I’m sitting here listening to crickets. They know it’s summer. Of course, they don’t know what to call it, so they just say ‘srr-srr-srr-srr-srr-srr-srr-srr’ instead.
I don’t like my voice. Every now and then, when I’m sleep deprived, or I’ve been smoking, I like how it sounds, but usually it gets to me. It doesn’t hit pitches like I want it too. I was at this reading that I wanted to knock out the park – I sounded like anyone else.
There’s this woman that sends me pictures of cats. Sometimes they’re hers, sometimes they’re internet cats. So I sent her cats back and since I don’t have any of my own (and the neighborhood troupe is gone) I stick to the internet for supplies. One video was three cats in a barn going back and forth with each other rehearsing lines. Then they run off to play.
The crickets are still going. They won’t stop until it’s too cold. When it’s too cold, they’ll still be out there, only some will be sleeping and the others will be dead. Are you really still out there if you’re dead? A dull wind goes through an empty exoskeleton. Still makes a sound, I guess.
Coffee: Breakfast Blend, Trader Joe’s Brand; I’ve been putting off cleaning my coffee pot for a couple weeks but I finally bought white vinegar; I ran the vinegar for two cycles, dumped it, rinsed it, ran the machine with water; the coffee still tastes the same, but it’s got more confidence than before; cleaner; self-assured; that kid in middle school who made all A’s and didn’t even know people were poking fun at her about it; blank paper.
Yesterday’s Coffee Log was live. I read a few selections from the past year at Fig Raleigh. I answered a few questions. “Do you ever worry about alienating the friends and family that you write about?” Yes, but I don’t stop writing about them. I wouldn’t know how to stop. Etc, etc. After the questions, I listened to twelve colleagues read. They read fiction and poetry. I like being an audience for people who’ve got something to say.
I’m driving to Richmond today. I’m excited for the trip. I’m nervous for the trip. I feel like one of those puppies you see in commercials – eyes wide, half-wanting to be adopted, half-scared of everything outside the pen. It’s been five years since I’ve traveled on my own. I used to make a point of traveling – taking off to wherever. Then I thought ‘hey, I need to get to know a place, I need to responsible to the people that feed me with their taxes.’ I’ve been getting to know NC like an old-new friend, someone you lost contact with long enough to forget about them. Now that I kind of know her I’ve forgotten important parts of myself.
Back to the reading: I love listening to people’s voices. The way you say something on stage is different from how you and I are talking. And it’s different from person to person. Z came to watch me. Then we stood in the audience together and listened to the other performers. He said everyone had a different style. They did have different styles. I don’t think there’s anything more honest than putting yourself in a spotlight. It’s not the you that comes naturally, it’s everything you’re aspiring to be.
Tomorrow, I’ll write this blog from a hostel bar. Or a Richmond cafe. Or a bench outside an art museum. Or a street corner. Or the backseat of my car. Who knows? I’m two blades of grass pressed together, stuck between your teeth, anticipating whatever kind of sound is about to blow.
Novel Count: 38,047 (I’ve been so stuck on preparing for the open mic feature, the trip, business at work, that the novel’s gotten stagnant. And now that it’s stagnant I don’t know what to do. I’ll push through, but that might mean surgery. I might cut out some things, change some others. Marriage – hard work to fall in love all over again.)
Currently Reading: The Sense of an Ending, Julian Barnes