the country and the city mouse...the beginnings, at least

NOT JUST A ROUGH DRAFT, REALLY MORE OF A THOUGHT PROCESS GOING ON HERE:

country mouse and city mouse were very close in age. they both had a profound impact on me as i grew up, but in some ways greater now that i held my distance from them.

city mouse was always in my life, from the time i was born. she was fashionable and a social butterfly. she was fun to be around, but definitely not a matronly kind of mouse.

country mouse came into my life when i was 3, so she wasn't "original". she wore whatever was comfortable, after all, she lived in the country, why not? but she, too, was a social butterfly, i just never realized it.

i regarded country mouse with a certain amount of distaste in my mouth. i don't know why, perhaps my own snobbery, but it was there. like a film left on your teeth after you've eaten something sweet. it's there until you wash it away and forget about it until your sweet-tooth strikes again.country mouse was nice, definitely. matronly? sure. but she was "uncivilized". she belched loudly (never a drop of alcohol did i see her take). she said phrases like, "Well, I'll be.." she knew everyone in the bingo hall. and she wore socks with her flip flops. she lived in a dilapidated old house (that used to be a church) on some land outside a ridiculously small town in Texas. there was a pasture, a barn, pigs, chickens, dogs, cats...and a tractor.

city mouse was my favorite mouse to visit. she would fly me out to see her and i would brag about it to everyone i knew, because i got to fly alone. i was so cool. i always looked at city mouse with a certain amount of awe. oh,to be as cool as she when i "grew up". city mouse drank gin and tonic with a twist of lime. she said "Darlin" but with her southern accent it sounded more like, "dahhhhhlin". she knew all the "important people" and had pictures with them or notes from them to prove it. and she wore lots of gold or silver jewelry (never mix the two). she lived in a chic apartment on the outskirts of the city, but not quite the suburbs. there was a pool, tennis courts, palm trees, parties, friends...and antique furniture.

TO BE CONTINUED...

still.....nothing

that's right. nothing. i spend a good portion of my summer in writing class all day--learning what is necessary to be a writer. what's the most important thing? TO ACTUALLY, PHYSICALLY WRITE--and not wait on inspiration to strike. i know this. it is ingrained into my psyche. and yet here i sit, day after day... not writing. why? i don't know. i am not making myself do it. i am not choosing to spend my time, pen in hand, journal open. there is no rhyme or reason behind it.
i've had time.
i've spent my time in the following ways instead:

• wasting time in cyberspace..gaming, or researching things
• reading books
• doing crosswords
• watching TV/movies
• painting--but only a little
• sleeping...a lot
• thinking about Jaxon

now, that's not to say that i am berating myself here, because i'm not. some of what i was doing was entirely necessary. and some of it was mentally necessary. i just wish i had spent some time writing. i'm not sure how much time i'll have for it when little man is born...

Q: What have I done lately?

A: Not much.

I spent 4 weeks out of my summer participating in the Heart of Texas Writing Project summer institute, basically postponing my summer "vacation" we teachers are so lucky to get. I learned all sorts of techniques to create a life of writing for myself, with the idea of pasing that on to my students. And what have I written? Practically nothing.
Did I waste my time and the time of my fellow colleagues? Was it all for naught? What's my deal, yo?

sleep deprivation

can't sleep tonight/this morning for some reason....
my brain keeps going i guess...
some thoughts/lines in my mind for future pondering:

• every sunday i call you to talk. you always talk about your ailments. i am tired of hearing about them. but i love you. so i keep calling.
  (where this is going i know not--not even about me)
• writing into the darkness can be a scary thing..you find out things you never knew were issues for you--or ones you thought you had dealt with
• i miss your little eye kisses where your cold little nose would slowly, deliberately, softly tap around my eyes. and i miss your nudges. and your musky little smell.
  

damnit-i forgot the other one!

officially finished! well, at least for now...

i *think* i just finished my personal piece--one of the requirements for the HTWP institute i've been attending for the last 4 weeks. tomorrow is the last day, and i've got to read it aloud. i would post it here, but @ 4ish pages, it's a bit long...
so, instead, i'll try to share it with a link...
if you read it, like it, have advice, whatever, let me know....

Untitled

personal piece of the pie of writing....

my essay is currently ~4 pages. it's personal. honest. but valid...
i got some good feedback on it today. just need to tweak a few things here and there to make it more. more what? not sure, but i'll know it when i see it.
and then i find out i have to read it aloud next week. i think i'm gonna cry. not only is it pretty personal, i have pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc (LOVE that phrase!) on my emotional psyche right now.

and i'm off and... well, strolling, really

i've begun my personal piece. it took me quite a while just to get the 2 pages i have right now. i had to spend soooo much time writing to think inside my writer's notebook. it was kind of scary to think that i took pages upon pages, days upon days, and all i've got are two type-written, double-spaced pages to show for it.
i mean, i guess i have thoughts on paper that i could somehow at some point go back to. and it WAS really eye-opening as a writer. to think that i have to ask children to do this same thing...but yet, i don't have as much time--at least not in class--to give them.