Shit, a week. It’s been a week. I’ve had so many ideas in the past week, but never came here to record them. And now that I’m here I don’t want to be. I don’t want to share anything. Something is missing.
Not that stuff hasn’t been accomplished, real-world, in my absence. I built a fence, installed a washing machine, and a gas dryer, too, still fingers-crossed that that decision doesn’t come back to kill me. Cleaned up a bit. Mostly though it’s been work. On-the-clock, pay me pay me pay, come home exhausted. Cooked a meal tonight after work though, a big one, should last a few days, save some time, always the goal, save the time.
About a decade ago, the blog circle I was in was big on surveys. They’d find a survey online and answer the questions, namely one person, found these surveys god knows where and answered the questions and others would copy the survey from her and etc. I participated a couple times but usually by the end I’d be judging the questions and responding to the survey itself as if it were an actual inquiring entity, and not so adroit at performing its sole purpose. Once I even copied a rather lengthy and particularly inane survey and proceeded not to answer any of the questions at all, but write whatever nonsense came to me after reading the question. Example:
22. White, red, or green?
- You know, I haven’t had those pasta shapes in a while, like what used to signify fancy macaroni, the honeycomb-looking things, so’s you knew it wasn’t that ordinary base model stuff but probably cost a few more cents per box.
And so on. Then a kind of questionless survey took the site over for a week or two, and it wasn’t asking for answers at all, but facts. One hundred facts about yourself. That was all. Spread like wild, spread like fire. As was my wont, I avoided participating for a while and hoped to figure out a clever way to be clever and separate myself from the crowd cleverly in a clever-like fashion. Eventually I decided: everyone else is pussies. I’m doing a thousand.
It took me about four months, but I counted all the way down to one, and it was one of the more difficult things I’d ever took on and accomplished. It probably prepared me for writing two masters’ theses, actually, but it may have been more satisfying to finish then either of those, because it was self-motivated and it had a definite end. My first thesis I needed an extra six months to finish, and my second isn’t technically done yet, that novel, but this only required a thousand of me, and when I was done, I was done. Plus more people read that than either of my theses combined.
That list has been lost to the annals of the internet, being that it contained a lot of personal information that 24-year-olds tend to assume no one will ever find and use against you or take out of context or take perfectly in context but not appreciate so much. So it’s dead and buried, but I’ve been tempted recently to start a new one, another list of 1000, not just for the self-esteem boost (hey look at how much thirty-three years of living can matter, even for a liberal arts major!), but because it didn’t take long before one of my more honest readers pointed out that I wasn’t strictly speaking making a list of 1000 facts, but more putting numbers in front of the paragraphs of what would be my normal journal entries anyway. Like I’m sure counted among that list of a thousand was a fact like 765. I haven’t written here in a week! Shit! or 457. I’m exhausted, but hey, I cooked dinner. So that’s always bugged me, that I didn’t always play by the rules, opting too often for temporary conditions instead of what might be relevant to a Wikipedia entry.
But I’m not ready to commit to it just yet. Because it does become all-consuming, and especially when I was composing the list in the same spot I was also relying on to vent all my (mostly social) anxieties to an anonymous audience, inevitably the line between fact and current emotional truth becomes blurred.
That’s not what I use this space for, though, venting. And it was motivation, and it was a topic that demands a little more than an Instagram post, i.e. what I am eating right now or hey, check out my feet.
So let’s file that one under maybe. In any case, I’ll try to return here before next week.
Oh, eat a dick, Yoda.