an imaginary talk about shit and ideas

How do you find something different to write every day? Don’t you run out of ideas?

I am always one post away from my last idea. I feel like I repeat myself sometimes and have to search back and make sure I am not plagiarizing myself.

What will you if it happens?

What I always do!

It already happens?

All the time.

So what do you?

First I check my notes.

Notes?

For ideas. If I am in the car, or see something online, or overhear something unusual or noteworthy, I try to write it down.

That’s very writerly.

Nah, it’s just my lousy memory. I’d never remember any of my ideas if I didn’t write them down. But then I still run out of ideas and have to make something up. And if all else fails, there is always an imaginary dialogue.

You make those up?

Uh, “imaginary”?

Right.

Sometimes they’re based on a real conversation. Sometimes it’s a conversation I wish would happen. Sometimes it’s just one sentence that someone says that comes to mind and I invent shit around it.

Like what?

Like the other day at a BBQ, Shayla asked what I write about. I said “random shit” and she wanted to know more. So I said “like when your Mom and I were talking about colonoscopies and bowel preps during dinner, and you told the enema story. I suspect that will go in somewhere.”

You were talking about enemas and colonoscopies during dinner?

Well, in my defense, my mother is a nurse. I have no conversational boundaries at meal time. She used to tell enema stories at holiday dinners.

You could do a funny blog about shit.

Shit is always funny. It’s kind of obvious though, so I am saving it for an emergency.

Good idea.

Someday I am going to use the line that sometimes the random shit I write is literally about shit. I can’t figure out how to fit it in.

Well, shit is pretty flexible.

Much like a colonoscope.







Ordinary things

They had an ordinary life, full of ordinary things-if love can ever be called that.
–Leigh Bardugo/Ruin and Rising

This was the happy ending of a book in which two people with extraordinary abilities lost nearly everything except love. No, I am not going to talk about beginnings and endings again. I am going to wonder about things that are ordinary.

Ordinary gets a bit of a bum rap. The thing is, there is really nothing wrong with ordinary.

Boring? Sure. Banal? Absolutely. Watching TV all day? Yes.

Ordinary isn’t necessarily a synonym for boring though. All of the every day miracles are ordinary things. The fault is not in things and people being ordinary, but in not appreciating what is beautiful about them.

Sun.
Rain.
Grass.
Books.
Music.
Sex.
Breathing.
Heartbeats.
Love. Always love.

Things that manage to be both ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

and there are thousands of them.







What the fuck am I going to write?

It’s well after midnight and I am home from Tequila Hill. Not entirely chemically myself.

What am I going to blog about??

We had great food. A lot to drink. Good people.

Rocky is here.

I have new equipment.

We talked about race and color with Nok and Donnie. Am I wrong or was Donnie kind of flirting with me? I am out of practice.

We talked about pubic hair, tattoos and how race impacts what sort of tattoo you decide to get, and if it’s gender that impacts that decision more than race or color.

Tyson is pissed off because all the 50 year olds are looking at their phones instead of talking to him.

Communication is hard.

Writing every single day is hard. Especially if you are not home for several hours a day to write, and/or just don’t really feel like it. Or if you are..altered.
Or all of the above.

Anyway, it was another great evening on Tequila Hill.

Somehow it always is.

Am I imagining it, or did we really decide to meet for breakfast at 0800?

Isn’t that kind of early??