Thank god for the “enter full screen” option. I hit a button and everything goes black except for the whiteness of my blank page. My desktop is super-busy, so it’s great to have this format. The shut everything out and write mode. I wish I had one for my life.
The puppy – who is a gargantuan thing at this point – is on the end of the couch whittling away at his bone. That’s his “enter full screen,” the bone. He gets that thing and it’s all about the bone. My older dog is more lost, milling about trying to find a place to land.
I don’t know why in the feck I’m telling you about my dogs or my desktop. I suppose this is one of those stream of consciousness posts where I stumble through my thoughts praying there’s a point in here somewhere.
What language is that? Vulcan?
Lately, I’m obsessed with 4am. I’m convinced that 4am is the time successful people get up and take on the day. Right now I get up at around 5am. See, I’m missing the whole success thing by about an hour. My realtor gets up at 4am and I love this guy. He’s together, in really tip-top shape, runs a successful business, and more. Sure, I don’t know the full story and everyone has their hardships, but from the outside 4am looks like it’s working for him. Oh, if only it were that simple – “The 4am Cure!” I could market that. Write a book about it. Start a blog. I’m tired.
My crazy shakes puppy has left the bone (so much for his “enter full screen” time) and heads upstairs to annoy Wifesy. It’s our last few days in the “lodge” – the abode we moved into when picking Los Angeles as our new home. There’s so much to do that I often have to detach from it all and pick and choose what I can accomplish in the here and now. Truly, you can only do what you can do.
Wait, what’s that sound? The dog is snoring and the pup is being a nut-bag upstairs, but down here – what is that? – oh, it’s a sort of peace. There’s a sort of quiet enveloping me as I type. I realize right away that I miss this feeling. I miss this inner retreat into the writing. It’s a sinking into kind of feeling, but not a bad sinking – a good one, a satisfying one. It’s like taking a “Nestea plunge” into a department store display entitled, “The world’s most comfortable duvets collection.” Damn you, marketing.
Like this, but with duvets.
Time for another couple sips of coffee. I’m back. Gently tapping the keys. It’s all good. I’m one of the lucky ones. I know this and yet I can’t help, but question as I constantly try to pick up the pace on the treadmill coasting towards success. Wait, treadmills don’t really go anywhere. Bad analogy. I am filled with gratitude. Yet, I can’t help, but weigh myself on the market scale and compare my price with the fish booth next door. Wait, did I just liken myself to a pound of fish? Super bad analogy for a lesbo. Must find another.
It’s no matter. You’re smart. You get what I’m saying. When you’re a kid, you want to fight the waves to make sure you stay upright. You go crashing into them, diving into the white foam. The adult in me knows it’s better to hold my breath, go under into the calm, and wait until the wave passes. It’s serene down there, under the wave, while all hell breaks loose on the surface of the sea.
That’s “enter full screen” for me. Giving myself a small moment to go under the crashing waves to write in the calm and the peace. Seeing what’s down there when I really go within.
What about you? Do you find writing to be a meditative, inner experience? If so, what’s your “enter full screen”? How do you turn off your world?
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Photo creds:
under-water, nestea, enter-full-screen
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