Wednesday, August 11, 2010

In which our hero tells himself to shut the hell up.

Two days ago, somewhere between a meeting and...well...another meeting something went the wrong way in my back. While it's been a while since something like this happened it's not completely out of the blue. When I was in high school ongoing back pain led to the realization that I have a very minor variation on spina bifida. There are, essentially, gaps in my spinal column where things didn't form all the way.

Whatever it is that's doing something it shouldn't right now is hitting in such a way that it's causing me to walk with a limp. A really slight limp. Enough so that I feel like I'm moving slower than I have ever moved in my life but only so much that a couple of folks have asked, "Are you limping?" because they aren't quite sure if there's something going on or if I'm...I don't know...testing out a new kind of swagger.

But here's the thing...in a really weird way this flare up has put some things in perspective for me. Basically, in a few days this thing in my back will work itself out. It'll be done and I'll be back to jaywalking against traffic with the best of them.

And, in much the same way, I'll get my creative groove on too.

Which means that there are far better ways to use my time (1) than complaining. I even have proof of that thanks to stumbling on some fantastic sites in my recent wandering. Some commercial storefronts where various designers have put out their shingles, and some really interesting places where folks are playing around and just having a good time.

A really good time (2). The kind of good time that makes me smile and think, "Good for you!" and not mean it in a Southern way.

It doesn't mean that I'll stop complaining here entirely. It's a revelation, not a magic trick.

But I'm ready to get on with it...and there's a good deal to get on with.

1. And this piece of blog estate.
2. No, not like that...like in an all-night in the studio during art school kind of way.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Time, time, time...see what's become of me. And then let me know.

As I sit here typing two loaves of zucchini bread are baking in the oven, a tomato bread salad is doing whatever it is bread salad does in the refrigerator and I'm eyeing the clock trying to calculate when dinner should get started and giving a "over-and-over-once-over" to the design of a BIG project that I can't finish without some additional material (1).

I'm beat. And writer blocked. And design blocked (2).

And beat.

When I'm tired like this Leopold will often enter the room to find me watching cartoons. While that has not yet happened, my iPod is currently set to playing Saturday Morning Cartoons' Greatest Hits. You've not heard the Spiderman theme song till you've heard it sung by The Ramones.

An actual get in the car, get out of town vacation is still a few weeks away. I'm doing my darnedest to do some reshuffling on a lot of fronts before then...many of those roads leading right to the front door of America's favorite Cheap Bohemian.

(And I'm not even going to add this aside in footnote form. This is parenthetical worthy. If you're one of the six people who read this blog when I bother to post anything do go visit her site. Even if I didn't like her and the divine Miss M so much I would still send people her way. It's financial advice for those of us who stopped trying to follow financial advice a long time ago.

Pay off my credit card debt? Pay myself first? Contribute the maximum to my 401K? What??? Next you'll tell me he doesn't hit me because he loves me but because he's an unstable bully who drinks his breakfast.)


But on too many fronts, the brain keeps stalling just when I'm counting on it the most.

What's the mental equivalent of jumper cables?

1. This is not to mention the BIG e-mail that I got earlier today...or series of e-mails...that has put me on edge. However, even the thin veneer of anonymity that I try to maintain in this blog doesn't allow me to get into that one fully. Thank you for becoming this blogger's Jiminy Cricket Cisco Fatty.
2. I have no idea if this is a real thing. I think it must be, right?