Fragments of thoughts flutter about my head, too restless to settle and form solid ideas. A thought needs peace and quiet to put down roots and grow into something substantial. Pollen, pollution, idea dust – clogging up neuro-passages, jamming brain cavities so thoughts get stuck and go nowhere. Brain muscles not exercised atrophy and shrivel up into thin, weak tissue unable to accomplish much. Healthy body, healthy mind – both need feeding of nutritious, substantial fare, and plenty of exercise to thrive, grow and function well.
Inactivity leads to disease – inactivity of the mind leads to disease of the mind. Poor circulation leads to a host of ailments. The mind must be exercised, fed the right things, and be given plenty of rest in order to stay strong and healthy.
Look! Puppy! Aww, puppies are cute. Wait, what was I thinking about? Oh, well. I’ve been suffering from a fractured attention span for some time now. It’s like fragments of thoughts flutter about my head, too restless to settle and form solid ideas. Wait, that sounds familiar. Did that thought already fly by before? I should write a grocery list. Oh, there’s that alarm; let me go finish the laundry while the thought occurs to me.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Happy Hunting
I’ve been out hunting today. First, I tried the coffee shop, but that yielded nothing. I was trying to wrangle me some words, but they kept escaping.
I was getting distracted by the vastness of internetland. New acquaintances to connect with, old ones to catch up with, plans to be made with others, photos to be distributed to their rightful owners, times and places to be firmed up and secured to calendars. Lovely distractions all, but nevertheless, distractions. All the while, the words were lurking in the corners of my mind, but every time I tried to catch some, they scattered. A new distraction had popped up.
So I went to the woods as I often do on such occasions. There, words tend to be more readily rounded up and roped. But even along the trail that yields at times such abundant bounty, pickings were slim today. There have been cases when I enter the woods and step right into whole flocks of words, and they’ll remain calm, cautiously keeping an eye on me as I walk in amongst them, even allowing me to reach out and touch them. At such times, I’m able to feel the shape of each word, carefully selecting for form, function, and beauty, then simply pick up the ones I want, as long as I make sure not to make any sudden moves that would scare them off.
But not today. The words have been so skittish lately, it’s as if they suspect I’m out to harm them, or worse, kill them off with some awful piece of prose. I would never do such a thing on purpose of course, but they may be sensing that I’m not completely on top of my mind’s game lately. My attention span remains fractured, and I can’t seem to regain the stillness of more serene days of my past. Distractions are many and diverse, quite intriguing at times, yet as I continue to blaze my trail of new experiences, the pile of unpleasant things undone, issues not dealt with, cobwebs not swept out, continues to grow in my wake.
In the woods today, I could sometimes glimpse a gang of words just beyond the horizon, but they were too far away to take good aim at. So I tried using my tracking skills, I’d lie in wait and stalk my prey as words would come into view, but for the most part, they kept eluding me. I could sense their shadows around me – it was as if they were the ones stalking me and not the other way around. I could almost hear the sounds of them, but it was always just outside earshot. I felt watched from the shallows of the winter woods – as if thousands of words were observing me, whispering amongst themselves, snickering at my vain attempts at finding them.
One time I came upon a few of them unawares, and I snuck up behind them and got pretty close, but then my phone pinged loudly – an incoming text message – and they ran for the hills.
So after nearly a full day of hunting, this is all I caught. Pretty meager by any standard. Better luck the next time. Meanwhile, I’ll hunker down and wait for spring to return to the fields of my soul.
I was getting distracted by the vastness of internetland. New acquaintances to connect with, old ones to catch up with, plans to be made with others, photos to be distributed to their rightful owners, times and places to be firmed up and secured to calendars. Lovely distractions all, but nevertheless, distractions. All the while, the words were lurking in the corners of my mind, but every time I tried to catch some, they scattered. A new distraction had popped up.
So I went to the woods as I often do on such occasions. There, words tend to be more readily rounded up and roped. But even along the trail that yields at times such abundant bounty, pickings were slim today. There have been cases when I enter the woods and step right into whole flocks of words, and they’ll remain calm, cautiously keeping an eye on me as I walk in amongst them, even allowing me to reach out and touch them. At such times, I’m able to feel the shape of each word, carefully selecting for form, function, and beauty, then simply pick up the ones I want, as long as I make sure not to make any sudden moves that would scare them off.
But not today. The words have been so skittish lately, it’s as if they suspect I’m out to harm them, or worse, kill them off with some awful piece of prose. I would never do such a thing on purpose of course, but they may be sensing that I’m not completely on top of my mind’s game lately. My attention span remains fractured, and I can’t seem to regain the stillness of more serene days of my past. Distractions are many and diverse, quite intriguing at times, yet as I continue to blaze my trail of new experiences, the pile of unpleasant things undone, issues not dealt with, cobwebs not swept out, continues to grow in my wake.
