I stuck the symbol in there – ’cause why not? Though, it seems to me that since the word wolverine is a word used to describe a real animal, it obviously can’t be trade marked. But on the other hand, it is obvious I am talking about the character owned by Marvel, so I figured better safe than sorry.
And it sort of adds to the joke.
It starts the same way. I read something amazing, late at night after a glass, or three, of wine, and it changes me. Ideas and energy and motivation seize my brain. Sometimes the hair on my arms will stand on end, reacting to the electricity surging through my veins. The right words in the right order and the message I’ve been waiting for my whole life is there on the page before me! I run to the nearest paper and ink and scribble down the transformative thought. Then, I make a list. A detailed, specific list of all the things I am going to do in the morning that will make my life better, stronger, richer, more exciting, passionate, better organized … etc.
I go to bed, my brain slightly sloshing in alcohol, fully expecting to be BETTER in the morning.
Tomorrow Morning everything will be different!
Tomorrow morning is now. I left the list by the bedside table, upstairs, so far away from this chair in the kitchen which is so close to that beautiful lifesaver they call a coffee maker. One hand clutches the coffee mug and the other holds my phone where I tease my brain into wakefulness via the game wordfeud. (Aside – I play against my sisters and my best friend from college and sometimes they pity me and let me win. Should I tell them I only play in the morning before I turn on the computer because I know myself too well? You see, if the computer is within reach while I am playing, I will cheat. No, I shouldn’t say that on my blog, which I know they read. Ok – I’ll delete that line in the morning. )
Repeat. Different day, different words.
This is it! The information I’ve been waiting for my whole life, right there in electronic Kindle ink. This time I make the list in a clever little ‘listy remindy’ app on my phone that will beep at me every twenty minutes, forcing me to acknowledge the list all day long. It all begins tomorrow morning!
Tomorrow Morning, now, again. The app beeps at me, interrupting my super successful shuffle/stare/shuffle/stare wordfeud strategy. I growl and ‘tap to dismiss’ the message about how doing 20 jumping jacks RIGHT NOW, will get my heart pumping, bring more oxygen to my brain and make me better/faster/stronger for hours.
The next time it beeps, I delete the app.
Repeat. More words, more thoughts, more electricity, you know the routine – I tape the list to the coffee maker.
Tomorrow Morning. I rinse the list in water then use it as a coffee filter since I’ve run out. Note to self – add coffee filters to the next list. (Aside – This will be really funny to people who remember the beginning of the movie, Romancing the Stone.)
Repeating actions and expecting different outcomes – I believe that is the definition of insanity.
Words, words, words…once, I had the gift…I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups out of clay, love that overthrows empires, love that binds two hearts together come hellfire and brimstone…I could cause a riot in a nunnery…but now…I have lost my gift. It’s as if my quill is broken. As if the organ of the imagination has dried up. As if the proud tower of my genius has collapsed. Nothing comes.
Will Shakespeare, Shakespeare in Love
These words are much better when you can see the facial expressions of the anachronistic Freudian psychoanalyst listening to the speech. A raised eyebrow can add so much depth to a scene.
I don’t suffer from writers block, at least, I haven’t yet in the twenty odd years I’ve taken pen to paper or hands to keyboard with the hopes of creating something novel and brilliant. But I do get bored with myself, with my words and imagination. There are times when the ennui settles in – life is a dreadful bore and I, in particular, am frightfully dull.
Dull. It is a good word. An apt description. Not shiny. Not bright. Lacking luster. I am dull.
I want to be cute and clever and comedic, while pointing out a universal truth that surrounds us, penetrates us, binds the galaxy together…. Oh wait, that’s The Force. Darn.
I want to write something so entertaining, so true, so emotionally resonate, that you, dear reader, won’t be happy until you’ve shared it with two friends and then they’ll share it with two friends and so on and so on until it goes viral. And then I can relax. My work here will be done. Because the best way to avoid the sophomore slump is to change your name and move to Estonia.
I loved Estonia. I’ve never been to a country that seemed so naturally happy to see tourists. I was only there for six hours though, it could have been an act. Money-grubbing Europeans. Bad mouthing America but never tuning down those ugly green bills covered in ugly dead men. (you can’t say dead presidents – Franklin wasn’t a president, regardless of what he may have thought while he was contracting every venereal disease known to humanity during his time in France.)
Oh dear – I’ve just insulted an entire continent, haven’t I? Not good. Of course I never could understand why Europe was a continent – isn’t it attached to Asia? Isn’t a continent supposed to be it’s own thing – surrounded by water?
Here, look at this dog. Apparently his name is Franklin.
Speaking of unanswerable questions, (and in the hopes of changing the subject) Why aren’t there any women on our currency? Oh right – there was the Susan B. Anthony silver dollar. That worked out well, didn’t it? “It was one of the most unpopular coins in American history,” says Wikipedia. I guess no men wanted that cold, heavy thing so close to their jewels, I mean other coins.
So they got rid of the coin depicting a woman who said we should be treated equally, and replaced it with a coin depicting a woman who made all the men around her look like weaklings. But the Sacagawea coin hasn’t proven to be any more successful. Maybe if they put the women on the smaller denomination coinage, the men would be more comfortable with them in their pockets. Aw, poor, scared men. Don’t worry, you’ve got a few more good years in control. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Just a bit more and I’ve hit my word count for the day. Or night, rather. I tried to write this morning, but I got distracted by the damn internet. It is always there, waiting, lurking in the corner of my eye… look Jill, a video about sleep patterns… look Jill, your favorite youtuber has a new vlog update… look Jill, you can learn all about why people kiss.
Hemingway (supposedly*) said, write drunk, edit sober. Well, I’ve done part one. If you see this post in the morning, then hopefully I’ve completed part two.
If not, I apologize profusely.
*never trust anything you read.