NOTE: This post was originally published on a different blog of mine in 2006.
I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked the bundle of you who have signed on to read everything I dish out, even when it’s crap or a bunch of pictures or a love poem.
You know what? I really appreciate that you’ve stuck around this long. (Yes, Original Hater, that includes you, too.) I hope you’re enjoying the new profile page, because I designed it for you. I wanted to make it easier to access all of my stories, even the crappy ones that you may have missed at the beginning. All of the blog links should be fixed now, so please check them out. Consider it a token of appreciation – and an appropriate one, as one of my very first blog subscribers did the coding for me.
I remembered today how much I used to love writing poetry. I have a bundle of poems, and it’s killing me because they are in my self-storage unit in Chicago, along with all my journals from about fourth grade up to college, as well as almost all of my photo albums. I haven’t had the money or time to get them, and I really need them now for stuff I want to write. My friend Bean did a really cool blog yesterday, and it reminded me of another reason why I need my journals.
I love scrapbooks. I can sit with them for hours and hours. I love how my journals turn into makeshift scrapbooks themselves. The one I have now is a red and purple silk journal with lined pages that I bought back in 2000 for when I moved to Chicago. The intention was to fill it in a year. But grad school was hard, and then when I lived in Aruba for three months for my broadcasting internship, I was having too much fun living life to write it down.
I flew from Aruba to Chicago that day to go back for my graduation. The stuff I wrote at the bottom is in Papiamento, a dialect spoken there. All of what I wrote that day is ringing true to me again right now.
Isn’t that the writer’s life, though? Just when the best stuff is happening, it’s coming so fast and hard that it’s too much to just sit still long enough to catch it. Anyways, that silk journal has been from France to Aruba to Sweden to Chicago to D.C. and back to NH with me. Last night, I realized I only had a page and a half of it left to fill. I found that fitting.
So, dear readers, I’ll let you in on something if you haven’t picked up on it. I’ve been really busy. In the past week, I’ve played the role of Cleopatra, birthday girl, vixen, and a devil doll, corset-clad in red fishnets and latex thigh-high boots. And I’m not done yet. Those roles were all play, but this transformation shit is real. And scary. And grueling. I’ve heard so many people say, “Someday, I’ll do _____!” My Someday is Today, bitches.
I need to focus on my Today, because I’ve got a lot riding on how I live it out. I’m running on faith, not sleep . . . so, this is my apology for not writing as much as I usually do here, at least until after things settle down. But I’m not disappearing completely, and if you’re on the friends list, you’ll get the mini-blogs via bulletin as well.
Oh, back to Bean’s blog. She scanned in pages of her own journals and there, squared off and shaded in on the bottom of one of the journal pages, was a quote from one of my poems that got published when we were in high school. Bean’s blog was inspired by “Dirty Blonde,” the just-released diaries of Courtney Love. Now, I couldn’t name you one song by Hole and I didn’t listen to a whole lot of Nirvana, so I can’t say I have a huge interest in Love’s journals.
But the book . . . people, it is FANTASTIC. Love scanned in pages and pages and pages of her journals. They contain her sketches, lyrics written and crossed out and revised, and teacher’s notes from when she got in trouble in high school. When I went and picked up the book tonight, I was kinda pissed, because that bitch stole my book idea. I love “multi-textual” stuff. Always have. For instance, Bean and I also share a love of Nick Bantock’s work, including “Griffin and Sabine”, as well as “The Venetian’s Wife.”
I wanted to scan pages from my Beezus and Ramona diary that I had in fourth grade, and the diary I wrote partially in code in fifth grade (that one, I have with me . . . it is really funny). But Courtney f*cking Love did it first, and her life is a wee bit more interesting than my preteen diary.
I’d pretty much draw it the same way today. I find it funny that I was my school’s representative for the Word Olympics that year, but misspelled my own father’s name.
I am going to spend hours poring over “Dirty Blonde,” even if I am jealous. There’s this quote from Carrie Fisher on the back cover that just makes it all worth it:
“After all is said and done – whenever that is – she is a survivor. Unfortunately, the only thing wrong with being a survivor is you have to keep getting in trouble to show off your gift.”
This book found me, I didn’t find it. Here’s to getting in trouble, and lots of it. Stick around. This should be good.