The Girl Under The Interstate

St. Patrick’s Day has been a way lot of fun, but has not left me in a very good condition to write. But I know there is only one thing worth writing at this moment.

On my way home from a rousing evening, I got stuck at a stoplight. Bored, I looked to my left. There was a young woman hunched between concrete slabs underneath the interstate. She was blonde, in shorts and flip flops and looking right at me. My windows were up.

The only thing I could think was that she must be thinking, “You will go home, park your car, get into your bed, and not think of me again.”

But she is still on my mind. I don’t know what she was doing out there, I don’t know her story, it’s too chilly for shorts and flip flops tonight, there is nothing I can do.

She’s still on my mind.

Image: Anthony Cronin

Being Grateful for the Everyday

“Any idiot can face a crisis. It’s day to day living that wears you out.” – Anton Chekhov

I get about 8 hours of sleep a night, I swear. Still, when I’m sitting at my desk I find myself pulling my eyelids apart with my fingers, quite literally. Sound familiar?

Why is it that people innately crave routine, but get so beaten down by it whenever they have it?

I remember being younger, in school and completely without stimulation, and begging the heavens to let something different happen, even something terrible. I just wanted something new to see, to feel, to live through. I still want that.

I have no idea how to do the day-to-day thing with enthusiasm, but today I had an idea that just might get help me get through part of it: Just wake up as someone else.

I’m in Your Corner, Tiger Woods

Warm, fluffy adjectives bounce right off me. If my loved ones or acquaintances had to describe me, “compassionate” would not be one of the first ten words out of their mouths. (I’m saved from looking like a complete heel because they all know I’m a sucker for furry, doe-eyed animals like puppies and ponies.)

Sunshine Party

We made it to Daylight Savings day! I’m posting on Sunday night because I need to celebrate all these good things that come with an extra hour of sunlight:

Semi-Homeless, or, Life in the Neighborhood, pt. 1.5

Continued from 3.9.10.

Being without the internet (I am not lame if I call it the internettle) and without most other conveniences was probably the most helpful push into nirvana, but sunset walks were how I maintained my nirvana during my half-homeless, hot-hot-hot summer.

Cheesy, sure, but hang on.

Semi-Homeless, Hot, and Unplugged

There was a summer in which I had no official home, sometimes lacked plumbing, and was never quite sure when I’d find a washing machine or internet connection. Best of all, I spent 100% of my off-work hours in steel-melting heat without air conditioning.

This was not camp. This was my regular life in the city, surrounded by regular clean people. But I don’t think I’ve ever felt more brilliant, more capable, more disciplined or more rested than I did in those months.

Life in the Neighborhood, pt. 1

I only know my neighbors by the time of day I feel their bass, or hear their truck engines start up outside. Their squeakings and stirrings through the ceiling and walls, the sound of their kids’ occasional cries. I know who lives alone because I seldom hear voices on the other side of that wall. But there are no names, and it’s uncanny how seldom I see their faces.

Still, there’s a community in my building. We don’t rap on the walls when someone’s being loud, but we’re not really that loud. We don’t tow each other away when our reserved parking spots get swiped for a night, or two. We may smile at somebody’s kid or dog, but not at each other.

It’s comfort at a distance.

The Redheaded Stepchild of Creativity

…just so happens to be the redheaded stepchild* of recovery?

In creative writing 101, they didn’t let us write genre fiction (i.e. detective stories, space wars, racy romance smut). In photography 101, they didn’t let us take pictures of flowers. When I worked at an animal shelter, they didn’t let us name dogs Duke or Sophie. Clichés are less likely to be read, looked at, and yes, less likely to be adopted (take that literally and otherwise).

I have closet clichéophilia. They make me cringe when I see them in published pieces, but in life, they’re my starting block.

Bare Bones: 23-Word Summaries

My current self in 23 words:

Wannabe at everything, but barely-am at most things. Addict just beginning recovery. When better, I will be an “am” at all those everythings.

Why I’m not yet naming my addiction in 23 words:

Irrelevance: I believe most addictions share similar qualities, so what is helpful for one – is helpful for them all. Okay, embarrassment too.

What I want in 23 words:

For you and for me: Full recovery, love and contentedness.
For me: Satisfaction with my work as a writer. (Plus some world travel).

Purpose of this blog in 23 words:

Practicing discipline, as well as understanding new medium for future career purposes. Once understood, hope to turn it into a creative writing wonderland.

• Completely Unrelated – Something else I’m indirectly about: 70s/80s experimental rock bands.