I arrived home today full of thoughts. Full overfull and this is the result:
I walked in the door mulling over the fact that I am never satisfied unless I'm moving. I cannot watch TV unless I'm stretching or knitting or writing ideas and sometimes playing video games. I cannot play video games unless I'm watching TV which, in doing so, allows me to be doubly entertained, literally get my fill (truly I'm devouring twice as fast wouldn't you say?) and go on my merry way to vaccuum as I listen to music or play guitar and sing.
At that moment I was thinking of updating my blog with this nonsense about the type of busy person I am, how I make myself busy-there will be more on this later-when I realized I was hungry and started to think about the enjoyable state of being which is hunger. I don't mean true hunger, mind you, I mean the kind of hunger which includes the knowledge that I could, if I chose, eat at that instant or, at least, a very soon instant afterwards. I was also reveling in the slimming, tight, energy of such a small hunger. It was, in short, the kind of hunger that reminds us that we have basic needs and that the fact that those needs are so easily filled should remind us how truly pleasant and full of free time our lives are.
So I began to imagine words for my state of hunger: "Illustriously hungry" was one of those words alhtough it was instinctively changed to "Illustratively hungry" in the moment after that, or maybe it was simultaneously at the moment I thought of the word "illustriously." Anyway, "illustratively hungry" seemed to fit and I imagined that someone who wanted to could easily illustrate my state of hunger. It would be easy, I felt, to detail the intensity of my eyes as I chopped carrots for my salad, the agitation in my in my shoulders and the strange, tight way I held my elbows as I attempted to rip leaves of cabbage. Since I can't illustrate, I thought of these things and realized I was making a verbal illustration which reminded me that I have yet to tell you that I'm writing a book.
Yes, I've become a writer, officially. It seems it'll be a wonderful fiction about a girl and the moon. It will involve surreal magic.
But, enough about that, back to slicing carrots, which, incidentally preceded the lettuce in conventional timeline order despite the order in which it was written in one of the previous paragraphs. As I chopped the carrots I thought about wiritng and describing the chopping so that someone could notice, without reading directly, the intensity of being so careful about something when it's so obvious that the person doing the action is in an intense hurry. You see, actually the majority of you already know, I'm a bit of a clutz. What you may not know, is that I have learned to be careful. Therefore, my current status has moved up from the higher rungs of "clutz" to that state which is "carefully in a hurry."
I was thinking about posting this all on a blog or writing it in a story. Then I thought that if I simply kept going on about the manner in which I sliced carrots you, the audience (who is probably no longer here) might begin to think that there was a plot to this whole thing: a delicious dinner at the end, a slice to my hand due to my "careful hurriedness," a doorbell that rings and a poor person in the rain who needs the food, or an intruder intrudes and suddenly the knife is a weapon of protection. I thought it would be sad to do such a thing, lead on my audience when truly, there doesn't seem to be a plot to this. I won't go on to say anything ridiculous like "The point of this is that there is no plot." Because, well, then it would establish a plot and a point of "No Plot" just as foolishly as the statement "There is No Absolute Truth," ironically refutes itself with its absolutism.
In the end, I've used a ton of words, altered their meanings to fit my own suit and I still haven't finished making that salad and whatever else was going to come with it. Therefore, this whole thing nearly falls down to the higher rungs of "clumsily written," although I'd like to say it was "carefully written in a hurry."
To make all this worth your while, I'd like to include a bit of the story I'm writing.
But I won't, because it has too much of its own unique mythology that it would be embarrassing for me to have you read it when it's so incomplete, as well as unbearable if someone were to steal any tidbit of my freshly created world before its completion. I'm not sure how I may feel afterward-we'll see.
