Would That I Might

I didn't do my writing last night.  There isn't any good excuse for that.  I was just tired and it felt like too much effort when all I wanted was to get to sleep.  If I am honest, I have to say I feel much the same way right now, and yet I still did my work.

It is not clear what is best or how to keep control, how to manage or maintain or correct. It worries me, but I do nothing to change it.

 Melissa and I arrived at my mother's apartment this evening. It is still strange for me to be here, if I am honest, but there is nothing to do about it, I suppose.  I am just stuck in wanting to have back what is gone, which feels like a real pattern or a theme, at least if I think about it just abit too hard and for just a bit too long.

Bad sugar numbers I do not want to say that it happened again.  It seems to be a pattern, and I must  take more care, or do more to allow it? Is that possible?  I do not like the restrictions, the limits. I Kniw that  is the attitude that led me here, but knowing that is not anything like a cure.

Melissa and I are in Richmond tonight.  It is our last stop before we get to New York.  I am looking forward to arriving and getting of the road.  At the moment, I am pretty exhausted, mostly because I was up and down all last night.  I expect that I will sleep better tonight, though, I know that could just be wishful thinking.  In any event, I am certainly ready to try getting myself to bed.

I do not think the moon is where it should be tonight.  It is hanging low and off to one side, and the shape is strange, not crescent or round or something between, but I think it has distorted, as though squished one direction and stretched in another. It must be my eyes not seeing what is there. Maybe that is not it. Maybe it is something in my heart instead.

We are in Charleston for the night.  It has been nice and I wish we could stay longer, to be honest.  I think we might try to come back through on the trip back, but I am not certain if that will work out this time.  We are driving back with my mother, so it is not entirely our decision.

It is coming apart tonight or I am failing, maybe, is the truth, or not failing, not quite that, no. I am slipping? I have fallen down and will need to rise again and brush off all the dirt and dust and wipe up and walk on, stumble or limp, maybe, but even so. I am  here and alive so it is not  over, I guess, but I wish there was a way it could end that was not the end, too.

I am trying to get my work done as early as possible.  It is Melissa's birthday and we are in St. Augustine for the day.  We are leaving in the morning, but we tried to have a fun time together.  It had a bit too much drama, but it was just a random accident, and I think we were able to recover afterwards.  Anyhow, I want to get done so I can spend time with Melissa instead of out here, so I am going to finish now.

Poem Written Without The Moon I had started but then I went back and now I started but it is a  different start then what came first.  I play in some ways but I  do not know if this is one or another or another thing entirely.  I can wait for answers. The truth will never be the one I hear or see or know, will it? It is best to understand without one certain understanding.

 Melissa and I are in St Augustine tonight and tomorrow.  The drive was not too bad, and I am hopeful that we will have a good time tomorrow.  We have some plans, but mostly it is still pretty open.  I think Melissa wants to have some beach time in the morning, if the weather obliges. 

Soon is still always later I am not easily soothed, and do not trust or want to adjust my  needs, my expectations. There was an agreement, we had set terms and reached an arrangement. I was obligated, and so were you. I am here waiting and later is not now. What am I to say about that? You wish to have it be fine, but you are the one who has failed. Why is it only I am left to suffer the results?

Melissa and I are supposed to leave tomorrow morning for our trip.  We'll be on the road for the next four or five days, I think, and then we'll be up in New York for most of September.  I still feel a bit stressed about the whole thing, but I am also hopeful that we will have fun together on our way north.

Doing The Wrong Thing It was a choice and I have made it and it is the wrong one but I know that and knew it when I made the choice, but I am not changing it, I don't think, unless this is me convincing myself  that I should. I don't think I want to. I think it is best to do the wrong thing this time. It is a statement or some such, even if only to myself.

I am feeling quite a bit of stress about our trip to New York at the moment.  Mostly it is just about getting there, at the moment, though I know there are other factors as well, but for now, at least in my conscious thought, the big thing is just the trip up, because I don't even think we have it planned out yet.  It should be fine, but we are supposed to leave on Sunday, so there is still quite a bit to get done and we only have tomorrow.

Just An Improvisation I would just put a list down and call it a day and it would be a good list with things like beetles and paper hats and the name "Desmond," and, also, pillows, hats, the concept of gravity, a shadow I saw once that looked like a man in a hat sticking out his tongue and I never figured out what it was the shadow of, lion manes, sea weed, the town of Portsmouth and all the other towns that have taken that name, too, and all types of triangles, and the first girl I kissed whose name I don't even know but I remember she had blond hair and acne, and now I have a list anyway, right and you are not sure why and I am not either, really, but it was what I was afraid of, that I wouldn't have anything else, just a litany, just things and the question of why and what it means, which is harder on me than on you, I suppose because you can walk away and say there was nothing to it, that it did not matter, but I know I have a reason even if I cannot recognize.

