When I finished posted those two poems last night I felt much better. But before I fell asleep I told myself I bet people are going to start worrying about me. The last time I wrote a lot of poetry my life was not going so well. I then read through some of my other posts over the past few weeks and realize that if you thought the ebbs and flows of my life were identical to the tone of my posts, then you could reasonably conclude I'm quite bipolar.
When I try to write more than normal, and some of it is a little melancholy, I run into friends in town who want to know "How are you?," in a very sympathetic tone. I appreciate this, as everyone should be asked the How Are You? question multiple times in any given day, regardles of how perfunctory it may seem. But my first instinct is to wonder why the concern of my well being, then I realize, oh, they read my blog.
Which still baffles my mind. You read my blog. In conversation over the past few days I've asked people, "Did I tell you about...?" and have on numerous occasions had the reply, "No, but I read it on your blog." I brush it off but deep inside I'm really thinking, "Holy Shit, they read my blog!"
And, really, the only reason I write is because you read. I've had a lot of discussions lately about art and beauty and what it means and where it comes from and I really feel incompetent when talking about it because I don't consider myself an artist. A documentarian, yes. A journalist and commentator, perhaps. And artist? I'm not so sure. I'm not saying that out of false humility. I'm saying it because I believe it to be true, and here's why: True artists hone their craft regardless of whether or not it will be seen by others. They do it because something deep down inside of them tells them they have to do it.
I do it for the attention.
So as long as you keep reading, I'll keep writing. And the more I write the more you will see the downs and lows of my life. But please know that my life, like the lives of most emotionally healthy persons, is rarely lived in the highs or lows. It's lived in the driving to work and the realization that I'm out of milk. It's in thinking about when I'm going to find time to walk my dog and in worrying about how much month is left before a new paycheck arrives.
So that's that. And it might be the last "that" for a few days. I'm in the beautiful Henderson County Seat of Athens, TX in a coffee shop across from the courthouse getting ready for a junior high retreat I'm speaking at this weekend. (I'm wondering how it happened just as much as you are, but I am looking forward to it.) I'll be back in Waco sometime Sunday afternoon
Have a great weekend, even if it is just quite normal.