...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Mon. Aug. 23, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #13 - A house I'm sitting at, Pacific Street, Brooklyn

The kids, not mine, I haven't gone down "that" avenue yet, are playing Beatles Rock Band. I'm stealing time to write. Writing in front of people is something new for me. Maybe it's a newfound confidence, or determination to full-fill this "Morning Pages" requirement -- or maybe it's a leap of faith - because the kids haven't noticed I'm writing and I'm hoping they don't. It's funny in life, when you're doing what you want in life, like writing, but don't want others to notice. It's like I'd like to be a writer, but am tip-toeing through life hoping nobody notices.

Head rush - as I stretched, maybe it's the heat, maybe still related to lack of sleep -- but I slept well last night yet still feel like I'm sleep walking, presently sleep-writing, I guess. Anxious again with constant shifts, trying to get comfortable on this lime green couch -- gotta question the decision making by the parents on that one. Yeah, anxious again, or maybe it's because today my back hurts, gotta start stretching better before I choose to run at that expensive gym. That's why I was stretching in the first place and got that head rush. Also, I might be uncomfortable and anxious because I'm hoping the mother of the kids I'm looking after doesn't walk in and see me writing, tip-toeing, tip-toeing. How ridiculous, knowing she's a writer herself, the kid's safety secured. They're playing Beatles Rock Band too. Music can't get much safer than that. Where's the Wu-Tang version for Rock Band, or Public Enemy. The kids could being singing "Fuck the Police"...yeah, the mother's a writer, but probably doesn't want, and certainly didn't picture, the sitter writing that. Or, maybe the writer in her envisioned this very setting...below, her envisioning...and ramblin', aren't we all, mama?...

...kids singing Beatles, sitter on couch...yeah, I know it's lime green and I regret the decision, but lime couches, I've heard, ignite the imagination...for example, I'm guessing the sitter, while the kids Rock Out, will be writing about Public Enemy...I love their song "Fuck the Police"...which reminds me - fuck the police...they searched my bag on my way home yesterday...I saw it coming too as I walked down the stairs, their plastic folding table stared back at me...I saw the cops, you have too...and then, you make eye-contact and you start to think you did something wrong...so, you look away quickly so they don't think you did something...but then that makes you look suspicious...and they ask, "Ma'am, could we check your bag, please?"...Fuck the police...

With a mouth like that, I shouldn't worry about her catching me writing...she might understand, right?...

That above situation feels similar to mine. I know I'm doing nothing wrong, writing while the kids Rock Out, playing Rock Band, but there's something inside me not allowing me to relax. Again, it could be my lack of sleep over the past 4 plus years. Maybe it's my diet and lack of nutrition. Maybe it's back to my insecurity of letting people see me write. All these maybes, they all probably add up to my anxiousness and reason for feeling uncomfortable. Uncomfortable - yeah, I've joked before that I always feel uncomfortable. Not feeling uncomfortable actually makes me feel uncomfortable, resulting in feeling more uncomfortable, and no, there's no case of two negatives equaling a positive here. The kid's still haven't noticed I'm writing. They're either in the zone of Rocking Out (isn't it hard to to that when playing The Beatles?), or they couldn't care less about my existence. Kids can often give you this feeling. I mean, shit, I just slightly (yes, slightly) picked my nose and nobody noticed - quite an accomplishment, another addition to my resume that at this point is overflowing with accolades, it's not? I mean, I'm babysitting during the day at 28, so my plan for life must becoming to fruition ("tion", a suffix denoting action of some kind, add to "fruit", I must be throwing fruit or something, yeah, or something...you are what you throw, you're not?...)...

...I like what I'm getting at here...not in life, but with this writing. I'm going to move to the kitchen table to get more comfortable - which like I said, probably will make me feel more uncomfortable, trying to write and finish faster, hoping the mother doesn't see me in the other room writing, as maybe she'd see it as me not paying attention to the kids...let's see what happens...todaboconoma...

...The kids still haven't noticed I've moved my seat and I'm writing. I'm urged to check my phone, I cringe, but don't check. I'm just curious what time it is to see if it's close to the time the mother would be arriving home...but I refuse the urge. What an accomplishment (another one!) especially for someone from my generation. My generation -- This reminds me of The New York Times Magazine article I started reading earlier today when the kids were reading their summer required reading, waiting for friends to arrive. The article, What Is It About 20-Somethings? written by Robin Marantz Henig, is about how more and more 20-somethings are taking longer to grow up, they move back in with parents, don't settle down into relationships for long, and often move from place to place yearly. It's a trend, and a sign of the times changing. I knew this before the article though, my parents being married in their early 20s, my brother and I in our late 20s (he's 30 next month! holy shit burgers!), and not close to being married...although, I've been in a 1 year relationship that I don't see ending soon, but prior to this I never considered marriage in the near future...Again, I haven't finished the article, but it makes me think back to tip-toeing. Am I tip-toeing through life, ignoring the growing up thing, or just going along with the trend of my generation across this nation? There must be truth to both of those, I'm sure. But, at this point, I'd rather look at it from a writing stand point. Well, I've come to the conclusion that if I keep tip-toeing then nobody will ever recognize me, my writing. One day, I'll forget to be scared, and someone will catch me in the act, act of writing, among other things like picking my nose, maybe simultaneously...maybe...more maybes...drunk on maybes.

A couple pages ago, I wrote in the margin: "Nowhere Man" plays on the TV as the kids play Beatles Rock Band, reminding me of the first blog post I created back in 2007...still often feels that way.

(To view that first blog post, click here then scroll to bottom of page, post titled "Songs on Trains")