Purging

Have you ever gone into the bathroom at the end of the day, looked into the mirror, and thought, “I really need to scrub my face clean”? Then you get a washcloth and some soap and some warm water and you scrub and scrub and then dry your face and you feel better. Right now, I’m looking at my house and going, “I really need to scrub this house.” Not just clean it but clear it. Get rid of all the unwanted things that are cluttering up my life and have just built up into piles I can’t do anything with and so I just leave there.

A purging.

I’ll start with books and clothes. They’re the easier to get out of my life. Donate some away, sell some off, figure out what to do with the limited piles I have left. It’s getting out of hand. I always just let things build up instead of paring down to the things I want and letting the rest go in one way or another. I want to cut out a significant pile of stuff from my life. I don’t need it. I want it gone.

I also need to get rid of boxes. I’m a worrier when it comes to buying things. I tend to buy things and keep the boxes in case I have to return them. It happens every once in a long while but my box collection has gotten out of hand. I still have the box for the paper shredder I bought two years ago. The warranty’s long past and the shredder still works fine. I don’t need the box taking up space.

I like having nice things, collections of books, nice clothes. The problem is I don’t know when to get rid of anything so stuff builds up over time. I need to learn to let go. It’s time to simplify my life, find a better way to get to what I need instead of having to dig through piles of stuff I ignore or just am not interested in any more. It’s about getting these things to people who could use them, who want them, who can make better use of them.
Then I need to get the remaining things in order so it’s easier to find them when I need them. Order to the chaos. It’s also about using what I’ve been meaning to use, reading what I’ve been meaning to read, wearing what I’ve been meaning to wear. I don’t want to hoard my life and I won’t. Not that I’m anywhere close to being that bad. I can see how people could get that bad, though. Attach significance to the littlest of things, remember the story for everything, let the things from your life build and build and build around you. Stacks and piles of the history of your life close at hand. I like the stuff that I have but I need to learn to let it go. The rest will be stronger memories because of this purging, this cleansing. Plus it’ll be easier to clean and dust. Double victory!

Hearty Consumption

I used to eat books. Not eat in the sense that I needed the fiber but consume in a mental capacity. I would read a book a day sometimes. Maybe start another one that evening. The library was awesome because it was free and there was always plenty I’d never read before. I found a lot of great authors, going to the library and browsing the shelves. It fed my habit and kept me out of trouble at the same time.

I mostly read science fiction and fantasy. Occasionally I’d delve into non-fiction but it didn’t happen much. That’s something I’ll have to remedy one day.

Recently I’ve fallen out of my obsession with books. I haven’t given them a try, haven’t cracked the pages and experienced a story, haven’t delved into new worlds and new thoughts. I have plenty of books I want to read, plenty I’ve never explored. I need to read.

I probably need more bookshelves to store all the books I have. I’ve got classics I want to read, like “Mutiny on the Bounty” and “The Complete Collection of Oscar Wilde” and “Catch-22”. I’ve got new works like “Strain” and “Choke” and “The Kite Runner”. Plus there’s all the books I’ve read and want to go back and reread like “Snow Crash” and “Spook Country” and everything Terry Pratchett ever wrote. I just heard Terry Pratchett got a ten book deal and that makes me a very happy man. Very happy indeed.

The point is I love to read but I haven’t read very much recently. My trencher’s appetite for books has slowed to the pace of a swimsuit model right before a shoot. I’m starving for books but I only nibble here and there. I want to start gobbling again. I want to shovel books into both eyes again, stay up late just to finish another chapter, be sad that a book ended, be excited about starting a new one. I want to read.

Running On My Mind

Running. Running’s on my mind. It’s a wonderful place. Yeah, my knees and my feet and my thighs ache a little when I get started. Yeah, I run an awkward route with cars and trucks and all sorts of bastards driving by all the time.

I’m getting more into the groove when it comes to running. Headphones help, keeping the music and the cycle in my head. I don’t have to worry about my phone as much, about the route or the sequence. I haven’t reached the point where I can just enjoy running. I’m still fighting my way through getting into the routine of running, the pattern of movement and balance that you have to get into, the loss of the world.

I’ve never experienced the runner’s high. I don’t know what it is or when I’ll reach it, if ever. I’m fine with my current pace, my current advancement. One day maybe I’ll find that runner’s high, that peak you reach. I just don’t know.

I have a book I’m going to dig into. A friend of mine lent it to me. Born to Run by Christopher McDougall. I’m curious about it. Curiosity is good when it comes to reading. I’ve given up on the last two books I started. I’m just not interested in them. Something about the stories didn’t catch me, didn’t hook my mind. One book just didn’t seem interesting and the other was too long-winded and snooty. Sometimes a long sentence makes sense but a sentence that goes on for a page and a half is too much. Anyhow, I’m interested in this book about ultramarathoners. I’ll let you know how it turns out if you haven’t read it yourselves by then.

