Friday, March 21, 2008

Free associating (or the underlying theme is lost on me)

It's midnight on a Thursday masquerading as a Friday and I'm restless.

There's seemingly something on my mind, yet I'm not too sure what it is. Though I just had a lovely movie night with a friend, and now I have a wide open long weekend ahead of me, I feel ill at ease. 

As though there is something I'm forgetting. 

And I know the few things I have to do cannot really be responsible for this state of mind. With all my practice at balancing life, tightropes don't seem so scary anymore.

A sink full of dishes and a few papers is hardly worth ruminating over. But, still, my head cycles around, like a hamster in a wheel, looking for that mysterious finish line.

A wise man told me that I should let the inspiration come to me, that ideas will just flow. 
And so I keep my fingers moving. 

My own version of free association.

I think back to random events of the day. 
How everything has been mysteriously smelling of toast, which urban legend tells me means I have been on the verge of a stroke for a week. 
How desperately the woman standing beside me on the bus clung to her partner, while he limply held his arms to his side. 
How the man on the train spoke all too nonchalantly of mice in his bed. 
How different the rain sounds when you can't hear it on the roof, only through the window.

I think I think too much sometimes.
I sometimes get a little envious of how serene ignorance must be.
How delightful it must be to just stare at the TV for a few hours, and just let it all seep in through your pores, carefree. More than an couple hours on the couch, and I feel unsettled, as though I am wasting my time, and need to get up, shake out the monotony.

The odd thing is, even though I've said nothing, had no epiphany, something about my fingers on the keys has quieted me down a little. As though the process of formally transferring phrases from my mind to the screen, as meaningless as they may be, clears out a little space, which is quickly filled with a wave of drowsiness.

Yawning is like a delicious little surrender. 


Anonymous said...

I absolutely hate that feeling of something needing to be done but you can't figure out what. I feel like I go through it every day.

Half-Past Kissin' Time said...

And in your case, the kind of surrender that leaves you with everything to gain and nothing to lose! :) Glad you worked it out.

cdp said...

Oh, I love that line about yawning.

And this one? "With all my practice at balancing life, tightropes don't seem so scary anymore" - Feels like you looked inside my soul and read aloud. I so know that feeling, sister girl, and what an incredible metaphor.

You? Rock. You so totally rock. This was awesome.

Anonymous said...

i thoroughly enjoyed your free association :) i think i might have to try this some time

Deutlich said...

I often think too much too.


I think too much all the time. Friends catch me zoning out more often than not. I hate when that happens.. because they always feel the need to ask what's wrong and I never feel comfortable enough actually telling them.


Pippi said...

I'm hung up on the mental image of the clingy girl and uncaring guy. Probably just my state of mind right now. Everything smelling of toast? Ew. :(

Anonymous said...

i get like that too...restless, as though i need to accommplish something worthwhile! i echo cdp's sentiments about that line. LOVE.

Surfergrrl said...

how sad is it that I'm so tired I can't think of one clever or interesting thing to say. I just wanted to leave you a comment. :)

eric1313 said...

And this is all one can hope for from inspiration. A small collection of potent thoughts, strung together and building towards an apex: even in the midst of doubt, when you put in an honest try at writing, as with most other things, you will be rewarded.

And in this case, the reward was a gorgeous closing line and a mind put to ease.

Yeah, you missed me by about twenty minutes last night. I had to crash. Kinda had a flu-type bug last night and the night before. It bordered on the horendous.

Hope all is well in the Princess's realm today. Enjoy that long weekend and I'll talk to you when I get a chance. I'll be playing some Texas Hold'em later on tonight (my newest vice, argh...), so I may or may not be on line.

Ant said...

I think your toaster is broken.

To yawn is to be weak. It signifies the limitations of this feeble carcass we call a human body, and makes me despair for the lack of hours in a day.

However, I am certain it can be overcome with stimulants and the photosynthesis of large quantities of sunlight - though this might result in a vague aroma of bread-based products following you around.

*Head hits keyboard*


Larissa said...

I hope you have a weekend filled with peace, serenity and contentment.


ana said...

You are lucky yawning comes so easily to you. There is something about the dark hour that makes us feel more human than we would like to. Morning restores the peace. Or at the least gets you up and occupied. Hope you feel rested. Have a calming weekend.

Katelin said...

"Yawning is like a delicious little surrender. " Love this line.

brookem said...

I am so glad to hear that you have some free time ahead of you this weekend. I know you've had a really full plate as of late. Enjoy it, dear friend!

And, I'm sorry to my lack of commenting here. I'm reading though, and yours is one of my most favorite blogs... so I'm around, just a little more in the background lately.

Happy Weekend!

A Margarita said...

Even when you're just rambling, you make it sound like poetry.

lfar said...

a Thursday masquerading as a Friday


Anonymous said...

TV and tylenol PM. Works wonders. Sometimes.

I'm with CDP though - the line about yawning is such delicious surrender? I'm excited about yawning tonight.

Though my boss likes to tell me yawning means there's not enough oxygen in the brain. And today was...busy! So no disembowling today! (It may not be the proper verb, but I'm tired, so hush.)

eric1313 said...

How's that weekend going?

Palm Springs Savant said...

hey there...nice blog! new visitor and wanted to say hi.

Chelsea Talks Smack said...

Yawning is like...amini mini, MINI orgasm. Love it.

Anonymous said...

I know what you mean. Oh BOY, do I know what you mean. It doesn't matter that nothing was actually said. It doesn't matter that you more or less wrote about how you had nothing to write about (Me, not you)

Just the fact that you released some pressure that was building up in your busy mind. I feel you, girl.
Also, this made me tired. It was like a mini-meditation. :-) Though I'm not sure why.

Tina Vaziri said...

I hate that feeling, puts me in the worst of moods, though you wrote about it more beautifully than I could have ever imagined.

Yoda said...

I love to yawn and rub my eyes at the same time. You should try it, its heavenly calm :-)

And yes, you "think you think too much"? Clearly, yes :-p

Lisa said...

I loved this. You have a way with words, love. Beautiful read.

eric1313 said...

Hey, you! I was about to turn in, but I ran across this poem earlier and it expresses so much sentiment about writing vs the demands of the real world that I had to put it on my sidebar.

Then I thought of people to share it with and your name flew out of the hat. Trust me, it really is good.

Oh, and read "All My Friends Are Going to be Strangers" if and when you get the chance! If you think I have a good handle on strong women characters, you should see his writing. I know, I know, I've recommended it before, but hey, popped into mind and it only takes a few seconds to type.

You know me... diarrhea of the keyboard.

Your Dog Dies
--Raymond Carver

it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter
because it was her pet,
and she loved it so.
she used to croon to it
and let it sleep in her bed.
you write a poem about it.
you call it a poem for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you're almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you'd never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you're writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and your heart stops.

after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.

you wonder how long this can go on

Therapeutic Ramblings said...

I compose or shoot photography when I don't don't where my head is at.