Mental lovehandles

I’m worried now, but it won’t be long.
It takes a worried man, you know, to sing a worried song.
–Old 97’s/Big Brown Eyes

Sometimes things I do or say have unexpected results. I think I’ve mentioned how I like talking back to inspirational quotes before. It’s sort of a minor hobby. I follow purveyors of inspiring quotations on Twitter and comment on them. Yes, it’s dumb, but it keeps me from arguing with real people. Except that it doesn’t at all. Anyway, The other night I commented about one that said:

A waist is a terrible thing to mind.

I responded that it was better to expand your mind than your waist and then got a response from someone pointing out that it’s hard to get rid of mental love handles.

That’s just great–now I have something new to worry about. Well, not new. I’ve always worried about my mind being lazy. I worry about losing my memory. I also worry about getting trapped inside of my mind with a completely immobile body and people not realizing that my mind is still fine. Well, that’s really a different story innit?

Anyway.

Mental lovehandles. It’s a good phrase. No one wants a flabby brain.

I already have a flabby body, so I do not need mental flab at all. If my steady regimen of reading and writing doesn’t help prevent mental lovehandles, I am kind of screwed. Should I do Sudoku? I hate them. Mind training exercises? Should I start playing that card game where you have to find matching cards? I can’t remember the name of it. Is that the first sign of mental lovehandles? What about excessive questions? If wondering is a sign of dementia, then I definitely have it. Definitely.

I worry too much.
Right?

Is arguing with the voice in my head considered mental exercise? Because if it is, I will have not problems with brain flab at all. But then, if I get better at this mindfulness shit, the voice inside my head will (supposedly) diminish or even vanish and then what will I do for a mental workout?

So…
Maybe I should start going to the gym.
They might have a brain treadmill I could use.

Imaginary misunderstanding

I’m cold.
Sometimes you are.
What?
Sometimes you’re cold.
Cold?
Yeah. Sometimes you’re kind of cold.
Wow. OK. I just meant that I forgot to wear a jacket. What do you mean sometimes I’m cold? Like emotionally?


How am I cold?
You just said. Physically.
Ah.
What?
Nothing.
What!?
Are you doing this just to piss me off?
Doing what?
Because I can’t decide if you are really that clueless or if you’re just getting off on being a button pusher today.
What!?
I’m not emotionally cold at all right now, just so you know.
That’s good.
Is it?
No.
You’re not going to even try to explain what you meant, are you?
Are you kidding?
No.
I value my life too much.
It’s a good thing I like your family.
Why?
Because it’s keeping me from strangling you through the phone.
You couldn’t anyway.
You’re right. It’d be much more satisfying in person.
That was cold. See?
You’ll be cold shortly after I kill you.
Room temperature, anyway.
Dick.
I love you.
Such a dick.
You love me, too.
There must be something wrong with me.
You’re perfect, as long as you remember your jacket.
It’s not too late for me to kill you, you know.
Nah. You’d have done it already. You’re used to me now.
Baby, there IS no getting used to you.
It’s one of your favorite things about me.
No. My favorite thing about you is that you make me laugh.
Like now?
Right now it’s more of a grimace.
That’s not like a laugh at all.
You’re doing a really shitty job.
It’s more of a hobby.
There you go. That made me laugh.
Good girl.
Get off my phone.
You called me, remember?
Good-bye George.
Good-bye, Clarence.

What if?

Several weeks ago, I read Stephen King’s book “On Writing.”

To summarize his recommendations for would-be writers:
Read and write a lot. The reading being as important as the writing.
Know your grammar.
Don’t be afraid to edit. Heavily.
Don’t use many adverbs.
Avoid the passive voice.
When you’re writing a first draft, just write. Think later.

One of the highlights for me was learning that he hates outlining a plot. He starts with an idea, a “what if,” and then lets the characters take the story over. Yes, even when he wrote “The Stand.” Of course, then he got stuck with a zillion loose threads when he was several hundred pages into the book and had no idea how to resolve them. This is not an issue I am ever likely to have on that scale, although sometimes I get lost in the middle of a 300 word blog post.

In his mind, he is just unearthing a story that already exists. He just tries to pull it out of the ground without ruining it, like an archaeologist with an ancient artifact. When he starts writing, he has no idea how the characters will resolve the “what if” he starts the story with. Love the idea, not sure how it works in practice. I’ll have to give it a shot with Samael and Mara.

The reading and writing hours I don’t have too far to go on. Except that I’m not writing anything…purposeful. For people who want to get serious about their writing he recommends reading and writing for about 4-6 hours a day, aiming for writing 1000 words a day. I don’t know if that’s me (the serious part) but I’m pretty close both on word count and time spent. Spot on, if you average in weekends. I’m writing about 450 words a day that get put online, and probably another couple of hundred words a day of ideas/blog starts. My word count is much higher on weekends. I have a day job and social life. I’m not sure you can have a day job, social life, be serious about writing AND sleep.

During the work week, I write in the evening, mostly. I get home around 4:30, go for a quick walk if it’s nice, otherwise start writing. I write until Mark gets home, come up with some excuse for not having made dinner. Ahem. Crank out something to eat, and then write some more from about 6:30-8:30. I read in bed for about a half hour, sometimes if I get something written that I’m happy with I might read for an hour in a night. I also write in my car before work, at my desk while I eat lunch, in my car on the way home if I get an idea (at stop lights) and any time I’m in a waiting room. I also write when I’m hanging out with my parents or out with friends. Yes, it is rude. I probably write about 3 hours a night, and read for about 1.

On weekends I write about 4 hours, and read about 2 if I don’t have social stuff going on. In football season, I don’t really have time to read on weekends. See above for “not being sure if I want to/am ready to be serious about writing.”

The really surprising thing, aside from realizing all of a sudden how much time I actually spend writing is that this has really got me reconsidering at least one longstanding opinion I have of myself. One of my most deeply held convictions about myself is that I’m lazy. It is true that I do a lot of sitting down. I like being still. Most of my hobbies involve sitting. Reading, weaving, knitting, writing. Does it follow that I’m lazy?

When I look at it in terms of being a creative person, instead of thinking about it in terms of being someone who moves around a lot physically, what I am doing is a lot of work. Granted, I like doing it. Still. What I have taken for years as sitting around doing nothing maybe isn’t. I’m writing about 3 hours a day. Maybe more. Not watching TV. Not staring out the window. Not playing solitaire. Not surfing porn on the Internet. Much. I’m writing. Reading. Making things.

Does it count if it’s not for pay? Is it less “work” if it’s for fun? I’m producing words, or hats and scarves, but is that a “productive”use of time? Do I even care? Does a hobby have to involve physical activity for it to not be a waste of time? No one would think I was lazy if I was spending 3 hours a day in the gym, or out running. If I’m spending it on creative pursuits of various types? What is it that determines if time is wasted?

Most importantly to me personally: what if I’m not lazy at all? Certainly I’ve been called lazy often enough. Intellectually, physically. I’ve never questioned it. I’ve just accepted that since I’m not out training for a half marathon, or gardening, or scrubbing the floor it must follow that I’m lazy.

It would be quite a surprise to me if it turned out that I am not lazy after all. That would mean I have to change my mind about something that I thought I knew about myself.

What else am I completely wrong about?

What if there are a lot of things?