Normalcy is Overrated

I am thinking about the nature of solitude and wondering if it is quite normal that I don't like to go out too much or talk on the phone at all but prefer to send people goodies in the mail or little random text notes for fun. I am not hypersocial, admittedly. Sometimes, people describe their social lives and I think that sounds exhausting.

I don't want anyone to call me at 10 p.m. and ask me if I want to go out because I probably don't. I want to wear my pajamas and watch movies by myself and maybe scatter some poems out on the floor and put them in some sort of meaningful order. I want to bake elaborate cakes while listening to Nirvana or Bob Marley or maybe Simon & Garfunkel because it reminds me of my childhood. I want to fold towels and putter about the house and rearrange my bookshelves. I don't want to gossip or hang out in bars except perhaps once in while especially if there will be poetry or dancing.

I like to shop alone, eat lunch alone, watch movies alone. There is a small list of people whose company I really enjoy, but that's a sometimes thing. Does anybody else like to do things by themselves? Am I a total crabass or something? I don't mean to be.

I AM looking forward to the Poetry Brothel next weekend because the people there will be awesome and many of us come not as real people but as alter egos, personae. I love this shit. I wish I had an actual MASK or something.

The new manuscript is getting all cross-genre, flash-fiction and whatnot. I'm totally excited about this. I want to write noir-ish crime stories and drink bourbon from a flask. I want to wear a fedora at my desk. I want a black cat named Ghost and a mysterious neighbor that will involve me in some kind of dramatic intrigue.

Things that just don't interest me but seem to fascinate everyone else:

Popular Television
Breast Augmentation
Other People's Romances
Being Wealthy
Baseball
Other People's Vacations
Strangers with Babies
Dieting
Date Movies
Celebrities



(It's totally cool that most people like things from the aforementioned list. This is not, by any means, a criticism. Just an observation.)



Things that do interest me that nobody wants to talk about:

Exotic Teas and Spices
Cyborgs
Esoterica
Corsetry
Foreign Horror Films
Words People Never Use in Conversation, But Should
The Evolution of Chuck Norris as a Popular Internet Trope
Mythology

Freud Would Say That Sometimes a Muffin is Just a Muffin.

Last night I dreamt that I was stranded at a bakery. There were blueberry muffins and raspberry-lemon muffins and cinnamon scones with vanilla icing. Yes, they were delicious, but still I did not want to stay. I needed someone to drive me home but had no hope of rescue. It was sad. A sad, sad dream with lovely baked goods.

This isn't particularly interesting, I suppose. It is a departure from my usual dream life, being almost as mundane as my real life. This is where I would sigh if I were speaking aloud.

I am writing a poem that is kicking my ass in a bad way as it is almost what I imagine but not quite there. It involves taxidermy and massive amounts of internet research. Yes.

That's pretty much it. I cut my hair short and most people don't like it but I DO. So there.

I am still propping myself up with strong coffee and my stomach isn't very happy about it but I cannot properly caffeinate my brain without angering my gut. This is a simple fact of my existence.

I need to find some new obsessions. I am tired of my old ones.

Oh yeah, *PoEtRy*

Two new poems in the February issue of PANK.

The Chicago Poetry Brothel is ON. March 5 at the House of Blues:



I wrote a couple of new pieces yesterday. I also spent some time watching Picard eat a sandwich and talk about being stabbed through the heart on youtube.



I want to send some things HERE.

This poetry thing can actually be fun, you know.

***

I cut my hair short and nobody likes it except me. Ha. I need more time so I can bake fresh ginger pound cakes and tiny semolina shortbread cookies with sea salt and maybe an apple pie. This is a lame thing to say but damn I am tired. My feet feel like someone's been pounding spikes into my heels. I should probably buy some proper shoes, not cheapo ones from the discount store (but not walmart as I ABHOR walmart and have not set foot in one for fifteen years, Kay?) as the gel inserts aren't a substitute for good shoes although I had hopes that they would be...

I have my eye on a new corset. With buckles! Very steampunk.

Alas. I will probably buy some practical shoes instead.

Watching: Pushing Daisies
How did I ever miss this? It's freaking fabulous. It's like a dark fairy tale (aren't they all?) with pie.

Reading: Wikipedia entries about weird crap


Feeling: Totally Lame and disconnected from my former Coolness and such

Notes from my collapsing ventricles:

My new sleep patterns leave me feeling strange and disconnected from my dreams.

We do not typically celebrate Valentine's day at my house. Still, I would love a chocolate cake right about now.

I am drinking coffee and contemplating art for bb which should almost be called the SPRING issue, as the weather is downright balmy and I am perpetually behind schedule.

There is a pot of chili on the stove and there will be warm cornbread with honey and this makes me happy.

I have not worked on my manuscript for two weeks. I need to get back to it, but tend to spend my days off cleaning and resting and whatnot. I cannot afford a writer's retreat but perhaps I can create my own in a tiny room filled with books and silence where I can play with the chimeras in my head. Anything is possible.

Watching: Absolutely Nothing

Reading: Your Mind

Feeling: Like an Empty Aerosol Can

Eating: Lots of Cara Cara Oranges, which I don't want to share with anyone, plain bagels with cream cheese.

Scary Vending Machine Item of the Week: Hard-Boiled Eggs

Februaryness

I had a long elaborate dream about working that actually felt like work and it was followed by a second dream about eating milkshake flavored ice cream with hot fudge sauce. It was really great ice cream, even though it wasn't real.

I am (finally) working on the winter issue of blossombones. All final selections have been made and I'm getting my shit together. I love these poems. Love them. Can't wait for you to read it.


I am feeling reckless. I would like to cut my hair short and wear a vintage dress with a torn hem.