I have been tired and kind of out of steam this week creatively, though I’ve managed a few trifling bits.
This post is essentially padding the monthly total of the blog because I have nothing to say but here are words to fill the void.
Also, since I haven’t written one in a while, a haiku:
The days of blah come
Inspiration eludes me
Fudge sticks and crackers
Now I’m hungry.
From Merriam-Webster, the definition of sarcasm:
a sharp and often satirical or ironic utterance designed to cut or give pain
a) a mode of satirical wit depending for its effect on bitter, caustic, and often ironic language that is usually directed against an individual
b) the use or language of sarcasm
When I was younger I employed sarcasm so regularly it was entitled to full benefits and vacation pay. Thinking it over, I haven’t really reduced my usage of sarcasm, I just have fewer opportunities to wield it. For example, I’m wise enough to know that sarcasm is often not the best tactic in the workplace (co-workers do not seem to share this trepidation based on the regular barbs that go a-flying).
Looking at that first definition, though? Designed to cut or give pain? Ouch. Literally. When I employ sarcasm, it’s certainly meant for effect, chiefly to skewer the target of said sarcasm. In that sense, it can be said to be intended to cut. Give pain? Not so much. I’m not a sadist, not even a linguistic one. When I use words as weapons I’m more like a mug swinging a club I can only manage to lift, rather than a skilled fencer darting to and fro, stabbing at will.
The second definition, though, that’s entirely me. When I prick a finger and draw blood I’m fairly certain a little sarcasm leaks out. I don’t always target individuals, though, preferring to broaden my targets to entire institutions or groups.
What brought on this bit of self-reflection was a perusal of some of the posts on this blog, specifically my writing prompts (the ones I create, not the ones I tackle) and how they are uniformly sarcastic. Why is that? Am I secretly afraid of producing mediocre prompts and so write ones that aren’t intended to be taken seriously? Is it a reaction to so many writing prompt collections being silly while trying to be serious? More the latter, I think.
Coming up with a few decent prompts is pretty easy. Coming up with a dozen? Trickier. Coming up with hundreds, especially hundreds that aren’t spewed out by an automated process? It is difficult, so bless those brave souls that try, even as I mock their efforts. I don’t mean to be cruel and fully open myself to similar mockery with the hundreds of nonsensical posts I’ve written here.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this. I blame my head cold and the obligation to write. I’d rather be sleeping and don’t look forward to staggering into work tomorrow, still feeling unwell and having to battle stuffed-up sinuses, caustic co-workers, and other stuff, all of which could be solved through the simple expediency of winning the lottery.
Time for bed and NyQuil-fueled dreams. The best dreams.
I briefly fell asleep on the couch tonight. The last time this happened is a time I cannot recall, so probably about a hundred years ago.
The relentless pace of work is definitely having an effect. I am jealous of those who have good-paying jobs and yet still somehow have a bunch of time to surf the web while at work. I can’t even get through lunch without people coming up to me, let alone casually peruse the endless treasures that the internet presents. And by endless treasures I mean amusing cat images.
This reminds me, I need to find a good hiding place once NaNoWriMo starts. Distraction is the #1 killer of potential stories, at least where I’m concerned. It’s one of the reasons I actually prefer the smaller screen of a laptop to a comfy 24 or 27″ display. Those large displays make web-surfing pleasurable and enticing. A laptop display merely makes it serviceable. I’m also more inclined to make my writing program run full screen and pretend the internet doesn’t exist on a laptop. It’s win-win, except for actually having to buy the laptop.
All of this assumes I’ll have the energy to write come November, of course. We’ll find out in a mere 27 days!
The last time I had 34 or more posts in a month was way back in October 2009 when I wrote 38 posts. I’m still not sure how I managed that. Temporary insanity, perhaps. Maybe this current spate of activity is a sign that I’ll be firing on all cylinders for National Novel Writing Month, coming some 31 days from now. Looking over my posts since the start of the month, my novel will be less a story and more a series of image macros about someone who runs regularly. I’ll call it The Jogger. No, too plain. That Jogging Guy. Hmm. That probably wouldn’t work, either. To really cash in it should be something like The Girl Who Jogged or The Girl Who Wore Running Shoes or The Girl [something something to go with the other billion novels that have appeared recently that have titles starting with “The Girl.” Thanks, Stieg Larsson who isn’t even alive].
