initiative

 

 

Precedents can be really hard to break. 

For example, knowing that I have a billion and a half things that I could possibly write about while also knowing that it’s been a week and a half since I’ve said anything at all, the inevitable parallel to my silence, rant, silence speech pattern is quickly drawn. 

Each word must be carefully chosen, for, by virtue of waiting so long, each word carries additional weight, which is only somewhat like the hypothetical moron from this months Readers Digest who chooses to add up each year’s single allotted word to propose to a stranger, the darling princess, in the most ridiculously unnecessary verbose fashion ever, taking 14 years to spit out “My darling, I have waited many years to say this: Will you marry me?” only to have her respond with a fake smile and a “what was that?”.  I bet she heard.  Most people do and “huh” is the first thing to come out of our mouths while the words process.  He could have used those silent years to come up with an explanation, or at least a response.

  The ice breaks, the foots in the door, Pandora’s let out of her box.  I can talk again.  After that first sentence I let the cursor sit and somewhat impatiently flash while I ran upstairs only to sit.  Again.  Once again I flipped through the familiar pages of Granada, Nicaragua: Christmas-Valentine’s Day, (I’m pretty sure it’s #5 out of my Novas project journals) looking for precedent. No such luck, but somewhere in there, I think it’s in that one, I whine, I mean explicate upon how hard it can be to go against the GEDC1573mold of past behaviors, attitudes, thought patterns, even ones we don’t necessarily like.

The cursor sighs momentarily as I flip through Ejido Buenos Aires, Granada: November 9th- Dec 24th, Matamoros, Mexico: 10/16, 10/17; 11/1-11/9, and A Series of Love Letters: 2/16/2010 – 3/23/2010.  Nope.  Nada.  (y no te reís a mí, Gilberto).

So after one more pathetic attempt, I give up trying to find words already written, deciding that even if they did have a cool ring to them (which most of my rants lack), that new ones would be fresher.  I quietly smile at a friends astute observation, that I´m a literary communicator, scan the previous few paragraphs to see whether I´d get bored half way through, change a few colors to make it a bit brighter and thereby  somewhat more interesting/ bearable, acknowledge that I´m well over the recommended limit and virtually nothing of importance has been said and skim again to see whether I could cut out a paragraph or two.  I silently apologize for not doing the main picture justice, refrain from seeking and typing out another journal reference about how no one will hear/believe a mumbled “sorry” and come up with a resounding ¨nah¨ to the whole editing thing.  I’ve done enough of that.  Throw in another pic or two and let people wade through the messiness.  Don’t worry, I’ll get to the point eventually.

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