It kind of really is the question. Should I be "this thing" or this OTHER thing? Should I watch a show or play Diablo? Should I start planning classes or start writing a book? Should I get out of the house today or...?
Or stay inside like I have for months now? I remember having energy... I remember looking forward to *do things.* Anything. EVERYthing. Everything takes so much *energy.* There's a quote I included in my ScholarRevelationEntry that was supposed to inaugurate the "new" blog and it goes...
"I am an old scholar, better-looking now than when I was young. That's what sitting on your ass does to your face." ~Leonard Cohen
It's a nice sentiment. I don't think he's right. Not when I look in the mirror. Sitting on my ass is probably just... flattening my ass. The Invisible Scholar is just sitting here on her ass, stewing in a lack of motivation and often overwhelming lethargy. Just last night, all of the amazing, strong women of Spokane's 2015 "Listen to Your Mother" got together again to celebrate our experience this year. I didn't go. I spent all day holding myself and everything together and just... had no happy left to share at the end of the day. Little desire to celebrate something that now feels like a lifetime ago. I've lived a lifetime in less than a month, it seems.
That statement is rather self-pitying. And false. And self-indulgent. I could only be so lucky as to live *my* lifetime of experiences in less than a month. I've had some pretty damn awesome experiences.
Some of them even occurred on this couch that is currently hosting my ever-more-flattening ass. So the answer, then, is "to be." To be what? My Inner Breast Cancer Badass asks a most important question. "Does it really matter," she whispers.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Sunday, June 7, 2015
52 Days Later...
And I still have nothing to say? Right. I've taken notes on so many "wise," "insightful," "inspired," thoughts and ideas. They are all over the house - stuffed between book pages, tucked into drawers, and ferreted away among so many other treasures. So many personal revelations - innumerable "occurrences," and yet here I sit. With nothing to say. And a million things screaming to be let out. My Inner Breast Cancer Badass - the "Invisible Scholar" - seems to be sitting down on the job. Or scared to death. One or the other. But then, what other option is there? Plenty. Just not many I am *capable* of executing. That is a much more positive statement then it appears. What is it they say about talking to yourself? As long as you don't reply?...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)