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I am a cliche you’ve seen before

7 May

I am a cliche you’ve seen before

The Southern Gentleman and I were eating somewhere the other day. I can’t remember where, because lately I can’t remember details too well. I blame my 10+ hours of internet each day and its nonstop flow of information demanding to be evaluated, filtered, parsed, tossed away. Too much for the mind. Anyway, the setting isn’t as important as this moment is:

We were talking about our respective birthdays — coincidentally, the same number of days and years apart — and how growing older means grasping new things and letting go of other ones. “I used to be a writer,” I lamented, and I meant it. I tried to remember the last time I’d written something strictly creative, or the last time I saw a byline on paper. I didn’t even try to remember the last time I’d gotten lost in the act of writing. It’s been months. Maybe a year. Maybe more.

Writers write, as they say, but lately I don’t write. I work, I cook, I clean, I occasionally and happily read. I don’t write, though. And writing is something I always did, even when I was three years old. Without it, I don’t really know what to do. Or maybe the things I want to write about are too personal, or maybe you don’t want to read about how much I still miss my father, or maybe — with the noted exception of feeling like a failed writer — I’m happy with my life and just want to sit back and enjoy that rather than work, work, work. (Writing is work.)

“You’re still a writer,” the Gent said, because he loves me.

In unrelated and seemingly (seemingly!) contradictory news, I’ve started a travel website as a hobby. I did it mostly because I spent 100+ days traveling last year, and all of those pictures had to go somewhere. I call it The Website That Nobody Reads, but officially, its title rips off a Joy Division lyric: Admiring Distance. So there you go.

A few good eggs

18 Oct

A few good eggs

If you think about eggs for a while, you have to admit: Eggs are creepy. Or at least eating them is creepy. Basically, you’re eating what would have turned into a cute, fluffy little chick. And then I feel guilty because some poor hen has spent a considerable amount of time and energy creating a pile of eggs, and just as she’s about to settle in with them, someone swoops in to snatch her clutch. All so I can have breakfast! (more…)

Heavy vegetable

7 Jul

Heavy vegetable

Longtime readers (hi T, P, C!) know that when it comes to being suave, few people can top my smooth operatin’. Examples: this, this, this, this, and this. And now, a new entry in the annals of awesomeness: (more…)

Breaking, entering

23 Jun

Breaking, entering

On the second morning in Florence, I woke to an e-mail from Craig. The subject: meg and cats ok but yikes

Yikes indeed. Craig went on to explain that some crook had burgled our house in the middle of the day. The burglar lifted much of Meg’s camera equipment, her laptop, and some of her grandmother’s jewelry; they weren’t sure which things were stolen from my room. I was concerned about only one thing, a sentimental piece of jewelry. Somehow, the thief overlooked it and instead stole some costume jewelry from Avon. He got my laptop, too, but it had just broken. Sucker. (more…)

Unsolicited commentary

6 Jun

Unsolicited commentary

A few years ago, I was at the Job Club cafeteria. The first rule of Job Club, if you’ll remember, is that you don’t talk about Job Club, lest its lawyers whip out the lifelong confidentiality agreement you signed as a condition of accepting a position there. So I will be vague in revealing the details of this story.

Anyway, I was carrying a plate stacked Jenga-style with fruit and two croissants — and not the dinky fist-sized kind, but two whoppers. (Insert croissan’wich joke here.) The boss of Job Club happened to be in the cafeteria on her way to her office, where she would be making my yearly salary in about an hour. Even now, people ask what Boss Lady was like, and I always tell the truth: She is just like she is on television. Maybe a bit funnier. (more…)