Untitled

So basically I’ve been editing and over-editing a piece I wrote on the 14th directly into the WordPress editor, the one about making my decision to quit drinking for a whole YEAR (I feel it needs capitals) and the ostensible reason being to improve my writing progress (the underlying reason to be a better, healthier and longer-living mom and aunt and possibly grandmother and grand-aunt) and the really secret reason being (fingers slowing down, typing down the truth) that I am truly addicted to wine. Not physically perhaps but mentally for sure. Wine is the best, it is the liquid beauty, the access to god, the one true medication that is available easily nearly everywhere and without stigma, in fact it’s nearly required to be cool at any dignified social gathering, it’s delicious (well, once you acquire the taste for it), it’s even said to be nutritious (if you can restrain yourself to whatever limit the constantly changing heath authorities say is healthy), it makes you feel classy and soon you begin to associate every single classy, relaxing or connective time with wine, wine, wine, (or whatever your liquid drug of choice) okay so there it is. I’ve written about it many times before mostly in private, here in this beautiful pre-dawn netherworld where I dive to write. Except that I haven’t been lately. Because of blogging.

The blogging is another sort of animal, a delightful, domesticated, tame little cat, that reminds me of our dear dear cat who was not very tame nor domesticated but who has now sadly died, I suppose I should say passed away but what the fuck he’s dead, he’s dead and I miss him very much, and I know he’s “only a cat” but he came into my life just at such a moment that it was strangely like a gift from god, willem said I wish we had a cat like Fuzzy and there he was in our driveway, looking just like Fuzzy reincarnated, and no driving him away (by T) would drive him away, he just kept coming back, and then nine months later, at the next similar time in my adventures in total sobriety he died, not in our driveway but in someone else’s, probably from accidental rat-poisoning. WTF, what does it mean, does it mean nothing, I don’t know.

The post started out quick and outlined the fact that I’d told T (which is always a major step in anything, telling your nearest and dearest). I left it in the drafts queue, I can’t remember why, even though it was only four days ago, I think I simply ran out of time to publish it after writing it, or more likely, more truthfully I was afraid of hurting T or our marriage in any way. And didn’t I just tell myself that fear isn’t a good enough reason to do or not do something? But this is different. It’s not just fear. Is it? Oh fuck I don’t know.

Anyway it actually hadn’t started out like that, it started out with a title of “Why Boozing i —

No it was “Arguments for Not Boozing as A Writer” just went and checked and also spent time documenting various drafts by copying them from WP to Scrivener yes I know I’m completely batty the worst thing is I didn’t save the main draft in which I actually had written the arguments but later removed them entirely from the post

This is how writing goes for me I write a title at the top, either that or a single line of truth and then I ramble on about things that have little to do with any title I might have started with and then I decide to re-title it appropriately and that little edit leads to more little edits and soon what do you know my few hundred words has become a few thousand words and the original meaning was expanded and then lost and perhaps also the truth was lost a little in my attempt to make it understandable to the masses and then I feel sad because the whole point in the first place was NOT to appeal to the masses but to reach perhaps one person and often that one person can’t be reached when you aim to appeal to the masses and so then I just want to give up but yet the post is sitting there, over-edited monolith of unreadable propriety that it is and it’s like there’s something blocking the toilet and the toilet won’t flush and then the only answer is to bloody well reach in and take that thing right out and then the toilet will flush again.

Forever and ever Amen? So help me god

I have come to the same crossroads I always come to in my writing, my (writing?) personality splits into two (or more) and I have no idea how to categorize it like normally you should have two or three separate blogs and pen names that’s what smart people do but how do they manage it all also I love the truth, perhaps I worship it far too much thus evading it completely is that gibberish I don’t know but anyway I love the truth in theory at least and that makes me want to put everything in one place to show the truth the truth the marvellous messy truth of creation and then more and more people will understand the ambiguous duality or perhaps trichotomy of truth and how it can’t exist without being this way

What do you say? God? Cat? What do you say?

___

Written in scrivener, the first part in dark focus mode, begun 18 January 2019 at 05:41

8 thoughts on “Untitled

  1. strider48

    Hunter Thompson, Raymond Chandler, John Cheever, O. Henry, Dylan Thomas, Dorothy Parker, Tennessee Williams, Edgar Allen Poe, Truman Capote, Jack Kerouac, William Faulkner, Charles Bukowski, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce,
    Ernest Hemingway.

    What do all these men (and one woman) have in common apart from scintillating writing? They were all considered to be addicted to wine.

    “I drink to make other people more interesting.” ―Ernest Hemingway
    “Pouring out liquor is like burning books.” ―William Faulkner
    “Here’s to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald

    Am I making a point yet?

    Like

    1. Yes and my personal old favourite: “Either bring me more wine or leave me alone” —Rumi. Yes I hear you strider and I have a feeling you’d make a great drinking buddy 🙂 but Hemingway is one of my faves and he shot himself in the head. Fitzgerald and Kerouac are also favourites and they died of alcoholism. (I haven’t researched the others.) Fine and all but if you especially if you have kids or others you care about… there are other options to explore

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Wine was liquid gold for me and made my super woman cape fit just right. Until I woke up the next morning with it tangled around my neck. A chilled glass of Chardonnay is beautiful, and it would be nice if I could enjoy that one glass, but I cannot. One glass turns into three, and then five. The bottle would be empty as I casually opened another.

    That life ended 20 years ago. Thank you God.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: Back to mud… and love – Bloomwords

  4. Pingback: OKOTO ENIGMA (“Mystery”) Blogger Award (& Interview/Q&A) – Bloomwords

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