A double-feature - TWO new entries posted on ONE day.
This morning I woke up with Heart in my head singing "Theeeeeeese DREAMS, go on when I close my eeey-eee-eeey-eyes." Why such a punishment?
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Last Sunday I got sucked into not one, but two bad Lifetime movies.
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This morning I also woke up thinking: I am so bored with my Self.
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c. laughing the other day: "I knew you didn't want to be a landscape architect when you decided to go to grad school. [back in 2000]"
me: "But I didn't KNOW I didn't want to be a landscape architect."
c., grinning: "I know, but... Sometimes you're just. So stubborn."
me: "But I was interested in design. And I was interested in urban planning. And I wanted to know more about plants, and I was interested in park design." Definitively, "And I'm still glad I did it." [Even though the experience also verged on mental abuse.]
[And if you read my other post for today, you'll see that I should be glad. But. I am more glad that I'm finally going to get my MFA in fiction, and presumably, write fiction. For a living. -along with whatever freelance scraps I can get.]
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The other day we got snoballs at a snoball stand down the street. I sat on my porch swing and gulped it down through the straw. It gave me the greatest pleasure. Things I love about south Louisiana #493,000: Snowball stands. #493,001: Porch swings.
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I have a tiny tattoo that I got when I was nineteen. I’ve always regretted that I didn’t get it on the spot I really wanted to have it on – my shoulder blade. But at the time, I was afraid my parents would think I was a heroine addict or whatever other tragically frightening things they could imagine. So I got it where I could keep it hidden. And now I'm glad that it's not a tattoo that everyone can see. It's kind of lame and it's badly executed.
Lately, I’ve wanted a new tattoo – on my shoulder blade. I’ve been thinking of a heron in flight. Or a purple deep iris. Something that reminds me of being tied to water and earth, swamps, and also tied to growing toward the sky.
At the same time, I’d like to remove my old tattoo – what c. calls “monkeys swinging from a chandelier.” It’s just a flower with little vines coming out around its edges. I took the image off of some Indian embroidery work on fabric my mom had sewn into a change purse for me. I’ve still got the change purse. Do I need the old tattoo?
For that matter, do I need the new tattoo? I'm pondering.
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I fantasize about having the arms of Penelope Cruz. I'm going to work on it this summer.
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Editing the blog. A question for you people out there. How do you feel about blog editing? Should I leave it alone – keep the good the bad and the ugly up for all to see, or should I remove posts that aren’t so good?
The chronological, orderly, sentimental part of me thinks I should leave it alone and let it demonstrate my growth/evolution as a writer and as a human being. And let it be a true journal. The future writer in me thinks I should weed it out like a garden, and keep up only what I’d want a potential editor/agent/publisher to see.
Your thoughts??? I invite them.
SONG: What Goes On, The Beatles
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