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Jun. 21st, 2018 11:58 amPersistence of antagonistic thinking. You know I've rendered that page as an image now and I think over and over on the misspelling I know it to contain & I'm thinking about how to redact all the work, redo all the work and correct the misspelling and do the rest of it over again.
Like a foolish habit - that thing where when you've misspelled a word you don't change the missed part but backspace the whole thing out and retype. When you get the sentence wrong and back it out and re-enter it. That impulse to start new with a fresh page - It seems almost workmanlike, studious. But it's lazy. You can tell it is. To redo rather than to fix. Fixing things is hard. Editing is hard. Revisions & repairs are hard. It's always easier to begin again.
Maintenance oriented tasks aren't interesting enough for me to bother with. And that's a shame because it's most of life, or a lot of life that's caught up in that. Now I pay the lady way too much to do my laundry & clean my house. But it is worth it. So worth it.
I think about this in the context of litter. Really. Littering is the berserk button for me, I hate it so. But I assume it's derived from a feeling of people. You know you're in a place you don't want to be if you're willing to litter, if you do it without a thought. Because it's your impulse to continue - to migrate away and leave it all behind. I see trash blowing and every time it makes me see people around me wishing that their permanent state was a temporary one, that they won't be eternally indigent, or they won't be trapped in bad neighborhoods or bad situations. They want to begin new & fresh.
One lady is moving out of my building. She's a barista at the Phoenix. Her fella is nice too, he's a tea expert of some kind. I make smalltalk with them sometimes, as the mood comes up, if we're both out for a smoke on the porch. They're nice kids. They're moving away and I see the thought in them, of new starts & an end to accumulating trash & difficulties. She says as much as we patter on about where we've lived and worked. I think about Leslie Maze, my old roommate and how we'd go to the goodwill to buy new plates and when we'd bored of washing them we'd throw them away again and again. We went through a lot of old table sets that way. It was good to do in its way.
You want to back out that whole ugly paragraph and start it at the beginning. It's hard to see how you could fix something that seems, at the end of it all, so irrevocably broken. It's harder still when this sense comes over you and you think on this as the state of your life. That's where the bleak mantra of acceptance comes in and gets repeated. "Ruined Forever." You say to yourself about yourself. But the task of maintenance can't be abandoned. The old corpus needs to eat, needs to sleep, needs cleaning & looking after. You might think you should forgo that too & pay the lady to come and take care of all of that as well. Like you pay the lady to edit or the pay the lady to clean. There's always work in fixing mistakes I guess.
Like a foolish habit - that thing where when you've misspelled a word you don't change the missed part but backspace the whole thing out and retype. When you get the sentence wrong and back it out and re-enter it. That impulse to start new with a fresh page - It seems almost workmanlike, studious. But it's lazy. You can tell it is. To redo rather than to fix. Fixing things is hard. Editing is hard. Revisions & repairs are hard. It's always easier to begin again.
Maintenance oriented tasks aren't interesting enough for me to bother with. And that's a shame because it's most of life, or a lot of life that's caught up in that. Now I pay the lady way too much to do my laundry & clean my house. But it is worth it. So worth it.
I think about this in the context of litter. Really. Littering is the berserk button for me, I hate it so. But I assume it's derived from a feeling of people. You know you're in a place you don't want to be if you're willing to litter, if you do it without a thought. Because it's your impulse to continue - to migrate away and leave it all behind. I see trash blowing and every time it makes me see people around me wishing that their permanent state was a temporary one, that they won't be eternally indigent, or they won't be trapped in bad neighborhoods or bad situations. They want to begin new & fresh.
One lady is moving out of my building. She's a barista at the Phoenix. Her fella is nice too, he's a tea expert of some kind. I make smalltalk with them sometimes, as the mood comes up, if we're both out for a smoke on the porch. They're nice kids. They're moving away and I see the thought in them, of new starts & an end to accumulating trash & difficulties. She says as much as we patter on about where we've lived and worked. I think about Leslie Maze, my old roommate and how we'd go to the goodwill to buy new plates and when we'd bored of washing them we'd throw them away again and again. We went through a lot of old table sets that way. It was good to do in its way.
You want to back out that whole ugly paragraph and start it at the beginning. It's hard to see how you could fix something that seems, at the end of it all, so irrevocably broken. It's harder still when this sense comes over you and you think on this as the state of your life. That's where the bleak mantra of acceptance comes in and gets repeated. "Ruined Forever." You say to yourself about yourself. But the task of maintenance can't be abandoned. The old corpus needs to eat, needs to sleep, needs cleaning & looking after. You might think you should forgo that too & pay the lady to come and take care of all of that as well. Like you pay the lady to edit or the pay the lady to clean. There's always work in fixing mistakes I guess.