In the woods today, I could sometimes glimpse a gang of words just beyond the horizon, but they were too far away to take good aim at. So I tried using my tracking skills, I’d lie in wait and stalk my prey as words would come into view, but for the most part, they kept eluding me. I could sense their shadows around me – it was as if they were the ones stalking me and not the other way around. I could almost hear the sounds of them, but it was always just outside earshot. I felt watched from the shallows of the winter woods – as if thousands of words were observing me, whispering amongst themselves, snickering at my vain attempts at finding them.
One time I came upon a few of them unawares, and I snuck up behind them and got pretty close, but then my phone pinged loudly – an incoming text message – and they ran for the hills.
So after nearly a full day of hunting, this is all I caught. Pretty meager by any standard. Better luck the next time. Meanwhile, I’ll hunker down and wait for spring to return to the fields of my soul.
Friday, January 01, 2010
Decade Resolutions
Things To Do This Decade:
• Dance more dances
• Do good deeds
• Climb towards the stars
• Tango in Buenos Aires
• Settle in Seattle
• Skydive
• Walk the Chinese Wall
• Learn Arabic
• Get a job in Jordan
• Own a horse
• Write a book
• Write more books
• Make a living writing
• Make my life matter
• Make you matter more
• Dance more dances
• Do good deeds
• Climb towards the stars
• Tango in Buenos Aires
• Settle in Seattle
• Skydive
• Walk the Chinese Wall
• Learn Arabic
• Get a job in Jordan
• Own a horse
• Write a book
• Write more books
• Make a living writing
• Make my life matter
• Make you matter more
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Walking In New York City
Abandoned, injured umbrellas with decrepit, twisted batwing limbs reach out helplessly, littering street corners. Driving rain and icy winds fuel fast walks along avenues of holiday-delighted visitors and irritated locals.
To enter a friendly, organic French café with an enormously long Viking-sized table running down the middle and warm aromas of freshly made bread and caffeine-bean brew, where one may thaw out frozen limbs with WiFi and pleasant company, is bliss. Long conversations later donning your armor against the cold once again and steel yourself for the certain frigid onslaught once exited, is fresh. To enter an IMAX theater, basking in the aesthetically stunning film experience of the year, is sweetness. Later, entering a student apartment brightly decorated by artwork found on these very streets, joining the company of family for friendly competition in the world of board games, is priceless.
From the Brooklyn Bridge, Manhattan rises like a diamond under the icy sky, a shimmering gray mass of gritty granite in the cold, metallic sun.
Every dog on the street is dressed to the hilt in fashionable overcoats to protect against the cold. There are many bulldogs. Pigeons and squirrels scavenge. Part of the squirrel population is black or dark brown, and appears to be perfectly integrated with their lighter counterparts whilst nibbling on the decorative cabbages in neat rows about Peter Cooper Village, a dozen or more red brick high-rise apartment buildings with green trim. Trees stretch their naked trunks towards the meager light in stark contrast with the white sky.
Yellow cabs pass patches of dirty, rotten snow while maneuvering brusquely through grids of human enterprise. One walks for miles and miles and see strips of faces show through bundles of coat lapels pulled up over ears, scarves, hats, even the occasional ski mask. If you look carefully, you can see that the faces of pedestrians are not entirely unfriendly, only guarded with hardened expressions to shield from the bitter wind.
Soon enough, spring breezes will thaw these faces with gentle touches, features will fade into softness and frowns melt with the vanishing snow. And new life, hope and fragile happiness will sprout with the budding trees in Central Park. The stark monochrome schemes will be assuaged by a touch of green. I will be gone then.
To enter a friendly, organic French café with an enormously long Viking-sized table running down the middle and warm aromas of freshly made bread and caffeine-bean brew, where one may thaw out frozen limbs with WiFi and pleasant company, is bliss. Long conversations later donning your armor against the cold once again and steel yourself for the certain frigid onslaught once exited, is fresh. To enter an IMAX theater, basking in the aesthetically stunning film experience of the year, is sweetness. Later, entering a student apartment brightly decorated by artwork found on these very streets, joining the company of family for friendly competition in the world of board games, is priceless.
From the Brooklyn Bridge, Manhattan rises like a diamond under the icy sky, a shimmering gray mass of gritty granite in the cold, metallic sun.
Every dog on the street is dressed to the hilt in fashionable overcoats to protect against the cold. There are many bulldogs. Pigeons and squirrels scavenge. Part of the squirrel population is black or dark brown, and appears to be perfectly integrated with their lighter counterparts whilst nibbling on the decorative cabbages in neat rows about Peter Cooper Village, a dozen or more red brick high-rise apartment buildings with green trim. Trees stretch their naked trunks towards the meager light in stark contrast with the white sky.
Yellow cabs pass patches of dirty, rotten snow while maneuvering brusquely through grids of human enterprise. One walks for miles and miles and see strips of faces show through bundles of coat lapels pulled up over ears, scarves, hats, even the occasional ski mask. If you look carefully, you can see that the faces of pedestrians are not entirely unfriendly, only guarded with hardened expressions to shield from the bitter wind.