Anyway, one of the things I’ve noticed is I can no longer stay up late on the weekend like in olden times because my body is so used to getting up early that all of my fun/party genes turn out the lights by 11 p.m. This is to say that while I am typing this I am also starting to nod off, so I’ll probably go to bed soon. But at least on the weekend I can sleep in. Except I feel guilty now when I do that, then regret it after I wake up because I have less time to do other things, both productive and otherwise, and also I won’t get the 12 hours of standing activity on my Apple Watch and somehow that has become important to me. On the plus side, it has reduced the chances of varicose veins or gout or something. Whatever it is that happens when you don’t stand enough, like our hunter/gatherer ancestors used to (I mean that they stood a lot, not the opposite. I’m pretty sure they spent almost every day hunting bears or maybe just one especially wily bear who always eluded their spears and traps. They’d call him Ol’ Scoot because he’d always scoot off before they could catch him. You couldn’t just sit around when Ol’ Scoot taunted you like that. Plus maybe you haven’t developed enough brain power yet to stop gathering poison berries to nosh on, so you really need some of that good bear meat or the stories around the cave fire are going to be all, “Remember when we had more than three of us to tell stories about that stupid Ol’ Scoot to? No, I’m good on the berries, thanks.”)
Some miscellaneous thoughts on the past month:
That’s kind of how I feel today–like taffy. Twisted, stretched, but still sweet.
I think I’d rather be a cupcake.
Technically I had “lunch” in the form of a Clif bar, but I didn’t actually take a break, I just kept working. In part it was due to the weather turning wet and making a walk unpalatable, as I have no umbrella nor the desire to spend the afternoon working in soggy clothes. I was also partway through a large task and didn’t want to lose momentum.
Unfortunately I had not slept well last night so the combination left me feeling tired and gross by the end of the afternoon. I feel a little better now, just in time to go to bed and try sleeping all over again.
Tomorrow I am taking that break. Kids, don’t skip your breaks! If the mean supervisor tells you to march straight back into that coal mine, you tell him you have rights and you’ll work that much harder if you get your break first. Also, you probably shouldn’t work in a coal mine if you’re a kid. Or human. Those places are dangerous.
In no particular order:
I did not sweep, do laundry or buy toothpaste today. You may wonder then, what did I do? Did I simply laze around on my second day of vacation? Did I join the 500,000 or so downtown at the Pride parade (featuring Justin Trudeau’s third appearance but first as prime minster–the first time in the parade’s 36 year history that a sitting prime minster has taken part. Kind of sad when you think about it)?
The answer to these questions is no, I did not. Instead I went shopping and bought nothing.
Determined to get this consumerism stuff right, I went out again and this time bought several bags of groceries. I have eaten some of them since then. The groceries, not the bags.
By early evening my watch was telling me I’d only hit about 50% of my move goal. I wanted to hit 100% because those stupid numbers really do motivate me, especially when I have a streak going. So I went for an 8K walk, in part around Burnaby Lake. As reward I got bit three times, once on my left hand and twice on the back of my right calf. I applied chamomile lotion to the bites and within minutes found a reason to wash my hands and immediately had to re-apply the lotion. The itching could be worse so I guess I’m a little thankful that these were baby bugs or bugs in training or something.
And then I did laze around, part of which was spent pondering how I have yet again failed to write a post per day for another month, though I’ve come closer in July than the last few months. Onward to August!
On the first day of my vacation the weather was sunny and warm, just like summer is supposed to be, so hooray for that.
I spent the day sweeping, doing laundry and buying toothpaste. I also went for a walk, which ended with buying toothpaste. You may think this is not the most exciting way to spend a vacation and you would be correct. In fact, what I did was follow my usual Saturday routine (my Saturdays are not very exciting, though I should point out I don’t buy toothpaste every Saturday because I would have a closet filled with toothpaste by now if I did).
To cap off the day, I chose once again to not go to the annual fireworks display at English Bay. Every time I’ve gone I’ve enjoyed the actual show and quietly hated everything else, especially the large crowds and the incredible (slow) journey getting home on a transit system that is completely overtaxed. I can imagine pretty fireworks in my head or install a fireworks screensaver or watch lousy YouTube videos from 1999 and that’s good enough for me.
And that concludes the zany adventure that was my first day of vacation.