I'm feeling a new depth of unmotivated-ness. It's beginning to freak me out a little bit. It ain't good, to say the least.
It's more than an unwillingness to work. It's a lack of pride in what I'm doing and a lack of desire to do things well. That's scary.
Hopefully it's just a mood.
Hopefully.
And you know what? It's all within me. No outside forces are oppressing me or keeping me from doing what I want to do. Sure, it'd be "easier" if I had a little more money or something, but come on. It's not about that. It's about me and being lazy and not really doing anything and certainly not doing anything that's gonna get me anywhere...and spending my time feeling sorry for myself. It's so much easier to be depressed than to be not depressed these days. I must resist the urge to be lazy! Laziness is tantamount (catamount, Megs) to depression. No laziness. No depression.
Wait.
This means no laying in bed watching HBO DVDs for twenty-three hours of the day?
Fuck.
On a less self-indulgent note, Alan at work just told me: "I can smell your eggs. Whoa. What a fucked-up thing to say to a girl." He was talking about the hardboiled one I had in my dinner bag.
Oh, also! IN an effort to stave off boredom, depression, and at least nominally, poverty, Erin and I are opening an Etsy.com store to sell crafts and other shit. We want to cater specifically to hipsters....we plan to hoodwink them by doing things like putting a pog and some beads on a chain and calling it a necklace. Erin and I have both fallen for Etsy hook, line, and sinker.
Finally: I miss my friends a lot. I am getting falsely nostalgic for this time last year, even though I KNOW I was pretty unhappy back then. I was in the middle of Antigone, doing a terrible job, ruining relationships left and right, not sleeping enough, not eating enough, not getting my work done.... But the other night Karl texted me a picture of us from last Valentine's Day where we were wearing Craig's clothes because we'd all been caught in a terrible sleet/snow/rain storm on the way of of school. It was the only day I've ever tried to look nice for school by wearing a dress, and of course I paid for it dearly.
Anyway, in this picture, Karl's wearing a Third Eye Blind t-shirt and I'm wearing a sparkly, puffy Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles shirt and we're both grinning in a hangdog sort of way. Perhaps we know what's about to occur! (Kings, a LOT of broken glass, drunkenness by five o'clock, etc.) I think the feeling that I am so nostalgic for and sentimental about is the feeling that I was actually DOING something. I felt like we were doing something vital and important with BUSTAMFOP, and my revolutionary fervor was always at at least, oh, 89%. We were all going like gangbusters, whether for each other or against each other (I feel like it was mostly the latter).... and I'd like to feel like that again.
I thought the two parts of this post were unrelated, but obviously, they aren't.
The lesson I've learned today can best be summed up in the words of Brian Wilson:
Sleep a lot
Eat a lot
Brush 'em like crazy.
Run a lot
Do a lot
Never be lazy.
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I'M NOT EXAGGERATING.
- Anna
- Brooklyn, New York, United States
- I am generous in proportion and inclination.
1 comment:
Read me again:
A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words. This may sound easy. It isn't. A lot of people think or believe or know they feel -- but that's thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is feeling -- not knowing or believing or thinking. Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think or believe you know, you're a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you're nobody-but-yourself.
To be nobody-but-yourself -- in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else -- means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. As for expressing nobody-but-yourself in words, that means working just a little harder than anybody who isn't a poet can possibly imagine. Why? Because nothing is quite as easy as using words like somebody else. We all of us do exactly this nearly all of the time -- and whenever we do it, we're not poets.
If at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed. And so my advice to all young people who wish to become poets is: do something easy, like learning how to blow up the world -- unless you're not only willing, but glad, to feel and work and fight till you die. Does this sound dismal? It isn't. It's the most wonderful life on earth. Or so I feel.
You may be a better writer than singer. Don't quit. Don't be 'something.' JUST BE.
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