renewal
I felt this stream of consciousness coming on all day, from the moment I woke up. Two straight days with a blog entry. Get out of my way, world - I'm back in the writing groove.
This morning, naked before my shower, I noticed I've lost weight. I see the number on the scale and I am not displeased. I look in the mirror and my cheekbones seem slightly more defined. My face lean. I smile. Wider. I guess I have a "nice" smile. At least that's what I've been told most of my adult life. I'll take the compliment.
I look into my hazel eyes. Clear eyes. Clean conscience. Destructive old habits inhaled, exhaled, and gone. New dawn fades. New day dawns. The cycle of life. Renewal.
It was dark when I walked to the train today, half-moon in the onyx sky. But somehow, I did not feel as lethargic as usual. I did not dread the commute, the office, the people who would surround me on the streets, quite as much. I felt almost above the crowd. It was some existentialist reverie, I suppose - among the people but alone, never sure of my place. And that was okay. I don't need to belong, or be accepted, or become like all of them. I'm not sure I will ever be fully comfortable in my own skin. Insecurity? No, just an adjustment to the circumstances of my life. Confidence, swagger, and an intermittent sense of dominance might be construed by some as hubris. I can understand that, but see it as acclimation to who I am.
And who I am has been adrift in a haze of diffidence and renunciation. I am not the classic "nice guy," and my words can often be harsh and... too honest, I suppose. I don't always regret my words, though I realize I can be a little more tactful and act less on impulse. But I will not play games, I will not use or manipulate, and I will not fill anyone's head with banal mantras or circumspect advice meant to serve my own ends. I expect honesty in return. Usually, I brood on feelings and thoughts for too long a time. I push them away, but they linger and gather with a redoubtable persistence. To reclaim oneself is to feel a corroded iron halo lifted from around the head. To feel a threadbare shroud of antipathy open and lift and drift away. To feel scorn and derision wrenched from me like the parasites they are, replaced with an empathy - a benevolence. I toss childish grudges and destructive malice aside.
It's the new me! How will the world react? Okay, so...
I went about Monday with a convivial detachment. The office was business-as-usual. The noise, the chatter and clatter, the vicarious stress, the gossip. It didn't faze me. I strode among the cubicles and desks, seeing and knowing that this was simply a fraction of who we are.
Coming home from the train, now before sunset, mellow music in my ears, and seeing. I mean, really seeing. I know it's a romantic notion, but I looked beyond the skyline to the great stratus-streaked blue and smiled. Now, that should have proven an exigency for a nocturnal creature like me. I am so accustomed to my own darkness, my own introspective and brooding nature, that to see and enjoy and feel the light on my skin was almost a revelation.
I don't know where all of this came from, especially on a Monday.
Perhaps it was the sense of accomplishment I had earned with the completion of the short story anthology. I felt I was justified to take a moment to enjoy my own cocksure self-satisfaction. In the moments after I knew it was done - through all the late nights and early mornings, through all the personal turbulence, the ceaseless voices in my ears and inside my head, the words across computer screens, phones, text messages, crowds, work, and the overload of it all - something inside me shifted. A village idiot's grin spread across my face as I realized the last story was finished - that the book would be on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and several other online outlets, as well as available in independent bookstores, in roughly a month. And there is my name - as the editor. But despite what I felt, this wasn't just for me. In the land of reality, it was for thirty-eight other writers, for a burgeoning independent publisher, for a discerning and intelligent readng audience who would be offered something different than, and superior to, the usual pseudo-literary fodder.
And now Ache edits await. A new manuscript idea. Short stories, perhaps. More editing. A new résumé. New people. New projects. New prospects.
Maybe my next blog post will simply be my résumé. Without my phone number or address, of course. I must have my stalkers somewhere out there.
I will now firmly place my tongue-in-cheek, not only because it's something I quite enjoy, but because it seems I've discovered a "pro-life" outlook. No, fear not, my steadfast and affectionate readers, your trenchant guide to this side of the city will always have that misanthropic edge - it's inherent. But now I feel it tempered with... hope?
