"Things alter for the worse spontaneously, if they be not altered for the better designedly".
-Francis Bacon
Oy.
I just wrote the first post that I have put up here in days and it was eloquent, clear and concise. And as I just saved it to publish, the Internet service stalled and my thoughts were wafted off to a purgatory of the forever unpublished. It is par for the course in this stupid era of technology efficiency. Grant me a moment or two to fume ceremoniously. Profanity ensues.
But I digress.
I haven't written much in this space for the past few days. It's been painful not to do so. For me, it's as if a limb is atrophying, turning black from the onset of gangrene and slowly withering away. I have sat before my keyboard and furtively sought to find a voice. None comes and my head and soul feel stuffed with cotton. It is a rather numb feeling and I don't much care for it.
I reckon I have produced a great deal of written rubbish here yet when I regularly sit down at this keyboard and express even the most mundane of retellings, I am enjoying a therapy that is personally cathartic. It is a balm that even modern psychiatry, pharmaceuticals, Feng Shui, yoga, spa treatments and gratuitous sex can't resolve. It is my therapy, my great joy. That I am stymied mentally from participating in this is troubling.
The truth be told, this week has been a tad surreal. You think I would be emoting like Hemingway.
We're moving office tomorrow. After ten years in the same edifice, we're moving into a sleek and shiny space that is as modern and hip as the new direction of the company. The activity in the old office during the past few weeks has been an Armageddon. We're disposing of all our old office furnishings and have encouraged the employees to take them home if they want them lest these fine pieces end up clogging a landfill somewhere on Staten Island. In the past few days, I have looked out over the parking lot from my 2nd floor window and have seen employees hauling out bulletin boards and lamps and potted plants and office furniture and chairs and piles of magazines. It's like a gentrified South Central looting in slow motion. The inside of the office is an orderly chaos... It's fascinating watching this transition.
Angus, my steely automotive green steed, must have felt the unsettled mood, for his battery chose to crap out last weekend while I was sequestered solo in a Stop & Shop parking lot in New Rochelle, NY. After anxiously appealing to a man and his brood of kids for a jump (for the car, not me), I have had fearful car battery experiences all week.
And don't even get me started about the inopportune moments that Mother Nature deems a snow shower. That wretched bitch's timing is dreadful. I weathered her with gritted teeth and a few choice words.
Tonight I was on the phone with one of my publishers when an employee's husband came to measure my desk in preparation for hauling it out of the office. I feel like I am an observer in a really strange dream.
And you see, I still can not find quite the right words.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Wow, you are an amazing writer. I still try to speak with correct grammar, and you write as if you come from an older century. Meaning that no one speaks like that anymore. You've inspired to hunt down Shakespeare and start into a new story.
Oh, my darling Kenz--you are too generous. I'm beyond flattered.
BTW, you are an amazing writer yourself.
Sounds like maybe you need to head to Chicago for some inspiration. :-)
If only I could dream of writing like you. So this was a tumultuous week and you make it sound so alluring. Like a good book that I can't put down, I am looking forward to the next chapter. Kenzie took the words right out of my keyboard.
Will the move be more or less of a commute for you or is this something to be shared later?
You know, I had a bad week , but how does one eloquently say "puking my guts up"?
Post a Comment