One of my concerns as Melissa and I prepare to travel is that I am doing a lot of writing at the moment and I won't have my computer with me.  I can work on my phone, as I have many times before, but I know that is never quite the same for me.  It would be nice if I could actually bring my computer, but I know that isn't an option, so I'll just have to make it work.  I might be able to use my mother's computer at her apartment, if I really want, though I am hesitant to do that, if I am honest.

Already Obligated I do not like any of it and I know I agreed but it was not clear to me and it has gone badly in ways I am not able to be fine with, and I don't have the strength or the desire, but, also, I cannot change it or quit or do anything but be silent, and I won't or can't do that, even though I must and will, and it is that kind of thing, isn't it? I've got to find a way to feel alright within this, but that is not going to happen, is it?  I am worried, to be honest: there is too much harm that could come and I am not certain I trust myself.

In spite of the fact that the primary is over, we still wound up getting up early.  Beyond that, we were quite busy, as well.  I think tomorrow is going to be pretty packed as well.  I'm feeling quite tired at this point, so I am just going to keep this brief and call it a night.

Weather It was raining today, for a bit, at least, while we were in the car driving back south after you saw the doctor and we had lunch. It was not a heavy rain, and it did not last for very long, I don't think. I am not even certain if it really happened or if I am imagining that it rained.  I think it did.  I believe that I am remembering the rain and not just imagining it or recalling some other time, but what if I am? It wouldn't change anything important about our day. I would just prefer to be certain one way or the other.

Today was the primary here in Florida, and the last day of voting before it starts up for the presidential election in a few months.  Melissa had a very long and somewhat frustrating day, I gather.  There was one person working under her at the site who was not very reliable it caused some trouble.  I think it was fine in the end, but it just took a lot of extra work and time, and Melissa seemed pretty stressed about it all when I picked her up tonight.  I am hoping she will feel better after a decent night's sleep.

It is beginning to take shape but only just beginning and I have done nothing. I need to be doing a lot of things I have not done, need to be prepared and take the right steps. I have failed, though. I think I can make it right, perhaps, or else I can just accept that I don't have a way to fix it all, or, better, that it is not a matter of fixing it, just knowing and accepting what I am and what I can do and have done. Still, I am glad there is something emerging. It is what I will need to meet my obligations with any sense of honor.

My poetry feels very sharp right now.  I am not certain I can explain just what precipitates that, or what it really means, or if it is even the real truth, or just a perception I have, but it is how I am feeling.  It is, at least partly, a result of my just pushing through into some new creative spaces, which I think let me just unblock a bit, I guess.  I am still struggling with fiction, in general, I think, though I am keeping at it, and I think that is really the best thing for me to do.  Just repeating and continuing to work is the best way to get better at anything, really.  It's all about practice.  Maybe that is the truth about why I am feeling the way I am about my poetry at the moment, as well.  It is certainly true that I have spent a very long time practicing and working at that aspect of my writing in particular, though that does not explain why I feel as if it has been a shift just now.  In some way or another, I am certain, I must have stepped out of my own way.

Groove She goes bouncing along, toes tapping, touching down at each step in tune  to the beat of a silent song she is singing only with her heart and you can hear it with yours.  And it is all that it took, right, is all there needed to be, to know something good was there, to recognize it.  It's energy, baby, that's what you have to call it.

Today was the last day of early voting for the primary.  Election day is Tuesday.  After that, Melissa is done until the presidential election begins in a few months.  I am quite glad that it is wrapping up for the moment, to be honest.  It makes for a very long day, and I miss Melissa when she is away working.

I worry all of it is too much or that it is too late, that it won't be possible, that it is never going to be anything except more disaster, more trouble, more proof of my mistakes, more  that seems to just be my deficiencies echoing off the world.  It is possible. Things are bad and there is no certainty of it getting better. Still, I want to have hope and keep believing in things turning out a different way than I might expect. I do not have good reasons, but maybe that is only because I am searching for what is wrong.

I still need to write the speech I have stories to tell, I suppose, but they do not come out the way I have imagined they would, and I worry about whether they mean the things I want to mean or say too much that I would not wish to say. It is only that I do not wish to cause you harm or be inappropriate or unkind or make a fool of myself. I know there is a duty and a purpose and I must fulfill what is intended, must be emptied of my own needs. I am not so good at that,  but maybe, now I have admitted it, there will be room for new possibilities.

Early voting is nearly over.  There is only tomorrow and Sunday, and then it moves on to the actual primary day on Tuesday.  Melissa asked me to make some brownies for her to bring in tomorrow as the supervisor for her site likes to have a little potluck with everyone who is working there.  I'm just glad that we won't have to get up at four in the morning after this week, at least not until early voting starts for the presidential election in a few months.

