were evidence of manic behavior and it’s a definite possibility that I am crazy, but so what? Being a writer has freed me; I am unashamed. We are only here once. If we lose a day, we never ever get it back.
I believe that being a writer has completely informed and shaped my philosophy on life – I have been heavily influenced by practically everything I’ve read and thereby firmly believe that my life has a plot and accompanying themes, that I am the protagonist and that my friends, relations, loved ones, acquaintances, and enemies are characters. It all has an important meaning, so I think and think and think. I am constantly analyzing while that may also mean I am constantly anxious and stressed, it also just goes to show that I care, and that I care deeply about everyone who comes into my life. I highly value connections – how can that possibly be a bad thing? Life has a special inherent value that is meant to be indulged and shared. My belief system, which stems from being a writer, allows me to detect, analyze, and ascertain life in an extremely vivid and engaging way. As a writer, it’s almost as if I’m more involved in life; like I have a greater emotional investment because everything matters. Everything means something, and I communicate that through the written word. I report back and hopefully inspire – I offer up my dreams, my heartaches, and my desires so that others may live theirs, even if it is vicariously. Writing is a community – we all share our wildest dreams, worst fears, and grandest desires and from that we dream bigger and learn that everything has value, that symbolism could be lurking anywhere and that we have something worth sharing.