Secret Blog 13

I’m writing this on a Sunday night.  There are other things to do but I’m making this my priority.  In the previous entry I was beginning to wonder if perhaps these blogs might start to connect and turn into a story of some kind.  But I don’t think that’s going to happen.  The story would have been about blogging and dreaming.  You would think you were just reading blogs but suddenly you would get caught up in a whirlwind of drama and suspense about dreams.  

I went on another 3 mile walk today.  The heel on my shoe broke and dug into my ankle the whole time.  When I got home I took off my shoes and socks and the socks had a bit of blood on them.  I might need to get some new shoes.  These things are beat up (even beyond the heel area).

People at the park are weird.  There are a bunch of families walking around in groups and they go just a little slower than I’d like to go.  I had to wait behind a pack of people today.  Oh well.

There were a bunch of girls wearing black spandex out today.  I saw most of them from a distance so I was wary about deciding if they were attractive or not.  What happens is you see some girl and you think, “Whoa, she’s attractive!”  Then you get closer and she’s 15 and suddenly you feel like a creep.  Or she’s 60 and you don’t know what you feel like.  

So get close to a girl before you call her attractive..

I keep waking up in the afternoon and hearing this strange sound.  I still don’t know what it is.  It sounds like a c.b. radio repeating something somewhere down the street.  Every time I go outside to listen I can’t hear it anymore.  It stops like it knows I’m listening.  Or maybe it just stops.  

After I checked outside today I thought maybe it was happening inside my wall or maybe in the closet.  I don’t know.  It was bothering me though.  Stupid sound.

This is not the first interconnected series of blogs.  I did one a few months ago called Jeff Time.  I thought that name was so funny at first but after about the 20th entry I started to wonder if it made me sound too goofy.  Maybe it was okay.  I thought today that I enjoy having series’ of connected blogs.  And I also thought that it might be better to not name them.  Or to give them mysterious names like “Secret Blog”.  When you put a name on something you establish what that thing might be and sometimes it can be a handicap.  The less shape it has the more it can wander and right now that is a good thing for this blog I think.  I mean, babies all look the same at first, you know?  Hmm.. maybe people should wait a year before naming babies… (this argument has failed)

I am amazed by how much a writing project can change as it’s going.  I often have a very specific and clear vision in my mind of what I’m aiming towards and how to get there.  But then every time I sit down and try to make that thing I can’t for some reason.  My mind and inspiration wander and it feels wrong not to follow it.  A part of me thinks that it will eventually get back to what I was trying to do but that never really happens.  It leaves me wondering if I messed up and then I can’t decide if I like what the thing eventually became or not.  It always looks different from what I was dreaming up.  You have to make peace with that stuff.

Writing for me requires so much mental working.  I think I have a type of A.D.D.. Even if I lock myself in an empty room with a computer, or even just a pen and some paper, I will still find a way to get distracted and do something else.  I get surprised just with the fact that I put stuff down, even if that stuff is stupid to every other person on Earth.  I will feel so proud of myself.  I mean, I really don’t have much of a standard for the writing after it actually happens.  I could write the word “word” over and over again and feel like a complete success.  I’d sleep well that night and I’d feel completely cool with telling people that I’m a writer.  

I am also amazed by how infinitely boring writing is.  I think I could write a whole book about how much boredom is required to write (I might be doing that right now).  The thing is that writing is an illusion.  The reader reads the page and their mind goes off wherever it goes.  But that stuff they are reading had to be thought up and put someplace readable!  And that is a BIG DEAL, man!  

(I can’t think of anything to say right now.  I gotta’ figure this out.  My brain is so empty but I’ve gotta’ keep going.  I’ve gotta’______.  My mouth is open right now but nothing is coming out.  Just breath.  Nothing of shape or literary value.  Dang.)

I don’t cuss when I write and the reason is because I respect my dad and cussing bothers him.  That’s the only reason.  If I had a different Dad I would probably have a filthy mouth.  I have a filthy imaginary mouth.  I do cuss in my mind.  But it gets edited out by the time I talk or type most of the time.  So if you are glad that I have mostly clean material then don’t thank me but my good dad.

Bye.

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