sea change on the me-dial
I just found out the meaning of holding pattern, for real. I thought it meant something completely different. Sort of like a holding pen. Somewhere where you keep agitated hens, or slaughter-ready pigs. I think that’s what I thought it was, beyond just being an expression, I mean.
Today I had a ghostwriting dilemma. For some reason I wanted to use the words sea change in a document but I knew I’d be using the wrong voice, that it was something this person would probably never say. I did it anyway. I’m not really a very good ghostwriter. In fact I’m terrible. In the stairwell or by the fluorescent coffee machine or in our last-limbed lifts (at the same time praying that we don’t plummet to our deaths) people say to me, you wrote that, didn’t you? Because it ends up sounding like me, everything does. There are just varying degrees of me on the me-dial. Like business me and plain English me and clipped policy me and fuzzy adspeak me and call-to-action markeing me and colloquial/collegial tongue-in-cheek me.
And I’m just talking about work here. But the same is true with other sorts of writing, too. The night before last I sat down to write something that wasn’t Frankie or Dorothy or work or school or this. Something completely unrelated to anything. And yet, a few hundred words in it was the same old introspective nothing-going-on wordscape with the same breed of psychologically paralysed anti-heros, mooching in barely-lit limbos (or — dare I say it — holding patterns), deafened by their own go-nowhere/downward-spiral thoughts. So I stopped writing. I think I might have painted my nails at that point. Whatever it was it was more useful than me writing the same thing over and over — only fractionally different each time, like one of those spot the difference pictures — for the rest of my days.
Maybe it’s not quite as bad as all that. But nearly. I took these photos tonight. Some of my favourite things. And Sylvie and I had fun on the stairs. Bax isn’t quite as photogenic, but he’s equally as cute. He’s a bit of a gangly adolescent and he runs funny, sort of lopsidedly. I think he might need to see a cat chiropractor.
Another thing for the things I like/don’t like list: FANCY LETTUCE. This one’s on the don’t like list. I’ve recently confirmed as a fact that iceberg lettuce is in a league of its own, and it’s cheaper. Even the name — fancy lettuce — is stupid. Two thumbs down. I still bought it at the supermarket tonight, though. Very begrudgingly.
Can’t think of anything else for the list. Lindsay Lohan is going to jail. Someone set their mattress on fire. It’s really cold. Nope, nothing else.
I think my favourite lyrics for tonight are from Get Big by Okkervil River. Quite hard to find decent unmuckedup lyrics online (and no, I don’t want to download the fucken ringtone). So I have patched these up a bit.
And now I am off to write the same old circadian saga. Same saga, different day. Same sagginess of the soul, no plot to speak of. It’s like the overtrodden pathways in my mulish brain won’t let me do anything else. And still I persist. I must go on. I can’t go on. I’ll go on. Etc.
Once we get to the end of this song, then it will begin again. So you said, in our bed. I was watching light slip through the blinds to find your skin. So take your medicine and I won't ask where you've been. Live your lost weekend. I know you've wanted it. Get big, little kid. And I can't say why each day doesn't quite fit the space we saved for it. But if that space now demands that you throw up both your hands, that you call it quits... Take your midnight trip I know you've dreamed of it. Walk your sunset strip, because I think you've needed it to get big, little kid. But just remember that our love only got this good because of those younger days that'd you like to outstrip. So drink your cup down to the dregs and leave that club on shaking legs with another guy, but just remember: I'm not him. Take your medicine and I won't ask where you've been. Live your lost weekend, because I know you've wanted it to get big, little kid. And once we get to the end of this song, then another will begin.
Filed under: animals, daytoday, Frankie, photos, things I don't like, things I like, thinking, writing | Leave a Comment
Tags: animals, cats, dark, diary, dorothy doldrumatic, every day, Frankie, overthinking, polaroids, writing