Today isn’t anything special: I'm waiting for something to happen. I've made lists. I've set alarms. There are reminders: I've snoozed them. I'm sipping anticipation -- what is waiting for me? I'm alone. I'm always alone: we all are, even on those days when noise torrents rush through, sticky fingers keep grabbing, when I cannot hide, even in the bathroom -- I feel the presence of nothingness beside me, the field of elsewhere others seems to occupy like a sacred nightclub. Once I took myself to jazz bar on a Thursday afternoon. Swallowed up in darkness, music bathed me. my ice cubes shivered. A drum solo carried on, and on, with a flicker of piano keys under pink gels -- I got lost undercover, anonymous heap on a bench seat, 'til a stranger opened the door. There came the sun, barging in, a mean spotlight: for one hot second. Is today anything special? I feel the presence of nothingness beside me -- I'm waiting for something to happen.
Today is April 10, the 70th birthday of author Anne Lamott. She wrote the famous writing book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, with its terrific chapter “Shitty First Drafts.”
Every one of my NaPoWriMo poems is a shitty first drafts. I write them fast, give them a quick edit and post them. I don’t want to slow down the process or I might not get these done at all.
If you are a writer or want to try to be one, Bird by Bird is a great book to have on your bedside table.
Thanks for reading. Happy Wednesday!
"I'm alone.
I'm always alone:
we all are,"
My first inkling was the step into Adolescence at fourteen. The discovery was painful. Forty-eight years of life with Mary Ann offered a break from it. Her death forced a giant leap back into it. Since then living and traveling by myself has allowed me to embrace it. I am alone, accountable only to myself. I think I like it. Once on a mountaintop in Colorado, in the company of others, all of us utterly silent, I realized that we were alone together. I like that idea. Building relationships brings me joy. At the same time I am always alone, just with other people.
"my ice cubes shivered"!! Another great poem!