Remember all that I was saying yesterday about riding out the hormonal storm until the crashing waves calm down? Yeah, just effff that. It really is easy to talk logic than to put it into practice sometimes.
Listen. Yesterday was a bitch. Work sucked. And at the end of the day I was on the couch, half laying into a stack of pillows watching some YouTube video Jim was playing for me. It’s a guy playing like a really old guitar. We’re talking made in the 1600’s old. And I just started to cry.
Was it that a guitar that old could still exist? That it could still be played, strummed by human hands and make such beautiful music? The mystical mastery of fingers picking the strings. That ‘we’ are capable of crafting an instrument out of wood and strings. And compose music. It was beautiful.
I told Jim it made me cry. He said it makes him want to take guitar lessons. I told him it makes me feel like I’m wasting my life. He just laughed.
He reminded me I’m working hard on my art, and that’s a good thing. He’s right, damnit, but ugh… the stress of trying to do too much is, well, too much.
Today is Friday and the last day of July. It is the last day that’s the window for submissions for the first issue of the good life review will be open. And midnight tonight the window will be closed. At midnight tonight the clock is going to start ticking down for reading, copy editing, author agreements, and all things required to publish that first issue. It’s going to be a lot of work. I need to quit my job.
I have been working hard on my art. The new lit mag is just one of the balls I have thrown into the air and I am trying to figure out how to catch without it falling on my head and cracking my skull open.
I’ve been revising poems and attempting to attend workshops to learn some new things. I haven’t really written a ton of new stuff, but the few things that I have written in 2020 seem like good candidate to continue working on in the future. You know sometimes you get a vibe about a piece of writing. Sometimes there is something in the core of it that remains so strong that you know that even if it looks like garbage on the surface, there could still be a diamond hidden underneath.
Either that or I’m just too emotionally attached to these precious few new poems in my virtual poetry pile. Someone told me once to set aside a new poem for at least six months. Let the emotional attachment fade. Then when you revisit, you can see with a fresh perspective if there’s something worth working on.
I mean I don’t know if I necessarily agree with that, but it does help me justify procrastinating revising new material. 😜
One final thought before I adjourn this session. On this day in history (not sure what year) my parents were married. When I think about that.. I can’t help but realize that if they never met or got married, I would not exist. Or if I did exist I would be a different person completely. Wild!!
Anyhow. That’s it.
Cheers to Friday,