[Preliminary Note/Disclaimer: Here's the thing -- I've been sick in bed for a full fucking WEEK with the perfect storm of awfulness, i.e., bladder infection, some kind of cold/sore throat thingie, an apocalyptic peri menopausal period (sorry, you know how I am about compulsive disclosure), a pimple the size of a goiter on my neck (this didn't send me to bed, per se, but I just want you to have the full picture of how my week has gone) and then, to top it all off, debilitating abdominal cramps (to be distinguished from the debilitating menstrual cramps solely by the location of the UTTER AGONY) from, it turns out, unhappy little creatures living in my intestines. My point is that I've been cooped up and on a lot of drugs, ergo THIS POST MAY NOT MAKE SENSE]
[On the other hand it may make perfect sense. Because drugs.]
[But what you should really know, is that I signed up for NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month - which started on November 1 and which I never even really committed to (in my mind) - partly because of my inner "fuck-you" (I've talked about her before, the one that says "Oh, you think I should do "X", the thing that I already wanted to do? FUCK YOU, I'm not doing it.") and partly because of the bad memories from the last time I signed up for NaNoWriMo (to wit: my artistic genius mommy (with great hair) slipped and broke her hip in mid-November (2011) and I stopped writing and then she died a few weeks later and then I never ever wanted to go back and look at what I was writing, or even think about it, really, because maybe, instead of writing, I should have been spending more time with her in what would turn out to be the last time she was ever happy in her life. SO THERE'S THAT. Fuck. But my point here is that I signed up for NaNoWriMo and it's Day 9 and I think the part of me that doesn't want me to write actually sent the perfect storm of FUCKING AWFUL PHYSICAL AILMENTS to prevent any writing from happening and now I'm starting to feel better physically (Yay medicine!), so instead of doing the NaNoWriMo writing, I've suddenly got the urge to blog? Right.]
[Just so we are all clear on why I'm suddenly blogging after being a horrible blogger for the past year: I'M WRITING THIS TO AVOID WRITING THAT NOVEL THAT I'VE BEEN MEANING TO WRITE FOR MY ENTIRE LIFE, PRACTICALLY.]
[It just occurred to me that perhaps my next soul retrieval thingy should be to find out who the inner "fuck you" voice is? Is she the same as the inner avoidance queen? If so, they are fucking bad ass. I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to convince them to just fucking COOPERATE and play nicely with everyone else. It seems they would rather almost kill me (ok, slight exaggeration, but I'm trying to make a point)(it did suck, though) than let me write?]
[And why am I acting like any of this is new? Isn't my blog called "avoiding my Brilliant Writing Career"? Hello.]
I was going to write about how, in my mind, there was August (and it lasted f-o-r-e-v-e-r) and then everything else flew by and somehow it’s now November. And I was going to write something philosophical about how time seems to be changing and/or my perception of time seems to be changing and how I wonder if this is just what happens when you start easing towards the end of life, rather than springing from the beginning – the trajectory changes and the weight of it behind you serves to accelerate life until it’s all a blur and then there’s an end, somehow. But I don’t really have much else to say about that. Time. It seems to be changing. The end.
So I guess I will write a list instead (act surprised and delighted, “a list! what an unexpected surprise!”) :
1. Yes. Yes, I am using the name of a Counting Crows album as my blog post title today. I might as well just go ahead and confess that I’ve never gotten over “August and Everything After”…. I still love it. Serious love. I listen to it at least once a week. It’s always on in my car. (Except when The Cure is on) (but that is another blog post)
2. And if you must know — I am flat out in love with Adam Duritz (lead singer, Counting Crows) based solely on the fact that he writes brilliant lyrics (and sometimes dresses up in a pink and white bunny costume)(and talks openly about struggling with mental health issues)(and is a white Jewish boy rocking dreads like nobody’s business)(and I’m pretty sure we had a moment (well, I know I had a moment) when he was looking right at me during a show at DU a million years ago)(which I’m quite sure he remembered when I saw them again at Red Rocks, like 10 more times…)(all that aside, it’s his words that get me)
3. I am a total lyrics person. I don’t even understand people who can say they like a song, but don’t know the lyrics. What is the point? Although, to be fair, there are probably a (very) few songs that I can say that I like, but don’t know the lyrics. Like that Blinded by the Light song, which seems to say “wrapped up like a douchen of a runner in the night” but probably doesn’t… Don’t get me wrong, I can sound it out and pretend I’m singing those songs, but I have no fucking clue what they are really saying. But mostly, in life, I know the lyrics.
