Journal Entry Type #51: Monday is Almost Done

These are some of the things I did over the weekend. You can’t see me suffering in the 115 degree heat while carrying groceries from the car, up the stairs, and into the apartment. You also didn’t see me buying a vacuum because my old one has been broken for a good week. I got the sand and glass bottles I ordered except the corks are too small and need to buy a some bigger ones. I wish everything was simple, fresh, and uncomplicated. It seems people label their food this way. If only that were true all the time.

I ended up writing the below while I was making formatting changes to my blog and getting prepared for 2021. Who says I’m not prepared? I do! Me, Me, Me! Okay, to an extent. I was already to have written half my third novel in my trilogy by this time. Oh well, I guess that’s not happening. It serves as motivation to write a poem I intend to write with a certain kind of word usage, such as, “I’m not my own bitch” or to that effect. I’ve lately been on a poetry kick, bought a book that I’ll be recommending later, and am already thinking of my next poetry compilation.

I colored this weekend. I took pictures of my hair because I’m getting it cut soon and haven’t had it this long in a while. I’ve managed to destroy two times now the ponytails I meant to send for wigs (those that have lost their hair to cancer treatments). I’m hoping this one actually survives my clumsy hands. I was supposed to write this weekend but that never happened. I was supposed to start my jogging routine today, but guess what this is what Tuesday is for although I realize I have to get back to it very soon. I had been putting off so many essential things like grocery shopping for a good month that I’ve been eating out way too much (drive through and dining out). I’m talking breakfast, lunch, and dinner some days. It adds up but being crazy busy at work and tired in this desert heat makes me really not want to cook although I’m not fond of it to begin with. So on that note, this is all I offer today: a blog entry of random thoughts.

I’m taking some days off coming up and plan on writing every one of those days. I’ve got to make more progress with my rewrite so I can start/continue my next novel idea in 2021. I wanted to publish my first novel in 2020 but it’s looking more like beginning of 2021. I’m promising to myself to publish my poetry compilation this year and work on my short story compilation in 2021 for hopefully release in 2021 or 2022 as well. I know I don’t have a lot of followers, but from the get go this was more to get out there than anything else. I appreciate all the likes and comments. I’m not one to pay money for bots so it looks like I have more people following me than reality says. Maybe my mustard and ketchup tank tops will sway people to follow my blog. Whatever floats your boat. On that note, I’m now going to eat a salad and realize how complicated life is at times.

People are more than bones and muscles and fat. People have emotions and feelings and intelligence. The key difference between poets and non-poets is the following, actually any writer for that matter.  A non-writer can live with a broken bone, smaller muscles, or more fat for a period of time.  However, a writer can't live without writing because eventually emotions, feelings, and intelligence form into a restless ball. If it isn't written in a notebook or punched on the keyboard, a nagging combination of irritation and anxiety tends to form. Sometimes determination as well in the mix, and this is my take on the major difference between writers and everyone else.