Too Much

Lately I've been having this unpleasant feeling a lot like the world just has too much in it for me to handle. I assume this is what feeling overwhelmed is. Though there is no way I do enough in my dull little life that I should feel overwhelmed. So what can I do to get rid of this? I already live pretty simply, I think. I mean, I own a lot of junk, but it fits into no more than 2 rooms. I don't own a home. I don't even rent an apartment. I do own a car, but it's a very simple, compact car. So what's the problem? I'm mentally fatigued by the world instead of excited by possibilities or brimming with creative ideas. What's wrong with me?

Oh, and not that this is related, but my story that I submitted to the Kenyon Review contest way back when was not among the finalists...they received 750 submissions, so I guess I can't be too sad. I know I need to just keep at writing, too. It's hard to win contests when you only write one thing per year. :-/

Anyway, whew...I feel tense. :-( I need to create something new for myself.

A Writing...

I was just sifting through the "Personal" folder I have here on my work computer and found this little bit I apparently wrote last summer while bored; It's not great, but I like certain aspects of it:

One tree across the street from my office window, the one nearest the corner by the vacant, grassy lot, is clearly dying. Its scant leaves all yellow and brown misshapes (on the few branches that aren’t completely bare) appear especially dreadful when compared to the rest of the trees along the block (with their robust green foliage despite their scrawnier trunks). I mourn the corner tree, but more I wonder what could have happened to ruin it. It bears no outward damage – no bark stripped away by bored teenage vandals or roots exposed by carelessly operated vehicles. The small bed at this maple’s base is freshly mulched, in fact, thanks to the neighborhood improvement agency’s hard work. Yet the tree doesn’t thrive. Is it the exhaust from idling southbound buses waiting at the intersection for the light to change or that of big rig trucks laboring to turn left around the corner? Perhaps it’s just not a city tree. Should have been planted in the country or as an example of its kind in an arboretum… Like me? I wither and waste in the city all day long performing menial labor for paltry pay; standing idly by while others wring their hands and fret over spreadsheets of numbers and network connection speeds and errors in newspaper articles published yesterday. I nod at appropriate times, take notes, appear diligent and dutiful – yet I lose a little of my spirit with each passing day. Will this begin to show on my face? And if so, how soon?

Facebook

So, I'm worried that Facebook is making me stupid. The sheer amount of terrible writing on there is kind of a nasty shock to my system every time I sign on, which is often because my job is the dullest job there is. I hate to say it, but I might have to go on a Facebook vacation to see if a few of my brain cells redevelop.

Something

Well, I went and did it; I entered the Kenyon Review Short Fiction Contest for young writers. I don't have very lofty hopes, seeing as I called my story "Shadows in Spring." It's a snippet from the November novel that deals with the protagonist's mother's death...not too melodramatically, (I promise). Anyway, I'm tired and my left eye hurts from an unfortunate meeting with some shampoo this morning, so I'm hitting the bed. Just wanted to note that I finally did something writer-y. :-)

Slow is me

So, I decided that I should try to figure out Twitter. I started playing with it a few weeks ago with a profile called MyQuotableMom where I post "mom quotes." My mother is famous for saying bizarre things, and I kind of wanted to ride that wave with the guy that writes things his dad says. Anyway, I'm not serious about it, I just kind of wanted to check out this phenomenon everyone is so obsessed with. I mean, I think about 40% of conversations at work relate to Twitter and "social media" these days, so I got curious. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about Twitter, but whatever. And I know...I'm slow to catch on -- I mean, I'm still using two spaces after a period when I type (which does not work well with Twitter, by the way...it really eats up the 140 characters)!

After a little while of getting comfortable with the idea of MyQuotableMom, I decided to set up a profile to connect with this blog. Granted, just about no one reads this blog (or the new associated Twitter page), but I wanted to feel like I'm self-promoting. Hahaha. So now I just need to figure out how Twitter works; it seems kind of complicated. Come "follow" me!

Poetry?

I wrote some words just now that might be interpreted as a poem of some sort (maybe?). Here it is:

The sky is blue-gray watercolor clouds;
the grass in the lot across the street from my window is dressed in its winter brown camouflage…
people drift by on the sidewalks wearing too much clothing on their ways to the post office and the market.
With dry lips and aching head, I watch the scene, dreaming of brighter days.

So...kind of cliche-y and uninteresting, but it came to me in a minute of staring out of my office window and being uninspired by the typical Central PA winter drab out there (all bare trees and muddy colors). It's Friday and I'm tired and dehydrated (probably shouldn't be drinking this coffee to wake up).

Boss is away, so I think I'll time-thief a little and try to work on a short story. Maybe something to share later? (But probably not). Blah.

What it is that is up

So, no progress on the short story as yet. I did spend some time today looking at a short story idea generator on the internets, which told me that the theme should be weakness, the setting should be a post office, and the story should somehow involve a silk scarf. Maybe I'll give it go. Haha.

Anyway, I also wanted to make a short note on my feelings about keeping a journal. To quote Mr. Horse from the original Ren & Stimpy series, "No sir, I don't like it." I've been trying to write a bit at the end of each day in an effort to chronicle my final year (or, with any luck, months) living in my parents' house as an adult person. I find, though, that it's mostly complaints about how my dad is sleeping in front of the tv, which is blasting police chase shows or how my mom is clomping up the stairs to see what I'm doing. And really, these events occur so often that I shan't soon forget upon moving out. What I don't want to forget are all the little details that might contribute atmosphere or depth to possible future projects. Maybe I'm nutso, but I feel like the fact that my brother's room collects all the dishware in the house (and the rest of us have to sneak in when he's away and retrieve it) or the series of "cat pee incidents" (in which my mom's idiot cat pees on shoes and towels mistakenly left around) are poignant. Like I said...maybe I'm nutso. But that's what's up.