I fear this blog is spiraling into a state of perpetual mourning. My last post, "Personal Damascus," is probably one of the saddest I've
ever written, and part of me regrets writing it, therapeutic as it was. It was the product of an unusually stressful week at work, full of nine and ten hour days (don't get me wrong; I love my job). I also hadn't been sleeping well; changes in my schedule or environment seem to cause this problem. Finally, two of my roommates left for a few days, leaving the apartment somewhat lonely. All of these circumstances combined to form an emotional cluster bomb that I hope to not repeat. In the future, I'm thinking of expanding this blog to include book reviews and perhaps other things, in order to keep it from becoming "Considerable Self-Pity: The Blog Where Laura Rants About How Nobody Loves Her." I was looking back at some of my earlier writing and thought, "Remember when this blog used to be funny? Remember when it had badly drawn yet endearing cartoons?"
To help start this blog's long journey upward, here's some good news: all those long hours at work paid off when I finally finished my first segment for NC Weekend about Fair Game Beverage Company. You can watch it here. Also, my documentary that aired on Our State last year, "Poems for Everyone," is being considered for a NETA award--fingers crossed (NETA=National Educational Telecommunications Association). Another cause for rejoicing is the fact that I'm writing this from an oceanfront condo on Hatteras Island. The sea joins the ranks of romance, religion, and the rest of nature as one of the greatest inspirations for writers. Here are just a few thoughts I've jotted down in the course of my stay here:
--This entire shoreline stands as a monument to the conflict between man's desire for security and nature's desire for constant change. Year after year, wind and surf try to reclaim the island, blowing sand over the roads and washing new inlets in the land, yet we keep building new bridges and clearing the sand away, watching the dunes grow higher and higher.
--Why do people love the ocean so much? For one thing, it entices every one of the senses: sight, sound, smell, touch, taste through the food it provides (a mouthful of saltwater, on the other hand, is best left unexperienced). I think it also represents everything so many of us want out of jobs, relationships, life itself. It's constant, yet always changing, always moving. It's security without stagnation. We know it won't disappear while we sleep, yet we can never be completely sure what color it will be in the morning, or what shapes its waves will take.
--I've seen just about every color of the ocean this week; it reflects the moody sky. It's a brilliant blue under clear skies, a placid green under clouds, and gunmetal gray in the early evening. Under just the right mix of clouds and sun, it's liquid silver.Under the moon, it's black with a crest of white light, like a path to the other side of the world. The Swedish have their own word for this moon-road: "mangata."
--The sound of the sea is like breath, the rise and fall of waves like inhales and exhales.
--Facebook is terrible. Why do we use it?
--I like to plant my feet in the sand and just stand on the beach in the moonlight, pretending to be a wind-beaten fence post.
--Two men fish by lamp light on the beach tonight, their poles stuck in the sand. One of them tries to untangle their line from some type of seaweed. My mind is like that fishing line. Whenever I try to reel it in, it gets caught in stray thoughts. Maybe this vacation will help me untangle it.
--When the moon shines on bits of seashells, it looks like you're walking on the Milky Way.
--You can see the entire circle of life and death on the beach. I've seen the bodies of sharks strewn on the shore among the empty shells of scallops, gulls pecking at their gills. I've seen young clams tunnel into the sand, digging for a chance at life beyond the sandpiper's beak. With great sadness I report that yesterday, I even found the mangled corpse of Spongebob Squarepants tumbling in the surf.
I know I'll think of even more lines I could have put in this post once I hit "publish," but such is the nature of writing. For now, I'm going back down to the beach to see how many dogs I can pet (there seem to be a lot out there on this particular day), and hopefully I'll have more good news to follow.
--This entire shoreline stands as a monument to the conflict between man's desire for security and nature's desire for constant change. Year after year, wind and surf try to reclaim the island, blowing sand over the roads and washing new inlets in the land, yet we keep building new bridges and clearing the sand away, watching the dunes grow higher and higher.
--Why do people love the ocean so much? For one thing, it entices every one of the senses: sight, sound, smell, touch, taste through the food it provides (a mouthful of saltwater, on the other hand, is best left unexperienced). I think it also represents everything so many of us want out of jobs, relationships, life itself. It's constant, yet always changing, always moving. It's security without stagnation. We know it won't disappear while we sleep, yet we can never be completely sure what color it will be in the morning, or what shapes its waves will take.
--I've seen just about every color of the ocean this week; it reflects the moody sky. It's a brilliant blue under clear skies, a placid green under clouds, and gunmetal gray in the early evening. Under just the right mix of clouds and sun, it's liquid silver.Under the moon, it's black with a crest of white light, like a path to the other side of the world. The Swedish have their own word for this moon-road: "mangata."
--The sound of the sea is like breath, the rise and fall of waves like inhales and exhales.
--Facebook is terrible. Why do we use it?
--I like to plant my feet in the sand and just stand on the beach in the moonlight, pretending to be a wind-beaten fence post.
--Two men fish by lamp light on the beach tonight, their poles stuck in the sand. One of them tries to untangle their line from some type of seaweed. My mind is like that fishing line. Whenever I try to reel it in, it gets caught in stray thoughts. Maybe this vacation will help me untangle it.
--When the moon shines on bits of seashells, it looks like you're walking on the Milky Way.
--You can see the entire circle of life and death on the beach. I've seen the bodies of sharks strewn on the shore among the empty shells of scallops, gulls pecking at their gills. I've seen young clams tunnel into the sand, digging for a chance at life beyond the sandpiper's beak. With great sadness I report that yesterday, I even found the mangled corpse of Spongebob Squarepants tumbling in the surf.
 |
| Knowing Spongebob was gone, I did feel less guilty about eating Mr. Krabs for dinner that night. |
I know I'll think of even more lines I could have put in this post once I hit "publish," but such is the nature of writing. For now, I'm going back down to the beach to see how many dogs I can pet (there seem to be a lot out there on this particular day), and hopefully I'll have more good news to follow.
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