Monday, December 6, 2010

Contrarily confused cognition

Monday morning seems to work better for blogging. I get up hours before I need to be anywhere and I sit and stare at my computer screen, thinking about nothing. I can't say why, but I do desperately hate getting up and rushing, woken by a blaring alarm clock and pushed about by the crazy urge that if I don't rush, I'll be late. Slow suits me. And, I have time to post these erstwhile updates about this existence of mine.

I was very excited yesterday when I realized how one of my book series would end. I hate admitting that I was writing while not knowing every last single detail of the story, even more so that I was honestly writing while thinking that it would just come to me. It did, but that doesn't necessarily feel like my assumption was laudable. It also turns out that thinking of things I'm not currently working on isn't so bad so long as shortly after I jump right back into what I am working on. I've worked through my mini-outline and will be starting chapter 9 soon.

In jest, I told a friend of mine that he'd have to complete all of my works in the advent that I die suddenly and soon. I showed him notes, and he looked at them oddly. Empathizing a bit, I realized what he was actually looking at was a pile of scratch paper and napkins and flyers with something a lot like jibberish written on them, arrows pointing from certain bits to other certain other bits. It had never occurred to me to write the stuff down in code, so I guess I assumed it would be perfectly literate to anyone else.

Speaking of confusion, I dreamed a few weeks ago. Dreamed vividly, so much so that I was able to recall it almost perfectly and even tell it to other people. Everyone has since told me to write it down, so of course I refused. There were blue skies and a mirrored terrain and a steep incline I was trying to climb with poor footing. Once, briefly, I even saw myself and I was made of the same stuff as the land, smooth reflective surfaces turning the sky into my skin. There were other things, but I hesitate to write them down. Perhaps one day I will understand what it all means.

I got an email from an editor on the sports blog I've been dabbling in. I couldn't be sure if it was a blanket gesture given to all knew writers or if he actually found something unique and appreciable in me, but there was mention of a program whereupon I could work towards more exposure via becoming a featured writer. Perhaps something will come of that. I said I was interested, but have received no other word.

This week is the last week of the year at the school where I work, and I feel blessed. This semester has been harsh, and has reminded my co-workers of something they simply call "the beginning," an event that makes them shudder and rock back and forth. I'm glad to have survived it without too many break downs. Perhaps it means I've grown. I never did take that standardized test, nor did I apply for grad school. In retrospect, I feel almost like I always knew I wouldn't do those things, at least this year.

I have to squint in thought to imagine what progress I made this year. Maybe that means I've come far.

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