Crap on Scraps
Monday, 15 December 2008 16:22
I have a stack of pages with my scrawl on them.
Poems, observations, complaints and ideas.
I've started typing them, but there's such a backlog I'm afraid I'll never have time to finish. You see I keep finding other scraps of paper to write on, so it's a task like painting the Golden Gate Bridge; once done I must begin again as the beginning's now the end. Sisyphean.
The writing's a neurosis. Hypergraphia.
The desire to blog it is something else.
Last night I was exhausted from a weekend of fun. We had people over. I made my Jammin' Clam & Salmon Cioppino. It snowed. We built a snow fort. In short, I hadn't a moment to write crap like this. So, even though I was exhausted (fell asleep in front of the fire at 8:15) once I'd lifted my fat sack of bones off the couch, brushed my teeth and laid down in bed, the thoughts racing in my head kept me awake.
I had to find a pen and scribble notes on a scrap of paper:
"Compulsion - Documenting"
"Guy with Writing Disorder" (This note referred to Robert Shields who I'd read about once. Am now uncertain whether it's good or bad that Google enables me to find these flimsy memories).
"Why take pictures? The moment. Writing about the moment. History - Memory - Reality." (This is a 4,000 word post. I'll write it tonight when I can't sleep).
"Fulan Gong - PR" (See Attack of the Flak for more on this).
This gets me back to the beginning, the thing running through my brain since the Do the Little Things post, which is a "Do the Big Things" post, which I'll do as soon as I clean up the kitchen and take my medication.