[full of it]

I don’t know why my heart flips, I only know it does

Posted in Uncategorized by susieyarbs on November 18, 2008

her: move over, move over, move over…
him: breathe, please.
her: move please, move please…shit shit shit…
him: you’re ok.
her: ok ok.

changing lanes.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

i have a theory that we spend so much time learning, taking in, sponging, that we forget how to wring it out.  what do you do with what you’ve got?  i read quite a bit and when i write for myself i feel like i have a pretty distinctive style, more a thought train than anything else, lots of commas, fewer conjunctions than are probably necessary.  lately i’ve been thinking, probably because i’ve had all this time on my hands, that i really do like writing and i’m not so bad at it, but what would i even do if i decided to really write something?  i think that the only thing i’m ever any good at writing about is me and my brain, but how interesting is that?  and if i try to come up with something that isn’t directly related to me, it’s like my brain goes sterile, a hospital room.  i’ve probably had some interesting enough things that have happened to me, things that might make decent stories, something someone might want to read.  and maybe i could twist them and you won’t know what really happened and what didn’t.  really specific things come to mind, and i’ve dabbled around at one point or another with writing them in some sort of a short-story format.  the motorcycle ride with my dad when i was twelve-ish, where he showed me a house we might buy and said he couldn’t make any promises about sticking around, then the same motorcycle ride again when i was 18-ish, and we were still on-the-mend, and we came up to the same house and he said, “do you remember this place?” and he didn’t say anything else, but i very clearly remember thinking, “are you shitting me?  i’m in a movie right now” and thinking later that he was apologizing, in a very roundabout, very obscure way, more like just letting me know that he remembered, too.  maybe he was just talking about the house, maybe he didn’t remember the conversation we had there.  doesn’t really matter, does it?  or there is the trip to france, which i imagine would be more suited to a coming-of-age novel, a coming-of-age love story, because it forced john and i to really confront how we felt about each other.  nothing like a little distance to make you realize you love someone, right?  it wasn’t actually that simple, i think we both loved each other way before that, but it fits.  presents-in-your-face day could be poignant, funny, sad; being the “strong one,” sibling relationships, showing you care in a family that almost seems embarrassed of emotions.

my my my.  i’m going to set this aside for a bit, and start dinner.

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