Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)Sun. Aug. 29, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #19 - Barnes and Noble, Park Slope, Brooklyn
I started today's journey, the quest to full-fill today's "Morning Pages" requirement, by getting a coffee. I didn't take a sip until I got to the train platform, and put on my headphones so I didn't have to hear everyone else's bullshit tune. "Finally," said the coffee, as I took a sip, tasted it, then closed my eyes, tilting my head slightly up and back, like all my problems have now been solved from a sip of coffee. Some would argue that an insomniac drinking coffee adds to the problem -- but fuck those people. However, many people are part of this scene every morning, you know, that commercial, don't remember the company name, no advertisements here, but the - "don't talk to me before I take my first sip of coffee in the morning"...I'll add to that, for you specifically, you don't talk to me before, and after, my first sip of coffee. I did this this (the double this) morning, as I mentioned, taking that first sip -- like that sip did anything, but for some reason it provides a solace. It reminds me again of the anxiety of waiting for the train. It's like seeing that train coming is reassurance for what's coming, or what we want to be coming, in our lives...the train's here, I can breathe, I've sipped my first sip of coffee, I can breathe -- but unlike that commercial, I still don't want you to talk to me...And, I know you begged to talk to me - because I scream great conversation, I don't?, you didn't? Phone click - forget to check time, but few, I'm relieved...and now can move on with my day...and it is my day...I own it...
In the margin I jotted: William Nickelson? Secret Intensity of Everyday Life in fiction bookcase staring at my left ear, I've got an attractive left ear, the right, sub-par, saving up for surgery...but, Garrett...you don't need, but, but, fuck you...
Yup, that's what I wrote in the margin, and William Nickelson is followed by a question mark because I couldn't see the name on that book 100 percent...we'll find out at a later date if he is the author...
I don't remember this crap as a kid, this quest to relieve anxiety with things that don't relieve anything (shit), things that more than likely add to the anxiety...maybe that's because my childhood was so easy, picture perfect, and that's not because my pictures were perfect, so handsome, etc., stop the compliments (your giving yourself, Garrett)...
In the margins I jotted again: Maybe we should still have recess for real - some dodge ball would provide an opportunity to hit that Dick, you know, from accounting, hitting him in the face could make a day go by more smoothly...maybe more so than coffee, maybe...
I think this plays into the reason we, or maybe I'm the only one momma!...reason we, or I have a feeling that there's always something greater to be doing than what I'm presently doing - that's often our mind frame, but might be furthest from the truth. I have a vision for my future, I'm sure you do too - but your vision for your future sucks!...No, but, you have one for yourself (it still sucks!), but all this anxiety doesn't allow us to live in the present, leading to more anxiety and crap (shit) like fights with loved ones for no reason, or leads to, possibly, sleeping problems, etc, that leads to writing like this, etc. I guess that's part of what this writing is - simply living in the moment, and of course, as I stare at the ceiling like the answers to my my unknown future are up there. God just threw up his hands like, "Dude, I have got no clue"...Fist pound with God, yeah me too, me too...
...
I need an endless supply of pillows, one for each of my thoughts...to take a nap on...
...
I can't figure out how to conclude this yet...but why do we do this to ourselves? When I do figure out how to conclude, I will blog it for sure...and then solve the Middle East conflicts, next on my list. My bones are rattling to finish this "Morning Pages". I want to write, be a writer, but often while doing it, I feel shaky, maybe from lack of sleep, maybe from today not eating much and drinking that coffee...maybes piling up, overflowing, making me question, do I really have a college degree? Some say, you never know, you never know - then what's my degree about?...ok, maybe you're right - I don't know...anxiety piling up, making me lose focus, instead of writing and concentrating, I'm writing about losing concentration, and now I get ornery and cynical of others, like...fuck that guy in an Armani T-shirt, pansy!...What's the point of putting my energy into that?...other than creating this great writing, I agree, I don't?...you're right again...somewhat channeling...
...That guy, yeah, "that guy", really just sat down next to me, making me truly believe there is some place more important to be...like a place where "that guy" is not, is not sitting across from me. I'm inclined to put the pen down (like a Jay-Z, Brett Favre retirement!) and hand this pad over to "that guy". It would be hilarious, but "it" isn't possible - for I am insane, but not that insane yet, sounding much like The White Stripes' tune I'm Lonely (But I Ain't That Lonely Yet)...He got up, but his hat rests upon the table in front of this pad, I can see the sweat stains. Out of the corner of my right eye I see him creeping back, but then he walks away again for some reason I never thought I'd care to know. How long do I have to sit here before I can get up without it seeming he's the reason I'm getting up?...freakin' Dick, he's worse than the dude with the Armani T-shirt, I may challenge him to that game of dodge ball, thrown right in the face, maybe crotch. If only there were a day when I could do what I want to do without letting others, like "that guy", sway me off my path...creating more anxiety...actually...
...Hey, as I wrote those last few sentences, he had gotten up and didn't sway me off my path, he did?
Other legends, like the ones that clothe the Barnes and Noble cafe wallpaper, Whitman, Melville, Twain, some woman named Joyce, etc. appear to have done this, this being eventually not allowing others to sway them off their path...but I should give myself some credit, they didn't have to deal with "that guy" and the dick with the Armani T-shirt.
...Anyways, yeah, anyways...I'm surrounded by books, those legend's books, and I think of something else I hadn't written: Hide my selves in the aisles of bookshelves...I guess this refers to humans reading as a way to find themselves, or create another self.
Again, I jotted down in the margin: I refuse to think books are ever purely entertainment, I'm sure the people that wrote them didn't write them for your entertainment purposes no matter how many times somebody accepts an award and looks at the fans and says, "I did this for you"...people read books for similar reasons why people write them, like a form of meditation. I guess it's not accepting that this is all that life has to offer, so we all cope in different ways, some write the books, others read them, despite people saying this is a nation that doesn't read anymore, there is a lot of people here, they must have heard half of We're Not John and Yoko would be writing here today, must have...so, for a dismount, and in closing...if you've got to seek that coffee sip before you have the forever uninteresting conversation with that guy from accounting, his name's conveniently, Dick, take that sip...but remember...don't talk to me...and a reminder to myself...I started this journey with the coffee sip, then proceeded to Barnes and Noble. In-between I got a bloody nose, reminding me that I truly am like those legends, they too headed out for some writing...later to find themselves in a McDonald's bathroom with a bloody nose, and then wrote about it, they didn't?
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