writer's block

I wrote a paragraph yesterday. A start for the story of MJ and me. But I don't like it. I do like my forward, however, so I'll share:

The following story is not a memoir, nor is it a work of fiction; rather it’s a combination of the two. The characters in this story will recognize themselves, but names and the accuracy of events have been changed to protect the paranoid.

One of the paranoid is me, of course.

censorship

Ah, Sara Rose...fond memories there. I let Rachel get pretty bold. But that works for her.

Anyway.

I named this blog “A Quandary Uncensored,” but the more that I think about it, it is not completely uncensored, or there would be much, much more to it. I have been forthcoming about much of myself here, but not all. Can any of us really share all of ourselves with each other? Because let’s be honest; this blog is not anonymous. It is, more accurately, by invitation only, even though I welcome curious visitors who are unacquainted with me and the circle of individuals I write about. So really I should accept ownership and grace it with my own christened name. But it may be too late for that. What do you think?

I think maybe I should rename it “A Quandary Almost-Uncensored,” or “25%-Censored,” or “A Quandary I’ll admit to and write about a whole lot more than I did two years ago.”

in the beginning

Sara Rose. Hers was a lovely and poetic name. She was the first girl who really struck my fancy. Alex once described her thus: “[She] was cute, with short, reddish hair that seemed to have been colored. She wore trendy glasses, dressed casually colorful and looked comfortable and serene. She had a peachy complexion and a hesitant smile..."

For a short time she worked one cubicle away from me in a busy office. I would pass her on my way to the break room, and sometimes I would walk that route hoping I would see her there. She usually only worked there a couple of days a week. She asked for help with a Word document once, and another time had some trouble with the copy machine, and on both occasions I was happy to assist. We struck up brief conversations. She told me later that I was the only one in that office who bothered to befriend her.

But all my confidence seemed to crumble around her. Her presence made me miserable. Perhaps because I wanted so badly to be accepted by her and she just didn’t seem interested. Hers was the first friendship of that nature that I pursued. I was relentless and determined, and in the end, it paid off.

I moved with her to New York City that next fall.

addition to my dictionary

Rachel is feeling prowly* today. Maybe I did not kill her completely--maybe she just went to sleep for a while. But apparently she is not asleep now and has been lurking, waiting for something to snag me with, to get me into trouble. Anybody care to help her out?

*prowly [proul-ē]
1. having a desire to rove or search for what may be found
2. to be watching; on the hunt for something forbidden

dreams

A very young Jane Seymour showed up in my dreams last night. I don’t remember a lot of it, except her slowly and purposefully blowing out candles...

You know how in dreams you sort of process the conversations you had or the things you may have seen that day? Well, I don’t know where Jane Seymour came from, but the other stuff that was happening may have been because of a conversation I had with someone about... lips.

Just a thought.

the lingering effects

MJ came over last night, to give me her portion of the cell phone bill (she's part of my family's plan. It was a better deal for all). She stayed a while. She held the baby (my newest niece) and we talked some. Sometimes I feel like she doesn’t really like me anymore, and that she really doesn’t want to spend time with me, and that she just comes over now because she feels like she needs to make an appearance once in a while. I still feel that sting of rejection. And yet, when she does show up, she hangs around for three hours. But her lingering didn’t make me feel any more loved; it just made me wonder why. I sat there and tried not to be preoccupied with how good she looks. I tried not to study her. I keep asking myself, when isn’t it going to be hard anymore? Is it hard for her too? It’s easier than it used to be, without a doubt. It’s just when I’m feeling premenstrual and sleep-deprived and I want some form of comfort, it would be so nice to have my MJ again.

tired

I’m tired of reading blogs. I’m tired of trying to find something to come with for my own blog. I’m tired of checking my email. I’m tired of looking at Facebook. I’m tired of not having money. I’m tired of the slow economy. I’m tired of trying to stay busy at work. I’m tired of thinking about exercising and never getting any. I’m tired of my mother calling me. I’m tired of planning primary lessons for a group of children who have no interest in what I have to offer them. I’m tired of wanting. I’m tired of doing the same blasted thing day after day.

However, in honor of the blog world’s “Thankful Thursday,” perhaps I should take a moment for some gratitude.

I’m thankful I have food to eat, home and family, and a reliable vehicle to drive. I’m thankful to be loved, even when I offend. I’m thankful for medication, which does its job most of the time. I’m thankful to work for good people and feel appreciated. I’m thankful that I do not suffer from a chronic illness—that I can see, hear, speak, smell, walk and do all of the other things that allow me to feel free.

the Alex awards, part three

Funniest Celebrities

These are people that can make me laugh hard. I'm not talking about a giggle. I'm talking about the kind of laughing that compels you to share the humor with someone else because it's much more fun to laugh in company, even if they don't get it.

#10 - Jerry Seinfeld. Does anybody ever tire of watching his show?

#9 - Peter Sellers. Classic Pink Panther. And much more.

#8 - Bob Hope. I don't know why. He's just so silly.

#7 - Mike Meyers. Not a fan of Austin Powers or the Love Guru. It was Saturday Night Live that hooked me. I could watch Linda Richmond all day long.

#6 - Lucille Ball. Classic.

#5 - Molly Shannon. Another SNL alumnus.

#4 - Carol Burnett. Her show is as funny today as it was in its day.

#3 - Bill Cosby. Again, classic.

#2 - Robin Williams. Can anyone argue?

And my #1 - Ellen Degeneres. Whoever told her to start her own talk show was genius.

I have so many runners-up. Among them:
Tina Fey
Ben Stiller
Ryan Reynolds
Tim Conway
Colin Mochrie

And let's not neglect to mention my favorite INTERNET celebrities. Mindi and Tiburon.

aspiring

At times I’ve played with the idea of writing a sort of memoir about my relationship with MJ. I’ve been encouraged by friends (well, just one friend, whose idea it was in the first place), and discouraged a lot by my own ability to self-sabotage. When it was suggested, I was too sensitive about it. I wasn't ready to relive it and dig up all of the bliss and the chaos and the pain. But I would like to do it. Just to do it. Just to have it. Maybe I'm ready now. But to publish it? I’m afraid it wouldn’t be good enough. I’m afraid of exposing myself to the world. I don’t care so much about people who don’t know me, but the people who do—even if I disguised all of the characters in the story—they would know what it was about. So do I write it and publish it under a pen name? Like Rachel Metz? :)

Especially after reading one of my favorite blogs this morning, where an author had written a memoir on a failed relationship and her experiences raising her son as a single mother, and getting a free digital copy of the book and reading some of it and realizing that I could do this—not as candidly as she did—but I could.

So where do I look for motivation? How do I push forward without losing steam?

p.s. The aforementioned book is rated R. Just so you know.