Tuesday, March 25, 2014

No words

I need to write more.

I have written my whole life, and now that I do technical writing for a living, I do nearly no personal writing.

This is a problem for a few reasons. One is that I am going through a lot of changes that I am having trouble understanding. I changed job positions within the last year, and I have changed my workspace three times. The first time, it was changing buildings; then I went from working in the Control Room to working in an office; then I changed offices. In the first office, I shared it with Chris. Then Chris got fired, and I was with Angela. Now I am in an office alone.

I am very aware of a seemingly incessant need for feedback. I think about Facebook, twitter, grades, or recognition at work. This is not very new, of course: I spent hours every day on IRC as soon as I was able, and that habit moved from IRC to texting and Facebook. But, lately, it seems worse. It seems like need for appreciative feedback is at the center of everything that I pay attention to, except for grooming. Interactions with B, online interactions, school work, and work, are all about my ego.

Even grooming is a kind of co-dependency: either wanting to moderate or be moderated.

I think my difficulty working is because I find more ego-gratification in Facebook and thinking about things related to B’s shop. Thinking of making coffee is distracting. It reminds me of the satisfaction I had in Houston, being an expert at my job.

What can I do about this?

I feel guilty writing. I feel guilty not writing. I hate putting words down. As soon as I do, they are wrong; they are out of context; they create false contexts; they are imprecise; they imply.

I drink maybe too much coffee. My brain is too slow and too furry. It has pricks and insinuations. It is dull and numb and already sees the problems with the previous sentence, semantically and grammatically and stylistically in the composition in the paragraph. And that one was worse.

Is the problem related to work? When I wrote creatively, I found a spiraling problem of wanting to be more exact and concise. Am I doing something similar at work?

At work? At work? At work? At work? At work? At work? At work? At work? At work?

I think of the biopic I saw of Salinger. I think of his dedication to writing, even when no one was reading it but him. Was anyone reading it but him?

I think of Wayne White and DFW and who else?

I think I have aphasia or hypochondria.

Words don’t mean what they once did. I learned how to process words one way, and now I use them another. I was for the mouth feel and shades, and now I want everything spelled out.

I take Tech Comm classes. I took one and will take more, at least another.

Maybe I really do need to write? But I hate adding words? What will I do with even this that I’ve written? Is it a first draft of something? Will I put it in a box? It’s not even on paper. Will I store it on my desktop? Why would I write when I could think?

This problem of feeling mentally inadequate for feeling that I get benefit from writing has plagued me for years. Why can’t I just have words in my head without writing them down?

Why do I hate the words I write so much. Is it my ego? I think it is my ego. I think it is my ego. I think it is my ego. I think it is my ego. I think it is my ego. I think it is my ego.

It’s because I want to create sentences that people will say things about. I want sentences put on walls. Let’s not talk about paragraphs.

nwords. Schmears.

I check updates.

What is personal writing.

I think about learning another language. Math. Python. 2x2x2 algorithms. I have been mimicking a coworker’s mannerisms. My brain won’t stop mimicking. I mimic. I repeat myself and others.

Should brains stop repeating what they see at some point?

The I try to follow up plosives with others. I try to practice a musical instrument. I try to think in patterns, to pull shots, to use a refractometer.

I seem to run my sentences by the reader even when there isn’t one.

Maybe I need talk therapy.

Self-help fails.

So do birds and drawing and bass and math and python and coffee and homework and work.

I check updates. Dates dates dates dates dates dates dates dates.

Maybe I need Morita therapy or just ditch-digging.

Wayne White said some painting was ditch digging. Agape.

If I drew a map, you would. Written like Richter. I think it started with SIPOCs.

I want to know what everyone else is thinking, but I don’t want to hear them talk. Talking is just too much. So many words I don’t understand anymore.

I like graphite and birds. Kingfishers. Fat and intense like me. What are your thoughts on eating Indian food?

Padgent? Is that a Padgent? More Power to him. Padgent? Padgent? Agape.