If I had taken French for that hour of the day they would have called me Guy or Guillaume, perhaps, depending on the instructor and the formality of the address, and I  would have been troubled to remember the spelling, would have sat bewildered at the shift, wondering why it was necessary and not understanding the connection.  I suppose I only recognize it now, that it is nothing more than the superficial fact, not a deeper history of the lexical shifts that led from one to the other, or which direction it went, even, though I suppose I wouldn't need to know that to remember the proper genders of nouns or the conjugation of verbs, though I expect there would have been  a great deal of trouble regarding those matters as well.

Today has been a productive day for me, I think.  I wrote a number of poems that I feel quite good about, if I am honest.  I think that I've shifted gears a bit in my poetry, which is, I am certain, related to the freedom I gave myself when I began playing with my new more conceptual work.  It has opened me up in some way, I think, or just renewed a certain spirit, perhaps.  

I can't change it or speak of it or do anything that will help. What good is the situation? I don't want to be the one who carries all the weight and gets nothing else, gets told I am good when I suffer under the burden and do not cry out from the strain..

I've been getting up around four in the morning every day this week to make Melissa food to take to work, and then driving her over to the polling place.  Tomorrow she isn't going in as early, though, so I should be able to get a little more sleep, I think, though I worry that after a few days of this, I might just wake up anyway/  I just have to hope I don't find it too difficult getting back to sleep.

It is all down below None of it is above, so don't even try to see what is there, why even waste the effort, craning your neck can cause such strain, and you will find nothing there, anyway. I am telling you, but check for yourself if you want to make it clear you do not trust me.

Inspiration  It comes in, at last but I'm not ready for it any longer, or not just now, anyhow, not in the moment that is this moment.  I should be. It would be better if I were prepared and wanted to act on it just because it was the time, but I trust too much in my own way, in waiting and doing it another time and not now. It came, I think, it is here, and that is good, but it is not time. I don't have a good reason, but I trust in reasoning I do not know.

It was another early morning, but I seem to be adjusting.  The fact that I am finishing my work this early seems to be a positive sign on that front.

Wrong End I thought it was you but it was a different stranger, and they did not know why I was staring or that it had a reason at all, anyhow. I was the one who was odd and off, which is not too strange to hear, I suppose. I think it happens more than I know, but maybe that is how it goes for anyone.

Today was the first day of early voting for the upcoming primary here in Florida, and Melissa is working as a clerk at one of the local sights, so I had to drive her over early this morning.  She was there from around half past five until around seven-thirty, so it was a long day.  We have to be up early again tomorrow, but not quite as early, thankfully.  Even so, I am glad that I am finishing up my work on the early side for tonight.

Inspiration Returns There was a pause but it has ended, and now, I do not know why there was a problem in the first place, which has me scared: if I do not understand what happened before how do I know it won't be  the same again?

I have been working on a lot more non-fiction and essay type things recently.  In some cases, I find it difficult to really define them as essays, though it is in that general direction, even if there are eccentricities to my approach.  Some of it is stuff that I have been thinking about for a long time and just haven't felt ready to discuss, while some is more spontaneous.  Most often, really, it winds up as a sort of combination of those impulses, where I might begin with something new and connect it to other things I've considered writing about in the past.  I am not really certain what flipped the switch that I am writing these things at the moment, but I am glad to be getting these things out of my head and onto the page.

Now it is this I tell you nothing and you  do not listen even to that, but it is fine, I guess. It is normal or typical or just the way of things between us: there are words but never any meanings.

I have been working on two different stories for a bit and I feel like they both became interesting after I had already committed to them.  In each, I started without much more than just a basic premise and it was only after I had gotten to a point of feeling a bit that I really started to figure out what the stories were actually about.  In one case, I realized that there was a kind of twist that was coming, and am just writing to get there, and in the other, it was more just my coming to understand the exact perspective of one of the characters and what they know about things.  There is something, though, that is very hopeful to me in knowing that I don't need to really worry about what the story is going to be once I have a decent idea for how to start writing.  Even if all I have is a starting point, I can trust that once I get into it, there will be something more.

I must be patient and not complain but it is past the time when it was expected and I am annoyed at that because it wasn't as if I created the option or told them just when it was to be. They made there own obligation, and it was not free, was not something that was done without my choosing to compensate them for it. I still can't complain or say anything much. It is not long and I should be kind and have patience, but there is so little generosity from those on that end, it is hard to muster for my own response.

 I have been allowing myself to play more in my writing.  This is true of the conceptual poems I've been working on, and it is also true in my prose work.  I've got some fiction that I am working on which I feel good about, but I also have been writing some pieces that are more nebulous for me to really describe.  In some ways they are very unfocused, but they are also pushing me into discussing things I've found difficult to write about before, and showing me the possibility of creating new approaches, as well.  To be honest, these efforts still feel very fledgling and tentative, but I think there is a direction to the work, that it is moving me towards something else which, at this moment, I can only glimpse on the distant horizon.

