Friday, December 4, 2009

Pure Rambling Crap

I'm not sure I even want to do this. It is late, and I have been having difficulty with my cough, which seems to be caused from intestinal problems and perhaps some related acid reflux. Or, perhaps, it has something to do with my lungs. Something is happening to make me cough. Nonetheless, I'll give writing an attempt and see if anything comes out of it. It would be so much easier just to read something or to switch on the television and watch Letterman or something like that.

I do too much of that, though. I have done that most of a lifetime that is behind me now: procrastinating as it pertains to writing. I can't say that I was lazy relative to everything in my life, but relative to my writing, after I decided a few years ago to try to do more seriously, I have put off doing it seriously far too much and too long.

It is so much easier to allow somebody else to do the heavy lifting of thinking and getting thoughts down on paper in some coherent, persuasive, and entertaining way. Nonetheless, I aspire to do so, at least to some degree I do. I also aspire to be able to left my thoughts freely flow, to be able to get my words to freely come out of my mouth, and let my thoughts be generated by my brain and interpreted through my voice and, hence, reach the computer. In times past my words would have been written down or typed out on paper or parchment. But now, with computers, they get taken down on a monitor and stored in a file, encapsulated in some software that can be used to manipulate them: their size, their position, their look, etc.

How amazing the world is. When I contemplate it, its complexity and genuine mystery overwhelm me. I marvel at the ability to see, the beauty of color, the complexity in the entire notion of being able to see. Seeing, for example, words and being able to put them in my mind by seeing them and manipulate them there in order to understand them, to correlate them with my previous experience.

Part of the problem in ignoring opportunities to write when I've had them is this difficulty getting something meaningful down. I tend to ramble and go all over the place when I'm doing this type of thinking and writing. I'm not sure how productive it is. I'm not sure how useful it is. Nonetheless, I have the sense that it is better than not doing anything at all.

I guess no matter when I started this process, I would have had to pass through this kind of crappy stuff to progress on to something better. In order to become a good writer, you have to first be a writer, and that means you have to be a bad writer. It's like anything else. You start at the bottom and only progress upward through practice and effort.

I suppose it's not surprising how tired I am becoming doing this. It makes me want to quit. It makes me want to go to bed. I wonder if I did, though, would I be able to sleep? I wonder if I would be able to sleep or if I would toss and turn and have to read for a while and maybe even come and take some Tylenol.

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