so when i said i would spend four hours a day editing. . . it was because i felt i was being too much of a consumer. . . it’s fun to watch TV and movies and play video games and listen to podcasts and audiobooks. . . and it’s nice to be able to let go of the heavy weight of feeling some obligation i don’t know how to fulfill about adding wisdom and entertainment to the cannon of human storytelling. . . BUT. . . i’ve got work to do and i know it. . . infinite work to do. . . and there is only so much i can do with other people. . . just like there is only so much i can do with myself. . . so . . . me being a creator. . . an editor. . . i felt it when i woke up today.. i didn’t want to do storytelling in the same way. . . i wanted to work. . . and how did that manifest? my old tried & true: procrastination: i laid in bed (i wish i could spell it with a y. . . ) i layed in bed for about four hours after waking. reading through social media replies (ugh, that’s why i felt so terrible waking up yesterday! when i post on social media then i go to look at social media. . . while i was writing last night’s piece i decided to post the day’s pics on IG. . . and after they posted some guy’s post came up. i didn’t know him: he as just a hot sexy bear. he was a hot sexy bear who mostly posted pics of his naked furry body (IG limitations) . . . but this post was him at a military funeral. . . and i read about his dead husband. . . and looked back through his last few months of hell, watching the love of his life die of cancer. . . dealing with having COVID himself, on oxygen. . . occasionally posting a sexy picture of his butt rising behind his smiling face. . . it’s such an emotional landmine field. . . social media. . . people angry about stuff. . . or sad about stuff. . . baiting for thirst or emotional support or emotional vampirism. . . or just beautifully expressing to the best of their ability the experience of life. . . in all its pleasure and pain. it was beautiful to witness. . . but when i turned back to my writing piece i was noticeably in a different emotional space. . . ) so yeah, i did that again this morning. . . between twitter porn and all the other social media sink holes, harvesting the fruits of my postings and making emotional impulse buys along the way. . . feeling guilty i wasn’t with my parents down stairs. . . twice came and feeling exhausted and depressed. . . hooray! i went down stairs and finished the puzzle i had been working on for a few days. poured out a tincture i made a month ago. . . explored other tinctures from years ago that might help my mom. . . maybe got a little drunk from all the alcohol in them… ate some kitcahri and came back up stairs and napped. then sold a video to a guy who was a part of my daily practice group last year. . . then recorded a video for a client who pays me to make him time lapse fetish videos. . . so i made some money (even though there were three clients today who wanted sessions but didn’t want to pay me and a hotel but could not host) . . . then. . . THEN…. i sat down and started editing. . . all my notes’ organization got razed earlier this year. . . so i worked on that for a while. . . then started transcribing the hand written journal i kept at the 2016 retreat. . . i’ve been working on that thing for four years now. . . but in the last few days. . . if i can just finish it. . . then what? here’s a quote from it i enjoyed. :
The wisdom of the finite. . . knows something the infinite simply cannot
11.20.2016