paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- razzle dazzle them I write this entry to the annoying barks and squeaks of a bunch of yappy dogs a couple houses down and a bunch of great big dogs in the yard behind ours. No one is around to yell at their respective beasts. The air is cold and the night is dark and still, outside of the cacophony, which makes it an even greater irritant. In between the movies, I worked on the basement. I completely cleaned,repainted and reorganized my dark room. I also vacuumed every inch on one-half of the basement, cleaned the washer, clothes drier, hot water heater, and then painted one-half of the basement floor. It looks clean enough to significantly reduce that creepy basement feeling I get sometimes when I am alone down there at night in the dark. Also, I organized the cords in the living room, made little cord covers, and did touch-up painting in the upstairs hallway. And now it is time to get ready to return to work and classes. I miss my weekend, but at the same time, I am glad that so much is done on the house. The atmosphere is greatly improved and it is possible to conceptualize it as well-run and orderly. That is until the chaos of taking two classes and having a demanding job ensues. But one thing that struck me while watching Chicago was the razzle-dazzle song before the courtroom. Putting on the glitz, the charm, the razzle-dazzle is the big professional game everyone plays at work. The endless drama and fluffed-feather bravado that drives me nuts is the secret to success. I just need to go in and whip up a big show all day � how tiring and what a waste of energy � and quit having the sorts of �looser� thoughts I just displayed. I thought of an edgy name for the web presence for my program. I am going to go ahead and use it instead of the stupid, boring, obvious name that our marketing and community liaison genius thought up for me to use. It feels risky to get out there away from the others in the office, but at the same time, I think I was born under the maverick star. The Esquire seems to prefer a bunch of action to a bunch of consideration, but at the same time, I�m not one to throw caution to the wind. But I do think I will go with the edgy name and look for the web presence. Marketeers be damned! If mouseketeers wear hats with little ears on them, whatever do marketeers wear on their heads? Razzle dazzle. I�m working on a poem about probability theory, the unfinished portrait of the Major�s father that hung in the study from just after his death in 1981 until last week, my ex-boyfriend who lost his father in a freak summer blizzard and the impact on his life while we were together, and being stranded on an island in a violent summer storm while sailing with my grandfather. The challenge is in weaving all of the sections together in a meaningful way. I mean, I keep thinking about chance and see an interesting connection between these little moments. But, the poem is not happening. I want to explore how the theories and stuff of knowledge seems so disconnected with the worlds of our emotions. That we know the theory or (some of us) could calculate the odds still doesn't help the situation. I just wanted to get to this comparison of my ex-boyfriend and the unfinished portrait�. Not in any way that is critical of anyone, more in this way that our lives manifest themselves in physical ways and how, even years later, there is sometimes this flickering of evidence that moves across the surface of someone�s expression that communicates so much or allows someone to see something, or maybe even themselves. That was the thing with this guy and I. We had many years of struggle and did that last piece of �growing up� together � and for that a part of me will always care about him. I learned a lot from him � mostly how intelligent I am � and I think I gave him comfort and security when he needed it. He is a genius � card carrying � so I doubt he learned anything from me. Because the stuff he could have learned he still hadn�t learned when we finally called it quits. And now we are both gay, which we each had a sense of going in to the relationship, but we had this chemistry and attraction for each other that over-rode what we knew about ourselves. This sort of intensity was very much in the way of having a �nice� relationship, which I thought I wanted at the time. Today was a bit unsettling for me. I ran from task to task, working really hard, but getting distracted by other tasks. It may have been a frenzy, but I just didn�t feel grounded enough for a while. In the late afternoon I sat down and reviewed everything I had gotten done and felt good about the series of accomplishments, but also felt strange for having spent the entire day out of breath. I wanted to get to the poem I was just writing about, because I haven�t finished thinking about it yet. The images are about 60 percent there, and the language is about 40 percent where I want it to be. If we are assigned to bring in a poem that we have written in the advanced poetry class I start Wednesday, I�d like to have some options�. Of course I won�t have time to pull off the big piece I have conceptualized. Quinn was advising me to work on it a little along and have it in reserve for the middle of the semester when I can no longer think of what to write. I�m certain this is a quality idea. I think I will wrap-up my Sunday-night rambles and go work on my poem. Remember to razzle-dazzle them at work! More later. 10:33 p.m. - 2003-01-12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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