I needed to find a way to maintain equilibrium and optimism in the face of creative despair. I fought my despair with what I call “morning pages”—three pages of longhand writing about anything: “I don’t like the way Fred talked to me at the office”; “I need to get the car checked”; “I forgot to buy kitty litter.” They don’t look like they have anything to do with creativity, but in fact, as we put these worries, which are sort of a daily soundtrack for most of us, down on the page, we are suddenly much more alert, aware, focused and available to the moment. And we begin to see that we have many creative choices. As I wrote those pages, new ideas began to walk in. Over time, I began to share the morning-pages technique with other people.”

From this article on how to unleash creativity.

So, I figured I’d try it for a while. It probably will be rather boring to most people, and some of the posts will be private.

Yesterday, I felt really hungry and lazy when I got home. Strangely, I had been really motivated to diet and work out in the past few days and had dropped three pounds, so I thought that might keep me on track. It didn’t. I did try to eat only healthy things in my minor binge, though. I had a bowl of high fiber raisin bran-y stuff. Fiber One brand, if I recall correctly.

As though it were a punishment, my first or second bite drove some of the resilient flakes between my gum and one of my front incisors. It still hurts today, but I can’t be certain if what I’m feeling is just a natural promontory on the back of the tooth or something still stuck in there. I have tried to pick at it with various things, but with no success. I still don’t know what it is or if I should leave it alone.

The way my two front teeth are positioned, it’s fairly impossible to actually get a look in there. If my friend the dentist gets a job up here, maybe I’ll make an appointment even faster. I do want to have him recommend some sort Invisalign thing for my teeth, though. I think my self esteem is affected sometimes by my teeth being crooked. And I want to whiten them as well. I see it as just one less thing to be self-conscious about.

Then again, I suppose I am self-conscious about my merits as well as my flaws. I become very aware of my arms, sometimes, which I think are one of my more attractive parts. So, maybe it does not matter so much. Having obvious flaws might restrain my latent narcissism.

Evidently, in my joking biography that I wrote for the program for Carousel in which I described myself as a poet, warrior and enlightened being — among other dubious claims — I came off as a bit of an ego case. I wonder if that contributed to people not really wanting to come up to me after the show. Some people got it, obviously.

That part of my brain that finds false posturing amusing has gotten me into trouble before. I once had to fight a skilled and very tall boxer who took umbrage at my trash-talking over a foosball game in the college union. I was losing, and I find it hilarious to brag up my skills when it’s clear that I’m awful at something. He did not. Luckily, we both believed that the fight would leave us rather mangled and he walked away. He later apologized, but I think I was equally in the wrong.

I played some WoW and Rock Band last night, but neither were particularly thrilling. They just served the motivated part of my brain with some false accomplishments. I waffled with the idea of going out to buy Bioshock, as that game really appeals to me. Well, its aesthetic and narrative appeal to me. The rest seemed to be standard shoot-em-up nonsense that bores me even more than click-thru RPG nonsense. I was glad to have the Penny Arcade game to get me through my initial post-partum depression from Carousel.

Tonight, 1956 is having a CD releases party. I should go, but I’m wrestling with it a bit. I feel a little out of place at “cool” events. No one’s fault but mine, as Jason is always congenial, and many of my former colleagues are likely to be there. I wonder if I will get over my disdain for events. Honestly, once I feel I’ve proven that I belong there, I enjoy myself immensely. But I don’t have the spastic comic energy that I had in college and high school, nor am I possessed of that James Dean cool or a detached academic quality or any of the “easy ins” that I have sorted in my brain. So, I never know what to do. If nothing else though, I should go to show my support. Jason’s always done so for me.

I’ve decided that ten paragraphs is my quota for these things. I’ve never been good at writing long pieces. My attempts at novels were mostly prompted by high school writing competitions and those transmogrified into short stories of swords and sorcery. Maybe forcing myself to write ten paragraphs of nothing will encourage me that some of the discarded 75% or so of sentences and ideas may have merit if allowed a little sunshine. Probably not.

Often, I wear my heart on my sleeve. While sometimes that can be charming, I also have a hyper-critical brain. I use it on myself with impunity, but it can get me in trouble with my friends, so I find myself editing some things that are just not necessary to say. It makes me a good critic, but I can’t really take it, so I tend not to dish it out.

It’s that weird inferiority/ superiority complex. I bet my friend Mel could tell me what my problem is. But I wouldn’t believe her.