Pickle

oh dear. what have I gotten myself into? Blogging every day is harder than I thought.

It’s almost 11pm and I’m feeling pretty beat. It’s been one of those days when I’m pretty sure that I’m being judged not so kindly by somebody close to me but I can’t tell if it’s really happening of it’s just Nasty mind (and I don’t mean that in that good Las Vegas way). A couple of times today I’ve wanted to say “beg your pardon?” and “Did you just say what I think you said?” but each time I’ve decided that I didn’t really want to know the answer to those questions.

Not eating sugar is also harder than I thought. There are times when I just want to break down and cry I miss sugar so much. I thought that it would get easier, and I suppose in some ways it has. I don’t feel quite like the raw bundle of nerves that I was that first week. It’s amazing how many times my mind shifts to sugar in the course of a day, though. How many times I tell myself that I deserve a treat. And then to realize that I can’t have the treat? That my treat right now is to think of God? Well, it leaves me feeling more than a little deflated.

Which brings me to another frustration, which is that I have a really hard time articulating my thoughts and feelings. I know that I can string sentences together in a fairly coherent fashion, but rarely do I feel like the sentences I write or speak really get at what I’m trying to communicate. I think that may be in part why I stopped blogging, and it’s why I turned the comments off in my last post, because I knew that I hadn’t really said what I wanted to say. Is the remedy for that to just hit “publish” anyway? I always feel so frustrated when, after I’ve shared at a meeting somebody comes up to me and says “Gosh, I know just what you were talking about” and then proceeds to demonstrate that they know nothing about what I was talking about. Does it really matter if they understood what I was trying to say? Not so much, I suppose, when what they heard me saying was what they needed to hear. But still, I get frustrated. So I’m going to practice talking more. Really, I am. I’m going to practice interrupting people, too, and talking over people, and pretty soon, no one will be able to get a word in edgewise around me, because I have a feeling that saying what you mean might just require saying it many times in many different ways until you hit the jackpot.

shoot. the baby just woke up.

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~ by jenzai on March 21, 2009.

6 Responses to “Pickle”

  1. Reminds me of the professor who used to ask me two write two artists statements, one from my perspective, the second from that of the viewer. Honestly I don’t think I ever got it right, but then, we are artists, solitary souls, we find means of expression beyond the literary to reach out to people over and over again with insight, sometimes with compassion, but always with that nagging sense of “Did I say that right?”

  2. I am so calling you today, and if you don’t interrupt me and cut me off at least twice, then I’m going to, um, come back here and say so! I do think figuring out what you are trying to say us a sort of iterative process. You start out aiming in roughly the right direction, and then refine it a little, don’t get too worried about contradicting yourself, and yeah, sometimes you have to yell, “Shut up and let me talk, I’m not done with what I’m trying to say yet!”

  3. I came online to rephrase what I said yesterday, or just ask you to erase it, or to beg forgiveness for having posted it, or whatever.

    Un: Before we can go hiking I just have to write a quick blog comment….
    Brujo [teasing]: Why, is Someone Wrong on the Internet?
    Un: Yeah, actually—me. *I’m* wrong on the internet!

    And then I come here and find THIS! Wonderful! Pickle! And here I am staining your roaring fire with defilement, as the Zen people say….

    Anyway I was going to apologize because I’m pretty sure what I wrote made it clear that I didn’t understand what you were saying. That it was much more about me turning forty and what that’s like (hint: SUCKY) than what you were actually saying. And I know what that feels like (and why we turn off comments, when we turn them off) so I am gonna HUSH UP now and go hiking and quit staining with defilement etc. Also I am gonna look up Patrick’s cell # again and call him about his artist statement.

    Only one more: You make a shiver go down my spine with how deflating it is to think of God as the treat, instead of tiramisú, and I am in awe of not so much what you are doing as that you are talking about it so honestly and so well. Please, please talk on.

  4. I am certain I am wrong on the internet over and over again, and it’s tricky when comments are turned off to recognize that there may be no right thing to say, and to still want to send loving presence, say, I am still here with you, and appreciate your courage in saying what you’re saying. So let’s not make comments turned off be the blogging trend for the week, right? And here I love you both so much that I am prone, often, to overidentifying and, argh, often rushing in to speak when I should just sit quietly and let you experience what it is you are experiencing. So I think I need to be interrupted and cut off, but it comes down to: I am going to trust you and risk saying the wrong thing and going through processes of correction and refinement to get it right.

  5. I’m so glad you are blogging…I’ve really missed you. I wish we could hang out and have coffee today. Or better yet, I wish I could babysit and you could go have coffee or a meeting or a workout or craft time or a nap. I’m sorry that someone who shall remain nameless can be less than tactful…theres a lot of love there and a lot of generational weirdness and a lot of bubble living….but the person is educatable if you want to go there (I usually don’t but am often rewarded when I do). Anyhow, I’m glad you’re blogging…

  6. @oleoptene: Only for the pair of crazy posts, promise!

    I love what you both say about having the trust to speak and know you’ll be interrupted and misunderstood and that someone will have to say gently, Excuse me, I wasn’t done; or No, actually, that’s not quite it. Y’all make me feel like that weepy girl at the party who’s had too many beers: “I love you guys….”

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