The Multiple Ways in Which I am a Failure:
May 20, 2015 Edition
I tossed and turned all night after watching Birdsong, a dramatization of Sebastian Faulk's novel. I stayed up late to finish the show, failing to honor my commitment to go to bed on time. I sit up and muse about Vera Brittain's memoir Testament of Youth, which I failed to finish last year. Faulk ends with the idea that love is the only thing worth living for, but Brittain lost her Roland and spent the rest of her years in emotional compromise. Depressing.
Anyway, I better understand the tragedy of the Somme after watching Birdsong and it brought much of what Brittain talked about in her book to life. I should really finish her book but instead I start a new one about parental narcissism and how one can be raised to feel not good enough.
Many times I realize I can't sleep because I am hungry, which makes me think about all the people in the world who are honestly hungry, and go to bed each night without enough food and that makes me think about what a fool I am. I am selfish. have done nothing for them. I haven't even made myself a healthy snack because I can. I get up and eat a roll of beer brioche and promptly fall asleep.
I wake up feeling like I've been hit by a freight train. A hot shower solves a lot of problems, but this morning? I don't even have the energy to blow my hair straight. I'm fine with this at the moment, but I'm sure that later I will look in the mirror and bemoan the migration flight of my youth and beauty.
That pile of art that I love but - inexplicably - have never managed to take to the framer for the past twelve years - has been sitting on the credenza for three weeks. Which makes me think of all the other piles of clutter around the house, 99 percent of which are unfinished art projects. Some of them unfinished for years and years and years though I have a specific plan for each and every unfinished project. The fact that I have a plan for each and every piece of paper in that giant mess somehow makes it even worse, when I think about it.
I have, as a writer, an abusive relationship with the semi-colon;
My pants are tight in the legs but falling down around the waist and butt. I'm not sure if it's because I've lost weight or if it's because I've gained weight and my midsection is pushing the waistband toward my knees. I order new pants in my size but they are too big and I return them but don't allow myself to register this as a positive. I continue to wear the tight legged pants and hike up the waist every five minutes instead of going to the mall (one mile down the road) and trying on pants until I find a pair that fit. I could weigh myself but that would be stupid.
We have way more Tupperware than two people need.
Yesterday's accomplishments seem like mountains in the foggy distance and one of the pets has been sick on the rug.
All day long I try to convince artists to regularly update their web pages but I haven't touched my own [work] website in months. Not even to update the contact information after our recent move. This is tragic and sad but I already know that I won't log in today, either.
I don't think my Gmail works from my iPad and, since I'm not sure when the sync quit? I have evidently failed to respond to an invitation to get a pedicure tomorrow; several client emails and likely missed some pretty good Internet sales on pants.
But tomorrow is another day.