This morning, naked before my shower, I noticed I've lost weight. I see the number on the scale and I am not displeased. I look in the mirror and my cheekbones seem slightly more defined. My face lean. I smile. Wider. I guess I have a "nice" smile. At least that's what I've been told most of my adult life. I'll take the compliment.
I look into my hazel eyes. Clear eyes. Clean conscience. Destructive old habits inhaled, exhaled, and gone. New dawn fades. New day dawns. The cycle of life. Renewal.
It was dark when I walked to the train today, half-moon in the onyx sky. But somehow, I did not feel as lethargic as usual. I did not dread the commute, the office, the people who would surround me on the streets, quite as much. I felt almost above the crowd. It was some existentialist reverie, I suppose - among the people but alone, never sure of my place. And that was okay. I don't need to belong, or be accepted, or become like all of them. I'm not sure I will ever be fully comfortable in my own skin. Insecurity? No, just an adjustment to the circumstances of my life. Confidence, swagger, and an intermittent sense of dominance might be construed by some as hubris. I can understand that, but see it as acclimation to who I am.
And who I am has been adrift in a haze of diffidence and renunciation. I am not the classic "nice guy," and my words can often be harsh and... too honest, I suppose. I don't always regret my words, though I realize I can be a little more tactful and act less on impulse. But I will not play games, I will not use or manipulate, and I will not fill anyone's head with banal mantras or circumspect advice meant to serve my own ends. I expect honesty in return. Usually, I brood on feelings and thoughts for too long a time. I push them away, but they linger and gather with a redoubtable persistence. To reclaim oneself is to feel a corroded iron halo lifted from around the head. To feel a threadbare shroud of antipathy open and lift and drift away. To feel scorn and derision wrenched from me like the parasites they are, replaced with an empathy - a benevolence. I toss childish grudges and destructive malice aside.
It's the new me! How will the world react? Okay, so...
I went about Monday with a convivial detachment. The office was business-as-usual. The noise, the chatter and clatter, the vicarious stress, the gossip. It didn't faze me. I strode among the cubicles and desks, seeing and knowing that this was simply a fraction of who we are.
Coming home from the train, now before sunset, mellow music in my ears, and seeing. I mean, really seeing. I know it's a romantic notion, but I looked beyond the skyline to the great stratus-streaked blue and smiled. Now, that should have proven an exigency for a nocturnal creature like me. I am so accustomed to my own darkness, my own introspective and brooding nature, that to see and enjoy and feel the light on my skin was almost a revelation.
I don't know where all of this came from, especially on a Monday.
Perhaps it was the sense of accomplishment I had earned with the completion of the short story anthology. I felt I was justified to take a moment to enjoy my own cocksure self-satisfaction. In the moments after I knew it was done - through all the late nights and early mornings, through all the personal turbulence, the ceaseless voices in my ears and inside my head, the words across computer screens, phones, text messages, crowds, work, and the overload of it all - something inside me shifted. A village idiot's grin spread across my face as I realized the last story was finished - that the book would be on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and several other online outlets, as well as available in independent bookstores, in roughly a month. And there is my name - as the editor. But despite what I felt, this wasn't just for me. In the land of reality, it was for thirty-eight other writers, for a burgeoning independent publisher, for a discerning and intelligent readng audience who would be offered something different than, and superior to, the usual pseudo-literary fodder.
And now Ache edits await. A new manuscript idea. Short stories, perhaps. More editing. A new résumé. New people. New projects. New prospects.
Maybe my next blog post will simply be my résumé. Without my phone number or address, of course. I must have my stalkers somewhere out there.
I will now firmly place my tongue-in-cheek, not only because it's something I quite enjoy, but because it seems I've discovered a "pro-life" outlook. No, fear not, my steadfast and affectionate readers, your trenchant guide to this side of the city will always have that misanthropic edge - it's inherent. But now I feel it tempered with... hope?
Labels: stream of consciousness
posted by Walls Falling at 7:57 PM
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