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runswithscissors


Tuesday, March 08, 2005

I don't know about you, but I've spent a lot of these last 24 hours submerged in thought.

Yesterday: went to see Sideways (called 'Entre Copas' here -- 'Between Drinks'), took a long walk through the city center afterwards, as late afternoon gave way to evening. Thinking about the film, thinking about earlier periods of my life. Wondering if I'd ever been as lost as the two nitwits portrayed in the story (answer: yes). Wondering if I'd ever treated any women as badly as the story‘s ladychaser did (don't think so, sincerely hope not). Wondering if I'd ever been as unhappy as the main character, if I'd ever suffered under the weight of as miserable a self-image (maybe).

It's been a long while since I've counted an out-and-out jackass among my circle of friends.* And it's been a blessedly long time since I disliked myself or my life in anything close to the way the protagonist in the film does. I've seen me change in ways that have dragged my existence from some sad, dark places into technicolor and vistavision, step by slow, deliberate step. For which I am more appreciative and grateful than I can say.

I tend to think that my life mirrors back to me where I am internally, meaning, for instance, that the absence of out-and-out jackasses among my life's current cast of characters is not chance but rather an indication that I'm more aware of what I have, what I want, how things feel to me, and that, armed with all that information, I've come to choose better. This doesn't mean that loose cannons don't skid through these parts in the course of daily life. Because they surely do. It means that what I choose to do, how I choose to react and what my priorities are have changed. And I get to choose again if my first choice wasn't too swift. And then again. And as many times after that as are necessary to produce desirable results. A way in which I'm far less limited than the younger versions of me.

And of course there are those moments when I probably am the loose cannon skidding around the deck. But they pass. I tend not to stay too stupid for too long nowadays.**

So I wandered, thinking about all this tedious stuff. Happy to be where I was, and more than content with the company I kept (me and several thousand souls passing through the center's streets).

And when, later that night, I finally called it a day and hit the sack, I found myself in the middle of one dream adventure after another, all night long, stretching right on through the wee hours. Waking up now and then -- mentally still plugged into the dream world I'd just been part of -- then slipping back off to sleep. Over and over again, on and on and on, all sorts of people taking part in the stories -- mostly folks I'd never met before, along with one or two faces from my 3-D existence back in the States. Vivid, intense dreams that mostly didn't make the trip back to waking reality with me this morning, apart from a couple of images. All of it feeling, in a way, like an extension of the previous evening's thought-fest, though I can't point to any obvious connections apart from the wildly spinning wheels.

This morning: dragging myself back to more concrete reality via laundry, studying, language class, where things got heavy, turgid as conversation veered unexpectedly toward heavy subjects, the kind that can raise blood pressure, bleed away fun and enjoyment. Sending me flying out the door, deep in thought once more, coming directly home to try and discharge some of the wheel-spinning via flailing fingers on computer keyboard.

Mission accomplished. At least for now.

*I say that ignoring the times I may have been the out-and-out jackass among my circle of friends. I tend to think it's been a long while since I've played that part, though there may be a few confused souls who disagree.

**Once again, there may be a few confused souls who would disagree, but happily, they don't get to opine here. They'll have to carp and contradict on their own web pages -- pages undoubtedly less adorable than this one, unadorned as they are with bitchen pointy boots.


************

Your computer: an innocent-looking portal to DEATH and DESTRUCTION!!


Madrid, te quiero.

rws 12:13 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
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January 2005
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March 2005
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October 2007
November 2007
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January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
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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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