Excerpts from Richard Hugo's book

I was reading "The Triggering Town" again yesterday while brushing my kitty. I haven't picked it up in a while, so I just opened it up at a point where I'd folded down one of the page corners. It happened to be the chapter called "Statements of Faith."

"Behind several theories of what happens to a poet during the writing of a poem—Eliot's escape from personality, Keats's idea of informing and filling another body, Yeats's notion of the mask, Auden's concept of the poet becoming someone else for the duration of the poem, Valery's idea of a self superior to the self—lies the implied assumption that the self as given is inadequate and will not do.
How you feel about yourself is probably the most important feeling you have. It colors all other feelings, and if you are a poet, it colors your writing. It may account for your writing.
...
Many American poets seem to feel personally worthless unless they write. One can easily imagine that, given the conditions of the mind, the feelings of worthlessness may become indistinguishable from the impulse to write."

So that's been turning over in my mind lately and trying to think of other poets I know personally -- there really aren't many, much less any who have confided this to me. It did make me think of someone who was a quite terrible poet—there are only so many times can you use the word "soul" before people stop taking you seriously. Is it possible that he was far too full of himself to think of poetry as anything other than venting over a broken heart? Is it this one-dimensionality that turns me completely off from his abab quatrains, or causes any new poem he writes to be indistinguishable from all the others?

That is not to say that you need to hate yourself to be a poet, of course. But however you see yourself will inevitably be all over your poems. So try not to think of yourself as such a douchebag hotshot.

Improvement(?)

Things are better. I suppose.

Still have ups and downs, but ups are a little more frequent and downs are a little closer to home. This is, of course, purely my opinion -- Thomas might think differently. I try not to bother him too much with my sad song after he's been working all day so I imagine he'd agree.

Handling school and the financial aid refunds from the past term has been very stressful for me, as well as switching my PCP since we're going to a closer Kaiser office. My back/shoulder/neck keep me in constant pain and my head likes to chime in on (all too frequent an) occasion with a pulsing that essentially paralyzes me for a few moments. Fantastic. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Been trying to eat more often and healthier, taking very hit-or-miss stabs at regular exercise, writing more. My kitty makes for excellent company (that is, when he is not whining at the ceiling when he hears the air conditioner kick on) til Tom gets home, and he is of course selflessly helpful, albeit exhausted.

Anyway...  here's to taking life one day at a time.

Parks and Ballrooms

Jimmy Eat World concert at the Wonder Ballroom last night. My ears are still ringing. I've never been to the Wonder Ballroom before, and I would've been happy to live the rest of my life without spending a night in a sold out show there. Regardless, they put on a great show.

I had this professor once (in my Rock History course, actually) who said that music was never meant to be recorded and replayed -- that there was nothing like a live performance, no matter how high your kbps, you're doing yourself an injustice relying on the convenience of your iPod. That is not to say that these means of reproduction don't have their uses, but he made it a point to express his frustration as a musician as we covered the development of recording devices while technology improved over the years. He was an enthusiastic professor and his passion for the subject was clear. I liked the idea -- it echoed the idea of using pictures as to try to replicate an experience or capture a moment.

So no, I didn't take any video, and while there were some perfect shots with the way they used the lighting on stage (I suppose that's one good thing about the venue) I didn't pull out a camera. People are usually disappointed when I don't take photos, but if you really want to know what it was like -- what it really, really was like as -- we're going to need a pot of coffee and a couple hours.

She's not breathing back

I didn't get a chance to write about it on Wednesday, but Thomas and I celebrated our one year anniversary on the 11th. We went out to dinner then went back home. It was pleasant. I had fun.

But throughout the entire day I had this uncomfortable, restless feeling. I couldn't (and still struggle to) articulate it properly, and I absolutely didn't mention it to Tom. Thinking more about it, I suppose I just didn't really know what I was supposed to feel. My last boyfriend didn't particularly give a shit about ours (though you could argue that there wasn't much he did) and the relationship before that didn't last six months. It's not that I'm being bitter or cynical -- I just don't really know how I should be feeling. Do I mimic other young couples, reveling in conceit over monthly landmarks? Do I downplay the event, pointing out its insignificance in the long run? Why celebrate a year when you intend to spend the rest of your life with someone?
Does that then mean that you should never celebrate any landmarks? Is it possible to celebrate every day and not risk overly cheesy sentimentality?

I guess I forgot how to be a girlfriend.

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Dry fingertips

New keyboard. Wireless—I like it. I suppose I could get around to some web design now, but I don't feel like sitting for very long. The apartment could definitely use a good cleaning, I guess. I could do that? Just a little restless today. Or maybe a lot of restless. I don't know.

Started doing morning pages again. It's nice. I missed it.

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Smooth

So apparently keyboards aren't fond of being spilled on. Huh.