what I write about when I write about writing.
Can you write about not writing? I don't see why not. I honestly can't think of any way to make this interesting. All these words are just coming out as fast as I can think them.
So in order to have something I'll have to reach back. I did this exercise once where you write your own obituary how you would like it to appear far in the future when youre cooly dispatched.
It's clearly a focus to find an ideal city, career, relationship for you and it's an entertaining way to see how what elements about yourself you think are apparent.
But the only specific I can recall is that I mentioned, during my lifetime, I sometimes enjoyed confined spaces. Sitting in a closet or working under a desk.
I don't possess this predilection anymore but it was once calming. I first felt it as a young kid when we used to have this large closet in our laundry room. It was tall as the room. Even my dad needed a stool to reach the top shelf. And it was that top shelf I used to climb up sometimes with a blanket and prostrate in the dark.
It was around this time I took part in another odd predilection which has -thankfully - also abandoned me. I used to eat Bounce fabric softener.
I wouldn't completely ingest it. Just chew it up like bubble gum and spit it out. I enjoyed it. Grainy texture but satisfying. Beats me.
But I will say for a pre-deodorant elementary student who played soccer and wore the same Ninja Turtles sweat pants all week I smelled fucking amazing. I think that's how my mom found out.
But socially stunting diet aside, I remember the dusty dark dog-belly warmth of that top shelf.
I can get that feeling in other ways now. I can get it with my girl late at night. But I'm not the guy who talks about that stuff. I can get that feeling from turning the lights off and watching a long, engaging movie. Or with a heavy blanket, yellow lamplight and a decent book.
But the elements for my most serene moments are the same: dimness. Warmth. Quiet.
Not very original. Oh well - it's stuck in your braincells now, fucker!
So in order to have something I'll have to reach back. I did this exercise once where you write your own obituary how you would like it to appear far in the future when youre cooly dispatched.
It's clearly a focus to find an ideal city, career, relationship for you and it's an entertaining way to see how what elements about yourself you think are apparent.
But the only specific I can recall is that I mentioned, during my lifetime, I sometimes enjoyed confined spaces. Sitting in a closet or working under a desk.
I don't possess this predilection anymore but it was once calming. I first felt it as a young kid when we used to have this large closet in our laundry room. It was tall as the room. Even my dad needed a stool to reach the top shelf. And it was that top shelf I used to climb up sometimes with a blanket and prostrate in the dark.
It was around this time I took part in another odd predilection which has -thankfully - also abandoned me. I used to eat Bounce fabric softener.
I wouldn't completely ingest it. Just chew it up like bubble gum and spit it out. I enjoyed it. Grainy texture but satisfying. Beats me.
But I will say for a pre-deodorant elementary student who played soccer and wore the same Ninja Turtles sweat pants all week I smelled fucking amazing. I think that's how my mom found out.
But socially stunting diet aside, I remember the dusty dark dog-belly warmth of that top shelf.
I can get that feeling in other ways now. I can get it with my girl late at night. But I'm not the guy who talks about that stuff. I can get that feeling from turning the lights off and watching a long, engaging movie. Or with a heavy blanket, yellow lamplight and a decent book.
But the elements for my most serene moments are the same: dimness. Warmth. Quiet.
Not very original. Oh well - it's stuck in your braincells now, fucker!
posted by Jag at 7:57 PM
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