Soon enough, spring breezes will thaw these faces with gentle touches, features will fade into softness and frowns melt with the vanishing snow. And new life, hope and fragile happiness will sprout with the budding trees in Central Park. The stark monochrome schemes will be assuaged by a touch of green. I will be gone then.
Friday, October 02, 2009
My Snooze-Button Life
Sitting at the coffee shop sipping my *scratch: Americano* Mint Tea… it’s early… early for me anyway. The fact that I’m here before business hours, before I’m due at work, I consider a major accomplishment these days.
The thing is, I’m a recovering addict.
I’m finally ready to acknowledge that I’ve developed a major addiction to the snooze button. I mean I simply cannot keep myself from hitting the button, knocking back a few, as it were. So I’m trying to get clean. Which is no easy task when you’re as deeply and desperately addicted as what I am.
The withdrawal symptoms are excruciating… Just to mention a few: shivering, heaviness of the eyelids and sometimes the entire body, stumbling in the dark to find the obnoxious alarm clock one has hidden in increasingly more creative places so as to keep oneself away from the snooze, fumbling in search of one’s glasses, inability to focus without consuming massive amounts of caffeine, sudden bursts of acute afternoon sleepiness…
So far, I’ve been unable to practice total abstinence, and I’m trying to manage my addiction – with varying degrees of success. I know the only way out is to go cold turkey, but until today I just haven’t gotten myself to do it.
It started innocently enough during high school with just a little snooze here and there, and became more pronounced during my college years. Everybody was doing it. And before I knew it, I was hooked on the button as well.
Truth be told, looking back at it all, it should have been clear from early childhood that I had a strong propensity towards the condition, and had I known better, I would never have as much as touched snooze. Addictions run in families, and I’m afraid I carry a genetic predisposition towards snoozing.
My Father was said to be able to snooze standing up in his younger days, and had a penchant for sneaking away for an afternoon nap – especially while at tedious social gatherings – and could be gone for hours. He’d return red-eyed and rumpled, and nobody would say anything, but we all knew.
Even my Mother took to snoozing during the day, and her naps gradually became more and more compulsive, to the point of debilitating. She was dealing with some very challenging things emotionally, and snoozing simply became her means of escape.
When I was a child, my Father would work very hard to get me up in the mornings; I was a difficult child in that way and would simply refuse to get out from under the covers on chilly Norwegian winter mornings. Once, he went so far as to carry me into the bathroom and turn the ice cold shower on me – while I was still in my PJs! I actually thought that one was funny, even as shocking as the cold water was, but the time he squirted water in my face while I was still in bed, I got angry.
To be continued...
The thing is, I’m a recovering addict.
I’m finally ready to acknowledge that I’ve developed a major addiction to the snooze button. I mean I simply cannot keep myself from hitting the button, knocking back a few, as it were. So I’m trying to get clean. Which is no easy task when you’re as deeply and desperately addicted as what I am.
The withdrawal symptoms are excruciating… Just to mention a few: shivering, heaviness of the eyelids and sometimes the entire body, stumbling in the dark to find the obnoxious alarm clock one has hidden in increasingly more creative places so as to keep oneself away from the snooze, fumbling in search of one’s glasses, inability to focus without consuming massive amounts of caffeine, sudden bursts of acute afternoon sleepiness…
So far, I’ve been unable to practice total abstinence, and I’m trying to manage my addiction – with varying degrees of success. I know the only way out is to go cold turkey, but until today I just haven’t gotten myself to do it.
It started innocently enough during high school with just a little snooze here and there, and became more pronounced during my college years. Everybody was doing it. And before I knew it, I was hooked on the button as well.
Truth be told, looking back at it all, it should have been clear from early childhood that I had a strong propensity towards the condition, and had I known better, I would never have as much as touched snooze. Addictions run in families, and I’m afraid I carry a genetic predisposition towards snoozing.
My Father was said to be able to snooze standing up in his younger days, and had a penchant for sneaking away for an afternoon nap – especially while at tedious social gatherings – and could be gone for hours. He’d return red-eyed and rumpled, and nobody would say anything, but we all knew.
Even my Mother took to snoozing during the day, and her naps gradually became more and more compulsive, to the point of debilitating. She was dealing with some very challenging things emotionally, and snoozing simply became her means of escape.
When I was a child, my Father would work very hard to get me up in the mornings; I was a difficult child in that way and would simply refuse to get out from under the covers on chilly Norwegian winter mornings. Once, he went so far as to carry me into the bathroom and turn the ice cold shower on me – while I was still in my PJs! I actually thought that one was funny, even as shocking as the cold water was, but the time he squirted water in my face while I was still in bed, I got angry.
To be continued...
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Health Month
After feeling depleted for weeks and ending September flat on my back for 24 hours, I figured it's time to kick that immune system into high gear and boost overall health and vitality. So, October is going to be health month. First challenge: No caffeine for the entire month!
Day one: so far, so good.
Day one: so far, so good.
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