I’m going to read tonight. That hasn’t happened in a while. I just haven’t been wowed by a book recently. I need to. It’ll be nice, kicking back and reading something I haven’t read before and I’m interested in. Taking some time away from the computer and all the other busyness and just reading. It’s time I got some reading in.

I’m starting my running and reading regimen at the right time of the year. It’s cooling off outside, chilling the days and the evenings. Exercise is better when you aren’t dripping sweat and about ready to pass out from heat exhaustion. Sweat is okay, heat stroke is not. Where I am, it gets incredibly hot in the Summer and early Fall. Incredibly hot. Sweat doesn’t cool you off. Shade doesn’t cool you off. It’s rough. Now, it’s getting better. Now it’s getting bearable.

Games and Books and Blank Slates

I really just want to read for a while. On Writing seems excellent. I should have read that one first. The workshop is waiting for me to work my way through the writing assignments. The Rum Diary calls out to me with its fantastic story and excellent writing from a simpler, nicer age. I have stacks of books needing to be read but those are the ones on my bedside table, the ones I’ve dedicated myself to reading and reading soon. Having them right next to me makes it easier to get into them. Such easy access.

There’s so much to read and so little time to do so. I can’t really say that. I spent part of the evening playing video games. Part of my little payment to myself for finishing Camp NaNoWriMo ahead of time. I finished two days early and now I’m getting some bandit blasting in. It’s fun, it takes up a little time, and I enjoy it. Why not?

Ah, but the books call to me as well. Plus the blank page, that empty space I know will always await my beck and call. All I have to do is crack the clamshell, type a few keystrokes, and I’ll have an empty slate I can pour an entire universe into and never fully fill. A few keystrokes and it’s clear again, what I’ve put down saved for posterity, the white of the page mocking me. I can write and write and write and never fully run out of stories, of jokes, of poetry, of sadness, of anger, of happiness. There’s always a place for me to deposit my thoughts, my dreams, my laughter, and my tears. Until I can’t write any more, I’ll write. If my fingers are gone, I’ll use my toes or I’ll use my nose. I’ll dictate to a system that will translate speech to text. If I have to, I’ll wiggle out binary with my head. I’ll write until I’m gone.

Book Worm

I love books. I love reading books, I love the smell of a new book, the look of books, the cover, the pages, the stories they tell. I’m always a little put off by some covers of books but I’ve found reading what’s inside opens me up to the book. Piques my interest. I have to read. It’s important to my mental health.

Over the past few years I’ve read a good number of books but not the volume I used to. I spend a lot of time reading articles online and on RSS feeds, watching movies, reading the news, and books have fallen by the wayside. I have a stack of books that I want to read. The stack grows but rarely shrinks. Some novels have taken me months to read. I’ve got four books sitting right next to the bed that I want to get to and I occasionally read. The stack of books I want to read some day is probably six or seven times as tall as I am. I only own enough of that stack to make up about twice my height, maybe a little bit taller.

I suppose my heavy use of computers is partially to blame for this curbed reading. Games, online articles, email, Facebook, finances, more games, artistic endeavors, and my own personal interests that vary from day to day or minute to minute. The internet is chock full of information and it’s available 24-hours a day, seven days a week. It’s fun being able to find out anything you want to know with a few clicks and searches. Extensive movie information, comedy, quotes, news, games, anything.

I’ve got time to spend today. I’ve done some housecleaning, laundry, cleaned the bathroom, made the house nice and pretty. I have the time to spend reading a few good books.

Book Trip

Pre-planning the trip involves making sure we know how to get to McKay Used Books, the most awesome bookstore in Nashville. From there, White Castle!

Riding, riding, riding to Nashville. No road rage but a lot of general mental incompetence. Mentpotence? Mentpotence.

Aggravating my love so much she flips me off. I feel I have to prevent her from flipping off other people in traffic so I give her both barrels right back. We’re weird but in an amusing and fun way.

Perfect navigation, we roll up with an hour and a quarter before closing time. Trade in some old books for some store credit and go to town on the aisles. Scored “On Writing” by Stephen King, “On Writing Well” by William Zinsser, “When Good People Write Bad Sentences” by Robert W. Harris, “The Pocket Muse” by Monica Wood, “Telling True Stories” with a whole bunch of different authors, and “The Modern Library Writer’s Workshop” by Stephen Koch.

In the non-writing general loving to read section I got “Generation X” by Douglas Coupland,“Choke” by Chuck Palahniuk, “The Great Shark Hunt” and “The Rum Diary” by Hunter S. Thompson, and my lovely got me “The Oxford Book of English Detective Stories“, which I didn’t even know I wanted.

So there it is, a successful book trip to Nashville. I eagerly anticipate our next one. I’d say I was particularly interested in one book or another but really I’m interested in them all and I’ll have to choose which one I’ll start digging into first. I might just have to resort to a game of chance…

I’ll do my best to include how things are progressing through the writing books as I’m going through them. It’s a work in progress.