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.
I’ve been thinking today about disappearing mailboxes. USPS mailboxes. They’re fading.
[“Lonely mailbox” by dsaint on flickr]
ML was the first to point this out to me, when they came and dug up the one around the block. Then I carried a netflix rental into the grocery store to ask for their mailbox and found, nope, they didn’t have one either. Nor did the plaza with the CVS, or the spot over by the library.
Of course, my office has one but it made me think about supply and demand and the lost art of letter-writing. And that made me sad, though I’m as guilty as anyone. Heck, writing email seems too slow, writing a letter brings to mind molasses and boots in a windstorm.
And yet… letter writing is how I connected to my pop-pop, as a teenager who’d just lost her dad: finding a surprising and much-needed friend. Letter writing is how I communicated with first loves and last loves, when I wasn’t brave enough or wanted more permanence than spoken words would allow. Letters are how to say thank you or sorry or “you’re invited” properly.
It’s similar to my thinking about the kindle ( Kindle 2: Amazon’s New Wireless Reading Device (Latest Generation) : no no no, paper books must remain!!! There is something to paper and ink and opening your mailbox to see handwriting, familiar or strange – it means something, more than electronic transmission can convey.
Question/ Writing Prompt: What was the last (snail-mail/real) letter you remember writing or reading? Why does it stand out?
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At the beauty parlor (where I finally, finallyyyy got my hair cut) I read the same new term twice in two different publications — Reader’s Digest and Cosmo. Seriously, what are the chances of that??
The term was: daylighting. It means working on a job while, ahem, at your other job (as opposed to moonlighting where you have two jobs).
I guess this has become possible with the advent of less site-dependent work, i.e., (See, Daniel Pink, Free Agent Nation: The Future of Working for Yourself) one COULD work on another writing project while at one office job (I suppose. Who could imagine such a thing? None of us I’m surrre! So writing something… say a blog… while working… huh!)
I, of courrrseeee, really dunno what they mean as I’m sure none of us ever day- or moon- lit? But if you have, or know someone who has, and/or have changed your habits as the economy worsens, I’d love to hear about it. Leave a comment.
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