4. Like these:
I step out the front door like a ghost
into the fog where no one notices
the contrast of
white on white
And in between the moon and you
the angels get a better view
of the crumbling difference
between wrong and right…
(The contrast of white on white? The crumbling difference between wrong and right? Adam fucking Duritz y’all)
It’s 4:30 a.m. on a Tuesday
It doesn’t get much worse than this
In beds in little rooms in buildings in the middle of these lives
Which are completely meaningless…
(Perfect Blue Buildings)
(Fucking Tuesdays, man. Tuesdays and institutions and wondering what the fuck the exact point of all of it is. I get that.)
5. And I might stop after this one:
I’m almost drowning in her sea
She’s nearly crawling on her knees
It’s almost everything I need.
(It’s almost everything I need.)
6. Sorry. But did you see the warning/disclaimer above? I feel like you should’ve known something like this could happen. (Plus I’m barely even scratching the surface of the Counting Crows lyrics that I love. It feels wrong to stop here. But I will.)
7. Everyone should read this book.
Well. Everyone who has a sense of humor. This isn’t any kind of “official” link — I don’t get money or anything if you buy it. I just really believe most people should buy it and read it. And laugh.
8. What else?
9. All that italicizing wore me out.
10. I guess I should start thinking about what I’m going to write, you know, for real. Maybe I should go back and read what I wrote in 2011? I wonder how hard it is to write a good sex scene? And by “good” I mean SO MUCH BETTER than that 50 Shades of Grey crap (which I read every word of, in all three books, so …..) Hmmmmm. I do have some Captain Kirk fantasies to explore….
p.s. Have I mentioned the rain? It’s been crazy rainy here, pretty much since June. There were a few weeks in the middle of the summer with no rain, but other than that? RAIN. Heat + Rain = Steamroom = Soggy/Grouchy/Kinda depressed Kim. I’m ready for the amazing weather to come back. That would be great.
p.s.s. or p.p.s. if you’re an English teacher or whatever… So ya, it seems I have parasites/amoebas/whatever in my gut. Lovely. Lucky for me, there’s medicine for that. I’m starting with an 8 day regimen and hoping that is all I need. And after this mess, I think I will do the preventative medicine every six months, like the doctor recommended when I first moved here, but which I failed to do, because sometimes I just don’t follow directions very well. Or at all.
p.s.s.s. I don’t just love Counting Crows lyrics. In case you were wondering. I just have “August and Everything After” on the brain tonight. And to be honest, I’m not even sure Adam Duritz wrote all the lyrics I quoted, but I’m too lazy to look it up right now. And it doesn’t matter. Unconditional love, Adam. That’s what I’m offering. Or, you know, just sex. ;)
p.s.s.s.s. Is it wrong to proposition a rock star via a postscript on your blog? And then to entertain the fantasy that he has set up a google alert on his name, sees the proposition, proceeds to obsessively read everything you’ve ever written (on the blog), decides you’re fabulous and how interesting that you live in an awesome little town in Mexico (just like the girl in “Holiday in Spain” – avid fans will know what I’m talking about….) and how tired he is of dating fabulous (young) actresses and how you kind of remind him of his one-time lover Mary Louise Parker (in a fluffier, more middle-aged lawyer turned real estate agent/wanna be writer way) and decides it would be cool to reach out and say hello? Is that wrong?
p.s.s.s.s.s. I have a vivid fantasy life. It’s entirely possible that Adam Duritz is a total dick. Perfect.
p.s.s.s.s.s.s. Is anyone still reading? It occurs to me that my post title doesn’t exactly match my post. I mean, I’m not really talking about all the things I love right now. But I’m too tired to figure out another title. Fuck it.