I wrote a post earlier today (no! I did not lose it this time!) comparing writing to the performing arts but for the life of me I couldn’t choreograph the language in any way that worked and so I chose not to post it, and now I find myself near the end of the day without having blogged, and so I’m thankfully falling back on the everything in betweenedness I’ve allowed myself on this blog and posting an idea I had while walking to my car on the way to a late-afternoon interview. So here we go, 15 confessions in ten minutes or less, and maybe poem number six. It’s 4:05 currently.
(1.) This morning I accidently ran the air conditioner in my car while the window was down, contributing for probably ten minutes to the melting of the ice caps and the drowning of Polar Bears.
(2.) I blog during work, not because I don’t respect my job but because I believe it keeps me sane.
(3.) I’m going to aerobics after work but only because it might help me lose weight and look attractive and NOT because it’s good for my health.
(4.) I didn’t know what a garlic press was until my friend Anne used one Friday night
(5.) which made me realize I’m really a grown up now, and I need to learn to do things like zest lemons and press garlic and make icing from scratch. It’s time.
(6.) I’m almost thirty and I keep wondering when my desire to stay out late with friends over cocktails will end, but so far it hasn’t. I might be stuck forever around the age of 21.
(7.) I don’t use eye cream or special eye make up remover and often I forget to use any sort of facial cream at all, which has all led to
(8.) a new wrinkle cutting down my cheek, which startled me in the women’s room today and took up probably an hour of my thoughts throughout the day
(9.) when I probably should have been meeting any of a dozen different work deadlines, but, you know, I felt a little traumatized.
(10.) I drive a foreign-made car, which everybody around here refers to as a rice-burner, and I have trouble deciding where my loyalty should first rest – to my little family, with a car we can afford, or to Detroit and AMERICA, and I should trade my affordable car in for a Detroit model, or to the environment – my car gets amazing gas mileage –
(11.) I’m writing fiction and it worries me because it seems to be affecting my mood, it seems to take more out of me emotionally and physically than non-fiction does,
(12.) But I do NOT want to be one of those woe-is-me writers, always talking about her work, even though
(13.) it’s primarily what interests me right now, that and Jill Carrol’s 11 piece series on her kidnapping and torture that’s running in the local papers.
(14.) It’s taken me all summer to read War and Remembrance
(15.) I woke up tired this morning, but I never know if I’m supposed to listen to my body and rest or if I’m just being wimpy for no particular reason.
Okay, so, a bit of a lackluster post for the day, but fortunately there is time to redeem myself with a poem from a poet I went to school with, Jonathan Moody, who when he reads his poetry aloud proves time and time again that sometimes all we need is the marriage of rhythm and words to move this world forward.
I believe there are only two truly regal women
in this world, my mother and Bessie Smith.
—The Prince of Wales
You don’t have to open
your mouth to let us know
you’re on stage. But tonight,
in Baltimore, you do, & for
that I’m grateful. Still singing,
you pull me from my seat,
grab me by the hand, &
walk backwards —staring
straight into my eyes.
I follow you, Bessie, the way
a worm follows a blue
goose, or the bed-sheet’s
lilting shadow. We dance
against canvas backdrops
of magnolia & incongruous
moons; our shoes, setting
fire to the ramshackle cabin.