"Ode to a Jigglypuff"
May. 22nd, 2002 09:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whitereflection...don't ask me why I wrote that. I'm honestly not sure. I can never think up good 'titles' for these things anyway--it's always somehow related to "I think", "I ponder", "I rant" or "I bitch". :p
Got smacked with some sorta weird insomnia thing last night. I wanted to sleep, but I couldn't until somewhere near 3. Ugh. I'm not a zombie yet, but I probably will be tomorrow. Right now I just feel like my head's hollow.
Something weird's up with the appetite thing, too. Been noticing the past few days that I'm not as hungry as usual. Then today I know that I'm starving...my stomach's growling, and I can tell I should eat. But I'm just not interested. I just don't feel like it. I'll get something for lunch I guess, I just don't feel very motivated about it. And how many times can I abuse the word "just" anyway? Not to mention the word "anyway" itself. >_< Argh.
One bright note is that we are getting a very unexpected lump of fundage, thanks to profit-sharing at James' company. I'm trying to decide if I want to put my share towards the iPod or electric guitar I've been wanting, or if I'll go snooping at cels again (especially that one Rafael cel on ebay--him and the pillow, showing a bit of wing, gorgeous eyes, and a lovely-pensive expression...).
Back to pondering... I am wondering if it isn't time that I really be honest with myself and just admit that I will never be a writer/author. I always have all these big ideas, little plot seeds everywhere, but I never develop them. I seem to lack the spark, the dedication that enables a person to actually follow-through on an idea, go from conception to execution. There's a part of me that *wants* to write--I very much prize the process of any sort of artistic expression/creation. Not to mention I want to do so because I want to share in an interest that is so important and special to those I care about.
I just (dammit, that word again...) can't seem to motivate, can't find whatever it is to kick-start myself. It's like I can't seem to focus my interest long enough to complete anything...or much less complete, do more than write a fragment. I feel like the living embodiment of short-attention-span theater. It's true, though...I dabble in so many things. I dabble in writing, I dabble in art, I even want an electric guitar so I can dabble in music. (I think I even dabble in RL stuff, which would explain my attitudes about work and whatnot). What's the phrase--jack of all trades, master of none? Something like that... I play around with so much, but don't seem to be focused enough on anything to actually accomplish anything.
I should be honest and just admit to myself that I could spend the rest of my life reading, being a groupie, if you will, for other authors. I think I'd look less foolish if I were to quit talking big and grandiose all the time about the things "I swear this time I'm actually going to do". If I were a muse, maybe then I could have all these great ideas and always be nudging others to write them for me--but I seem to be just a human, so I gotta deal with that, ne?
Right. Pointless snarking completed, cap'n. *nods*
...changed this from the earlier 'Lost For Words'. It's definitely better--one of my all-time favorites.
High Hopes
(Pink Floyd -- The Division Bell)
Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young
In a world of magnets and miracles
Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary
The ringing of the division bell had begun
Along the Long Road and down the Causeway
Do they still meet there by the Cut
There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps
Running before time took our dreams away
Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground
To a life consumed by slow decay
The grass was greener
The light was brighter
With friends surrounded
The nights of wonder
Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
At a higher altitude with flag unfurled
We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world
Encumbered forever by desire and ambition
There's a hunger still unsatisfied
Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon
Though down this road we've been so many times
The grass was greener
The light was brighter
The taste was sweeter
The nights of wonder
With friends surrounded
The dawn mist glowing
The water flowing
The endless river
Forever and ever .
Got smacked with some sorta weird insomnia thing last night. I wanted to sleep, but I couldn't until somewhere near 3. Ugh. I'm not a zombie yet, but I probably will be tomorrow. Right now I just feel like my head's hollow.
Something weird's up with the appetite thing, too. Been noticing the past few days that I'm not as hungry as usual. Then today I know that I'm starving...my stomach's growling, and I can tell I should eat. But I'm just not interested. I just don't feel like it. I'll get something for lunch I guess, I just don't feel very motivated about it. And how many times can I abuse the word "just" anyway? Not to mention the word "anyway" itself. >_< Argh.
One bright note is that we are getting a very unexpected lump of fundage, thanks to profit-sharing at James' company. I'm trying to decide if I want to put my share towards the iPod or electric guitar I've been wanting, or if I'll go snooping at cels again (especially that one Rafael cel on ebay--him and the pillow, showing a bit of wing, gorgeous eyes, and a lovely-pensive expression...).
Back to pondering... I am wondering if it isn't time that I really be honest with myself and just admit that I will never be a writer/author. I always have all these big ideas, little plot seeds everywhere, but I never develop them. I seem to lack the spark, the dedication that enables a person to actually follow-through on an idea, go from conception to execution. There's a part of me that *wants* to write--I very much prize the process of any sort of artistic expression/creation. Not to mention I want to do so because I want to share in an interest that is so important and special to those I care about.
I just (dammit, that word again...) can't seem to motivate, can't find whatever it is to kick-start myself. It's like I can't seem to focus my interest long enough to complete anything...or much less complete, do more than write a fragment. I feel like the living embodiment of short-attention-span theater. It's true, though...I dabble in so many things. I dabble in writing, I dabble in art, I even want an electric guitar so I can dabble in music. (I think I even dabble in RL stuff, which would explain my attitudes about work and whatnot). What's the phrase--jack of all trades, master of none? Something like that... I play around with so much, but don't seem to be focused enough on anything to actually accomplish anything.
I should be honest and just admit to myself that I could spend the rest of my life reading, being a groupie, if you will, for other authors. I think I'd look less foolish if I were to quit talking big and grandiose all the time about the things "I swear this time I'm actually going to do". If I were a muse, maybe then I could have all these great ideas and always be nudging others to write them for me--but I seem to be just a human, so I gotta deal with that, ne?
Right. Pointless snarking completed, cap'n. *nods*
...changed this from the earlier 'Lost For Words'. It's definitely better--one of my all-time favorites.
High Hopes
(Pink Floyd -- The Division Bell)
Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young
In a world of magnets and miracles
Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary
The ringing of the division bell had begun
Along the Long Road and down the Causeway
Do they still meet there by the Cut
There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps
Running before time took our dreams away
Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground
To a life consumed by slow decay
The grass was greener
The light was brighter
With friends surrounded
The nights of wonder
Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
At a higher altitude with flag unfurled
We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world
Encumbered forever by desire and ambition
There's a hunger still unsatisfied
Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon
Though down this road we've been so many times
The grass was greener
The light was brighter
The taste was sweeter
The nights of wonder
With friends surrounded
The dawn mist glowing
The water flowing
The endless river
Forever and ever .
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2002-05-22 05:39 pm (UTC)Besides, writing is a perfectly acceptable hobby to have, and it even looks good on a resume.
Re:
Date: 2002-05-23 06:11 am (UTC)You've always got the greatest quotes to use--I'll be remembering that one. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2002-05-23 11:22 am (UTC)...oi...no WONDER I keep running out of disk space faster and faster each time I get a new drive!
As for the quotes--The Notebooks of Lazarus Long is my personal bible. ^^; Not that I don't collect quotes from other places, too, but those I LIVE by. Heinlein has some of the best quotes I've ever seen, and not just in the Notebooks, either.