Frantik Girl
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
Underwear
I am often confused by my underwear. It sits in a drawer, in a pile, some black, some white, some token minorities in shades of lavender and red. The pile daunts me. I reach in and draw out a pair, and I never know what I’ll find waiting in my hands. Will they be French cut? Bikini cut? Perhaps the tag will be on the inside over the butt, or maybe inside the hip. Maybe, the tag will be hanging on the outside next to my belly button so that everyone seeing me undress… meaning my cats… will know that I chose Hanes Her Way ™ for my undergarment needs. I have to ask myself what statement I wish to express under my pants. Are string bikini underwear still sexy if they’ve faded and have runs in the crotch? Are they MORE sexy? I feel as if my life would be easier if I just chose one type of underwear, like a man. This much excitement and consternation so early in the morning is taxing.
I won’t discuss the camisoles.
Friday, January 02, 2004
Write, Damnit
It is the second of January, and I already feel like the year is slipping away. There are so many DVDs to watch, games to play, things to eat... all those things I shouldn't do, for they are sinful and bad. I have work to do, and sloth is unbecoming of someone who wants to become a professional novelist.
So what's wrong with me? It's concievable that my lack of Puritanical work ethic is biting me in the butt. However, I think on a deeper level... those things I mentioned above (DVDs, games, food) are entertaining; whereas I am completely uninspired by my own writing. I'm past the exciting "getting to know you" phase of my relationship with this novel and have entered the "building a relationship is hard" drudgery. Writing this novel is work, and I do so hate work.
Inertia works two ways: it takes energy to move an object when it's sitting still and it takes energy to stop an object if it's already moving. If I grit my teeth, wash my hair and expend the energy, I can move again. I'll start with a light yoga workout.
