far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Sunday, January 30, 2005

The work involved in getting this new page on its feet has turned out to be labor intensive in a way I had not anticipated before the fact, in part because all the compiled writings that are accessible through the various links over to the right needed to be coded with line breaks, in part because all existing text links grew underlines with the shift and each little bitty link needs extra code to clean that up. Before the page went online last Monday, I'd spent several days pulling together all the different stuff, prepping it to be plugged into each new page. Or that's what my addled, naïve little brain thought would happen. (HA!!!) Add to that the slow collapse of linkage to the far too many photos I've stored at pbase -- a slow collapse that seemed to go completely to hell yesterday as the outfit moved to a new ISP, virtually every photo linked to pbase disappearing between morning and evening -- and it's meant a whole lot of fun. Man, talk about slog work.

But it's my little cyber-fiefdom. When the everything is finally stored here and all the clean-up is cleaned-up, I'll be obnoxiously content.

Sunday a.m., Madrid -- doing the morning paper bit



***********

A few mornings ago: me, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, scraping my face with a razor. For some reason, thinking about how much I've changed in this lifetime. Remembering the childhood me: a sad, dependent, pudgy little guy mired in a strange, cramped existence, yet knowing nothing else, finding myself quietly freaked when thrust into other contexts.

Thinking about the two times I did sleepovers at friends' houses. In both cases, feeling so uncomfortable and unhappy that I wound up getting out of bed early in the a.m., everyone else in the host homes still asleep. Pulled on clothes, went back to my home, to my teeny bedroom.

I found myself thinking about the one and only time my mother farmed me out, me four or five years old. A morning the 'rent had an appointment somewhere and couldn't or didn't want to drag me along, leaving me at a house down the street with Mrs. Brown and her daughter, Dale, I think a year younger than me. Didn't know Mrs. Brown well, but knew Dale, got along with her fine. Didn't matter -- something about not being able to go home, about being corraled in an unfamiliar place had me uncomfortable, distressed, counting the minutes until my release.

I found myself thinking about the only other similar occasion, a time my father -- a teacher in New York City -- had to drag me along with him one day, leaving me in the class of a teacher he knew at his school. Me feeling so uncomfortable in this place where I knew no one and no one seemed to have any interest in me that I began going to the lavatory every half hour or so until the teacher lost patience and chewed me out in front of the class. (An approach that made things feel SO much better.)

Overweight, insecure, somewhat shy. The me of then.

The me of now: a whole different case. Comfortable with myself -- more than that: pleased with myself, with my little existence, knowing how far I've come. Knowing I'm a work in progress, far from perfect but not bad. With nothing to apologize for. And normally not very concerned about what others may think of me. An amazing, hugely satisfying change, that.


[see following entry]


Madrid, te quiero.

rws 1:00 PM [+]

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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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runswithscissors would like to thank everyone who's ever lived for everything they've ever done.



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