There isn't another way but there is always a different thought to have and a different way that it can be, even if it has not changed, or that is what I am told, that it can be different without it becoming another thing. I don't understand it, and I am not certain I even like it, though it is meant to be liberating. I get that.  I understand the value in being flexible, in accepting the real as real, in not being caught in the trap of needing a change I cannot create, in wanting to affect what is outside my control.  I get  that it won't work and that the best thing is to be different myself, but  I don't want that to be the answer. I do not want to change what I need from the world. Somehow that seems as if  it diminishes me.

 I am feeling quite tired tonight.  It is not all that surprising as I have found myself getting up very early recently.  For some reason, I keep waking around five and not being able to get back to sleep.  I should probably just accept it and try getting myself to bed earlier, but I resist that, for some reason I can't quite explain.

Is it so hard to notice the needs that are unmet and to ask what is wrong in the right voice, to be present, to be the right kind of present and not too  present, not too much of anything? It is an involvement, perhaps that is the better way to consider it.

I have been writing a lot lately, even for me, though it might be more accurate to say that I am just in a very creative mode with my writing.  I am probably not actually writing all that much more than I would normally, but I am writing a variety of things and some of them are things I wouldn't have written before this, at least not in the way that I have written them now.  I feel like I am moving forwards into a new creative space, maybe, or not even a new one, but just one that I could never fully embrace or make full use of before.

It is a responsibility I do not know what to say when the time comes, but I will have to be ready. I have much to do and those things are difficult, but I will as best I can or will learn to make due and pretend. I know the risk and the cost and the job I was given and accepted. I am not ready and don't know if I can be or want to be or if I made a mistake, but I must make certain you never think that you did.

I am not certain what to write here tonight.  A large part of that is just because I am tired.  I would kind of like to just curl up in bed and drop off to sleep.  If I did that, I would probably be awake by five in the morning, which I can't say would be great for me.  Either that or I would find I just couldn't actually get to sleep, as tired as I feel at this moment.  I think that I am going to make myself stay up for a little bit longer, if fpr no better reason than because I don't expect Melissa is quite ready for bed yet.

It is not quite what it is expected to be, whichever thing you expect, but it is also both, and it is also other things, or nothing, maybe. I don't trust myself, is the problem, at least not in knowing if it is good or right or anything more than just a silly game I played one night when I was alone and sitting there. I am never sure and that is the way. I have to trust  that there is a process and enjoy that and be fine  with what it is that arises, but I am not good at that part, not really. I just do it and keep going and don't think of what else that means. It is like running from your death.

I feel as if I am beginning to break down certain barriers in my writing.  Part of this is just the fact that I have shifted through the work I am doing with conceptual poems.  That is a very different kind of work, and it takes me in a new and energetic direction that requires me to reconsider a lot of the assumptions I have worked within before.  As a result, of course, I am starting to find myself thinking about other things in new and different ways.  I don't feel that I am ready to discuss the specifics of these things, at this point, because they still feel rather nebulous and difficult to assess, and there is something to fear, as well, in that I could imagine convincing myself it is just silly and now what I am imagining it is.  At the moment, the best thing I can do is recognize where I am and embrace it as a space of possibility.

It changes again and that is true each time, I think, though I do not know it is coming and never expect there will be a shift, and it is never the same in what it is or how it feels and is different and nothing that has happened before this, is new in all the ways it can be, even though it is the same, is the pattern renewing, continuing, remaining, being the pattern of how it goes each time.

I had to get up at around 5:30 this morning and have been running around since then, so I am not going to make this long.  I did still get my writing done today, and even got a bit of extra writing in earlier, largely because I was hoping to get a head start so I could make it an early night.

I will not say a thing or complain or make it clear there is a complaint I could make and want to make and, perhaps, should.  It was not communicated just what was  to be done and it was not done the way I thought it was meant to be done, but it is not a thing that can be changed any longer so why cause  trouble?

I keep pushing myself in terms of writing fiction every day, but if I am honest, at the moment I am more excited about the poems I am writing.  It still seems worth continuing to write fiction the way I have been, as I don't want to lose practice and fall backwards.  It's taken me a while to get to a point where I feel any degree of confidence that I can always come up with some kind of story.  In truth, it is still something that I struggle with, but I have been at it long enough that I am conscious of the fact that, if I don't give up, eventually something will emerge.  At present, though, I am finding it a bit difficult, and I think that is largely because I am in a different kind of creative space at present.  

This is not the plan I would have selected If I am honest, I expected something else, something very different from what I have found and I would not have chosen this, would never have committed as I did if the details had been made clear. It is my own fault, or I know I could have avoided it if I had been more diligent, which is not the same thing, not quite, but is close enough to make it feel self-inflicted.