As a result of my ever crippling completely overtaking case of A.D.D. I find it difficult to complete the tasks I set out to do. On a lovely day in...June I believe...(amnesia seems to be getting the best of my short term memory...eh lets face it long term as well)...Anyways June or not, it was a lovely day, and I was determined to be productive. Went up to the room to do some deep cleaning, Get rid of material things that at one point I desperately needed and haven't picked up since...or have forgotten all together. So I started out well. Stevie was on the boombox reminding of better days and how we both wish they would come back, and I was working on my latest dance move (Coming soon: Summer 2011). And then it happened. I found crayons. And construction paper. I plopped down, only for a second to scribble a little bit, remind myself of the true color of "macaroni and cheese" "bricks" and "pacific blue"...Well after 2 pages of meaningless scribbles, my mind wandered and I grabbed a fresh parchment colored piece of perfectly aged construction paper. I feverishly began drawing and coloring any single thing that entered my misconstrued brain...a giant bug...Skeeter...a dirty sock...Bullwinkle..and on and on it went...
About 30ish minutes later I looked upon my tornado ridden room and then to my masterpiece of diverted attention. Though I didn't complete my original task, I did accomplish a seemingly greater feat: Showing others a glimpse of my inner workings. I am not the top dog when it comes to using my words...I sound more like a dog rather, when trying to explain myself to others...or like some other kind of creature that is capable of only odd noises gurgles mumbles and disturbing facial expressions. Attractive, I know...Control yourself fellas.
So on I go attempting to conquer my focus so as to acquire the ability to complete things that need doing. And in the meantime surrendering to words and instead sharing myself through the voice of my hands.
2 comments:
Emma- Love you, girl. Excited to hang out in a few weeks up in the great WI. You have such talent. Have you ever read Dickenson? You remind me of her passion. You are not one thing, but many, darling. And a good many it is.
'Hope is the thing with feathers'
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
'I'm nobody! Who are you?'
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
Spelled it wrong-- Dickinson. oops!
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