| Journal & Weblog | Write to Save Your Life | August 24, 2003 |
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posted Wednesday, May 31, 2000 Cherry-Limade Sports I just wet myself. Okay, don't get excited, it just looks like I took a leak in my shorts. The problem with eating at Sonic is that you're in your car and a large cherry limeade doesn't fit in the cup holders so you have to fit it between your legs. See where this is going? Needless to say, as fate would have it, the stem of the cherry happened to get caught in the edge of the lid and very sensitive parts of my body were doused with very cold, very cherry-limey goodness. I think car makers have got it under control though. After all, cars keep getting bigger and bigger every year not just to accommodate today's fatter Americans, but also to fit today's larger, 64 oz. soft drinks. Think there's a correlation here?
You Know It Is Bad, When... Online chatting is beginning to take over my brain. I caught myself starting to incorporate chat lingo in everyday, face-to-face conversation when talking to a friend yesterday and instead of laughing at a joke he made, I mumbled "LOL." We both stopped in shock at what had just come out of my mouth. I think this is a sign that I need to take a break from the computer for a while. That being said, I'm off to party down. Happy Memorial Day!
Questionable Intentions Everyone I talk to tells me that I should be more than a little suspicious of Josh's frequent trips with his rich friend Brett. Per Josh's understanding, Brett is in love with him but Josh has explained that their relationship will never progress further than friendship. That being said, they continue to travel together, Brett absorbing all expenses. The paid trip to Cancun doesn't seem strange to me, but then again, I have a different perspective on it than most of my friends. I've had rich, older friends before who've taken me on trips, snowboarding, etc. in the name of good company. That's not to say they didn't have other things on their mind, but there was no pressure and they certainly didn't act any less than respectably. I'm hoping that Josh is telling the truth and that Brett is taking him on trips with good intentions.
Miracle by Onion I volunteered to work at the local soup kitchen this weekend. The manager—an old, weathered black man—came up to me and, with a twinkle in his eye, said, "If you wanna see a miracle, stick around." It was right out of Touched By An Angel. I wondered if there was any validity to that remark. Maybe this was a sign from God. Perhaps my volunteering was an act that would set off a string of events that would bring about a small miracle in this mountain town, cascading down through society, touching people of all cultures and nations, and ultimately bringing about world peace. I figured I'd stick around like the old man said and see if maybe magic really does happen like in Sitcomland. Three hours and two-hundred chopped onions later, there was still no miracle. Looking down at the massive mountain of chopped bulbs in front of me, I suddenly realized I had performed a miracle: effectively chopping an onion a minute for the past three hours. I wiped away the tears from my eyes. The twinkle in his eyes must have been from the onions.
Dream I am in a hotel room with a person who stole $20,000 worth of checks. I have no idea who this person is, but he is trying to kill himself by setting himself on fire. No matter what I do to stop it, he continues to burn. Before he dies, I grab a check out of his hand and ask if I can have it. It is a blank check for $2000. He furiously attempts to pursuade me not to take it and that if I did so, I would regret it. I protest that I need the money. Frustrated, he explains that the check needs to be cashed by a particular bank and if I do not fill it out correctly, I would "be sorry." I run out of the room. A friend is waiting for me at the bank and when I show him the check, he gets an evil glint in his eye and I know not to trust him. He explains how to fill out the check, and like a machine, I do as I'm told. As I hand the check to the bank teller, I am suddenly falling from the sky and into the ocean. A loud voice rages in my head: "If you want the money, here is what you must do. You are in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Your only means of survival is a bottle of Coca-Cola." A bottle materializes in thin air and kerplunks into the water in front of me. The voice continues: "There is another bottle in Nebraska. If you can reach it within 24 hours, the money is yours." Frantically, I look around while treading water. I am in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but sky and water to the horizon. The bottle of soda slowly pulls me into the depths. I begin to swim.
Contagious Creativity It was Freud who wrote once that whenever he made a discovery, he found some poet who had been there before him. There is no doubt that the action of creation is very similar to the act of dreaming. Anias Nin recognized this as well: The difference [between dreaming and creation], however, is that [creation] includes an activity that has been difficult to analyze. It is not only the power to summon an image, but the power to compose with that image. The second faculty of active creation is what is mission from the use of drugs. Drugs induce passivity. Passivity, like the passivity of India induced by religion, is destructive to both human life and art. Why should we want to penetrate this realm of creation, of dreaming? Because it contains the key to a knowledge of ourselves. Journaling has a subliminal influence, much in the same way poetry does. It influences by contagion, empathy, like music.
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