Tag Archive for cabin fever

Freedom From Face(book)

Given the ennui I’d been feeling, the cabin fever (I mean a week in the cabin, great,  but that 9th or 10th day starts hurting….), I could see it starting.  I was on a superslick luge track to gold medal snarkery.

Sure, I was proud. I mean this is what I trained for, right? My years apprenticing at the snarktory, my nights by the fire practicing my craft. Don’t get me wrong. I was up for it. I know my abilities to sear veins with vitriol, microsurgery to the heart of the heart. (Oh, did I mention? Scorpio! In my soul.)

And plus, I was Right. About every. single. thing. Every Facebook argument anyone implied (by breathing, coughing, not breathing, not coughing) they wanted to have.  And I was ready to battle.  Think  Lost is the world’s best TV show;  blue your favorite color, Beyonce, the world’s best singer??  Uh, no. Incorrect. FAIL. You suck. Lemme tell you why. In 27 points.

Think you know the most about snowflakes, government shut downs, politics, movies. You don’t.

I do. And I can’t bear to let you think so for a minute. Why? Because you’re wrong. WRONG!!!

But the thing was all this rightness wasn’t making me less blue, nor less tired, nor more proud. It was just making me mean. and tired. and empty.

I sat watching the scrolling letters of facebook / twitter/ blog feeds / email/ texts… I felt my teeth clench, knuckles tighten into a ball, eyes strain and bluegray washing over all the very rightness and joy and success I thought I’d been wanting to celebrate.

And suddenly, rising over the foggy, snarky, venomous place, Read the rest of this entry »

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    www.sajithmr.com

Testing 1 2 3 or Just start, redeux

Starting with an apology has begun to become cliche and,for this blog anyway, just redundant.

But I am. Sorry for anyone who hung on, hoping I might return and to those who stumbled here accidentally and got…nothing. Blank sky , white wash.

But mostly, I am sorry to me, myself for stopping. My fellow writer pal (one of many I’ve never met but have known in some deeper place from long ago) expressed the hunger, exquisitely.
It hurts me not to write. Not (just ;)) in some tortured “oh woe is the Writer ” way. No I mean something much much more basic. It hurts my head, spinning muddled banalities. It hurts my heart, opening all the wrong doors to familiar ghosts — blues and lows that sink and sludge. It hurts my stomach, gurgling the junk food of laziness of mind and body.

I know this. And yet I don’t or easily forget anyway. I can’t take back the forgetting.

All I can do is start. Again.

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    www.sajithmr.com

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