Books celebrating artists of a bygone era often did so by publishing their 'letters', this ultra-private part of people's lives, that I think has probably ground to a halt in our age of social media, email, and pinging each other.
There was often hot debate surrounding these letters and their publication--mainly centering around those who survived the late artist--their children, parents, ex-spouses, friends.
This title is two-fold. It also refers to that excellent Pain Parties Work book I read about Sylvia Plath (whom, after reading that book and the snippets of two others, I'm fairly certain was a raving manic-depressive, god bless her) where the author used a dictionary tool to illlustrate Plath's life at that time.
I loved reading it.
Here is my attempt to write one....I'm rusty. Don't judge me.
I've been trying. I really have. Saying what I think, gently, and trying to be heard.
A could also be adjustment.
Adjustment to Life After The Bad Boss.
Wow. It's such an eye-opener.
Meetings. With no yelling. With no avoiding eye contact.
And yes; work has been stressful. Those months don't go away. They dissapate, they dissolve, but they take time. Kitchen work is timed in months. Your life, my life, can be radically different from the time you order a kitchen, finalize with a client, to the time it gets installed.
Let's just say I've had alot of installs recently.
I've been working harder in the last 8 months than I have in a long time.
One, there's less people, and two, I'm a bit recharged, I'm a bit obsessed. There seems to be no
off-switch with this. I just....want it more. I want the success more. More now, more than I've ever wanted it.
I've got something to prove. To myself for sure, to others, maybe.
B seems tricky. It could be Bad Work Weeks. It could be Bad Days.
Why does B always point to bad?
Or it could be Bignell. My maiden name, my half-name, still following me around,
not completely changed.
I'm not completely changed. I'm married, forced by the archaic US-Canada immigration to be a slave to their paperwork but one thing remains: I'm stuck with the rules right now.
And they suck.
Easy. Change. As in lots of. As in I-don't-like. As in I'll-do-anything to avoid.
C can also be for me. My first, favourite initial.
Or for Chardonnay. I'm having some right now.
Forgive me. I have Sunday Night Syndrome. It's tough.
I was thinking about this today as I slip, un-sure-footed, toward forty.
The decade of my thirties seem to slip by too, especially the last five years or so. The joys, the sorrows. Reflecting on them all. I need to do a post on it's own for this decade thing that I'll soon be phasing out of. I promise to update soon.
I know I've been delinquent. Delinquent. Another D word.
Death. It seemed to be around alot more this decade. I know it's part of life.
But I hate it.
Email. Extra. Escargot. Eyewear. Endeavours. Eyeshadow. Endings. Entrenched.
It's e. More of a supporting player, not so much a star.
E. My niece's first initial. She's definitely a star. She's turning 8 this week. How is this possible? Where is that magical, impermanent text from her new father so many years ago?
"I'm holding a baby girl in my arms". Early on a Sunday morning, eight years ago. See what I mean on how fast the decade went?
Ebert, Roger. Another casualty. I am reading his "Life Itself" memoir right now. One of those beautiful, simply-rendered reads where the language is so devestatingly tender you need to take breaks from it.
Forty. Forecasting. Fruit flies (where are these things coming from?).
But really--forty. Does everyone feel like this? That it's so so big? That my 'new life' is just around the corner? And when I say new life, I'm not implying that my current life is not sweet as pie. But there are things (career, control of said career) that need to change.
Future. Another big F word. Huge. We can't plan it. We can't control it. We can..hmmm..try to influence it. But that's all we can do.
Good. Life is good. Someone asked me today "How's life?"
"It's good," I answered. And I realized: It is. The challenge is, the battle is, keeping it that way. The perspective of that. Of realizing that the good comes, the bad comes, it just keeps coming. Up and down.
Heat wave. We've weathered one from hell this week. A youtube video gave my friends and I laugh about it being "91,000 damn degrees".
It, hopefully, will not recur.
Speaking of H. Hope.
Does it spring eternal? I don't know. I guess in some ways it does. If we didn't hope, then we really wouldn't have much interest in life, right? That's how I see it anyhow.
No big nouns to encompass H.
The white elephant is Happy.
Some graffiti I saw today said, written on a dirty concrete wall was
"You'll never be happy!" written, I thought, in a female hand, to an ex, perhaps, and I thought, calmly, as I walked by it, hmm. Happy isn't be-ing. It's live-ing, it's experiencing, it's getting through each day, alone or together, hoping for the best.
H also stands for my friend H. Happy bday H! Thanks for inspiring me always.
I will continue this.....