Sitting on the couch and eating bonbons

My inner artist is very lazy these days, and much as I know that the only way to want to work is to start to work—desire comes from action—my default mode is still inertia and exhaustion. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not just sitting on my couch eating bonbons. I doing all the things that bring me a guaranteed revenue stream. The rent is paid.

But, instead of performing my labours of love, I am sitting on the couch—laying, really—eating bonbons.

Hey, at least I’m not drinking wine—day 11 of no alcohol here, dry January, kittens. It’s not hard exactly, it’s just that tea is an insipid beverage and water is so boring.

By the way, a friend one told me, “Tea is my poison,” and I almost had to terminate the relationship. Tea is nobody’s poison, nobody’s vice. IT’s the liquid equivalent of saying you eat too much kale, especially if you take it black. (Green?)

So, Day 11, no alcohol. I have not replaced it with weed, cigarettes or cocaine, so, you know, kudos to me all around.

Hey, it’s not cocaine.

All that as belaboured exposition to say—as I sit on the couch, not drinking wine and not doing my work, I’m waiting for boredom to set it. I mean, not doing anything is boring. I’m a driven, ambitious person with a high need for stimulation. Surely, any moment now, my inner artist will become so bored, she’ll get off the couch and create?

Problem is… I’m not bored. Not yet. The not doing doesn’t feel bad. It feels awesome. The couch, wine-free though it is (full disclosure, there is always chocolate within reach), is a great place to chill right now.

This may all be part of the process.

Or, I’m totally spent as an artist and I’ve become a regular Monday-to-Friday, nine-to-fiver working schmuck.

Where is that wine?

Part of the process. It’s part of the process.

Right?

😬

“Jane”

POSTCARDS FROM CUBA: outtakes from the journal

For Helen. Just because you’ve been on my mind lately.

You asked, “So is this how you wrote all of them? In your journals?”

No. Not exactly. The journals were full of content like this:

Listen (for a just a minute):

& read:

One can’t really write a good /original/ poem about longing. It’s all been done before, said before, cannot really be improved upon, because nothing has changed…

Today, I wrote a piece about exploring Havana as a ghost… which morphed into a meditation on freedom-choice… and then, “fidelismo”… What has happened to this country is so tragic and yet… they are so fucking lucky, and they don’t know it. At all. They don’t see it—they don’t see the other turns their history could have taken, and that as far as suffering goes… there are significantly worse repressions. But…it is too easy to pontificate as an outsider.

So I won’t.

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Today’s postcardette is all a teaser for the next feature: GHOST. Stay tuned.

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“Jane”

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