New Blogs

We are learning about freewriting in my Humanities class. I'm already familiar with it, as I've attempted the Artist's Way program numerous times, only to be defeated by my own lack of discipline. But when I was on a roll, I did my morning pages religiously and I can say that it did wonders for my writing and my creative thinking process. I love how freewriting just slams that inner-critic to the floor, leaving room for authenticity on the page. The critic can always come back in the form of an editor, but while producing he should just keep his mouth shut.

Inspired, I am now reinstating my morning pages in the form of a blog. No, it won't be public. That would defeat the purpose of course. I would like to say that I'm secure enough in myself to let the stream of consciousness publicly flow out of me, but I would be lying.

So, if this blog isn't going to be public, why am I telling you about it? To taunt you with the unattainable. No. Well... kind of.

Actually, I'm just rambling on. Maybe I'm doing a bit of freewriting as we speak. Or write. Or whatever. But the truth is that I wanted to let you know about another blog that I've started writing called Love, Angie. It's a place where I can let out the random things I'd like to say to random people. The posts are in letter format. I guess you could say that I have a problem with confrontation, so here's where I'm just going to let it all hang out. Real names will rarely be used, so if it sounds like I'm writing a letter to you, I probably am.

More later...

Flight of the Conchords Ep 3 Think About it

Good Morning

I am so excited about life right now! Do you see the time I'm posting at? Yes, it's the morning. And I'm functioning. I've actually been up since 6:50am, thank you very much. It's good to see the morning while it's still fresh and new. I'm so used to waking up at 10 or so, and then fumbling around like a zombie trying to get ready and then showing up somewhere late and exhausted. But now I have a 7am ballet class that wakes me right up, even if I did jog for an hour last night until 12am. By the way, bragging is fun.

Moving on, I started a post yesterday and it got erased. I don't want to try to recreate it again, so I'll keep this short and sweet. I made a friend. She's an artist. I have a crush. She is amazing and I love her work. You will too. Look:

Susan Krueger-Barber

See? Told you so. Visit her on the web here

To Delete or Not to Delete...

Hello again. It's been a while. I've got a lot of excuses, but I won't even bother with them, as I'm sure I haven't really been holding up world progress. Who are "you" anyway? Just me, I'm assuming. I love how my habit of talking to myself is creeping over into my writing. Lovely. I'm feeling a strange connection to my dead grandmother about now. She had Alzheimer's the entirety of our acquaintance.

So I'm back in Utah. In school. In a basement apartment. Still married. I have a bike. My favorite zipper to my favorite jeans broke. I've made some shiny new friends. Mark still makes the bed into a taco at night. And I have Internet. That about sums the recent happenings.

Oh, and we went on a Zombie Bike ride on Saturday. That was fun. Here's a few pictures.



So today I visited this blog after many weeks of being away, and I felt strangely self-conscious. I almost deleted it and I still want to and I'm wondering why it was ever a good idea to post pictures of myself in daily outfits and give tours of my medicine cabinet. I'm thinking about all the people who stumble across this blog (all three of them...) and I'm blushing. I feel exposed. I feel dumb. I feel self-conscious.

The blogasphere is such a funny place. It's like a exhibitionist's party. Burning Man comes to mind. And it's so easy for people like me to peek through the crowd and observe it all. But vicarious living looses it's thrill quickly and the next thing you know, you're emulating. Inspired, you- or I, as it seems- find myself dancing on the table. And then the music stops...

Awkward moment.

So here is my awkward moment. Should I get down off the table? Should I creep back through the crowd and find a dark corner somewhere? Should I just leave altogether and go home to my white walls and the air-mattress that me and Mark sleep on because it creates more of a hill-valley scenario than a taco?

Nope. Next song, please. I've still got some dancing to do.