Word After Word

Oh it’s a terrible terrible moment!  No writing in seven days. I feel as though a major organ, like my liver, has been taken from my body and any moment now, I’m going to lose my heart, my head.  It’s a ditch of despond, an air of despair, a hard month.  Back to basics. I’m buying some hair conditioner, travel size, and a 79 cent notebook this afternoon at Meijer and I have my list of magic always-work assignments from Abigail Thomas (see blogroll). I’ll write this afternoon: about my dad and the Weird Perfect Collision– Jacob is reading the part of Gloucester in King Lear.  I can also write a little bit about trying to watch Casablanca again, a movie I have never ever been able to watch with much comprehension and I just figured out why: I can’t tell Victor Laszlo apart from Rick.  Crucial, crucial insight.  Also, a lot of men in uniform. Very very advanced viewing for face blind people. What cracks me up is how hard I try to watch these movies, how I keep forgetting I am not going to follow things easily. It takes me awhile to figure out who is who, by what they say, what they are doing.  Ingrid is with BOTH MEN! Tricky.

This is the thing about face blindness. We never know when it’s happening–everything always looks like how it looks.  There’s not a question mark above the heads of the People Who Are Being Confused with Other People, any indication this may not be who you think it is.  I never feel confused at the time. I watch Casablanca and think, okay, new character, all will be revealed in good time.  It all looks normal. 

The not writing every day is confusing and frustrating and hard to sort out. I’m not recognizing myself.  I’m unhappy with my work. I read it aloud this morning and of course I hate it–it doesn’t sound like how I thought it would. 

This is the riptide of not writing.  You get sucked away from the Good Thing and it will take at least three days of work/writing/swimming to get back. Note to self: swim with the current not against it.

Hello, Georgia!