Sunday, 19 June 2011

A bit of this and a bit of that

The writing bit

I had a really strange experience today.  Well it wasn't strange so much as I found it a tad scary.  I realised just how easy it is to program ourselves without consciousness.  About now, I should explain.  I have mentioned that I tend to write in my bedroom because I consider it to be my sanctuary and I thought that was all there was too it.  Now, I am beginning to wonder. I am aware that I still go to my bedroom to write on the rare occasions when I am the only one home.  This tendency doesn't really make a lot of sense since the lounge room or the office would be much more comfortable, but I don't really think too much of it.  Habit - that's all.

What I discovered this morning changed my thinking.  I was the only one home so I thought why not stay in the lounge room to write.  There was no need to expect interuptions so all was well.  I grabbed my book, my pen, my cuppa and expected everything to just flow.  How wrong I was.  Firstly, the kids came home, friends in tow.  That ended up okay because they headed straight out on to the deck leaving me well enough alone. All should have been fine.  Pen in hand, book open, yesterday's writing looking at me, yep, pen in hand, book open, yesterday's writing looking at me, and, and ... nothing.  Nothing came.  What's going on? Write!  Just put words on paper and go from there.  Slowly I managed to squeeze out some words but after half a page of agonizing effort I scribbled out the lot.

When I write in first draft mode I do scratch out the wrong word or two, maybe even a sentence when it doesn't sound right or if I feel it is taking me in the wrong direction but rarely will I erase entire sections.  That comes later, in edit mode.  Not today, it just wasn't happening.  Then a little voice whispered in my head, "Go to the bedroom." I listened.  What did I have to lose? 

I'll tell you what I lost.  I lost my frustrations.  Seven rapidly written pages later I felt fine, only stopping because Adrian got home from work.  I was even willing him to unpack his ute slowly so I could keep writing.  Why the change?

I can't be sure, but at this stage, until something happens to change my thinking, I believe it is because I have told myself that I write in the bedroom.  There is no other real explanation.  It isn't that it was any quieter in my room.  I was still very much aware that I had a house full of teenages boys so nothing apart from my location had changed. My coffee had gone cold too, but that was it. 

When I was telling Adrian what had happened, hot fresh coffee in hand, I began to wonder what else I had programmed myself to believe.  I am curious to see what I discover.  Hopefully one of the things will be that my body really doesn't want me to replace cigarettes with food.  Tomorrow will mark the end of our seventh smoke free week.  YEAH for us.  Adrian and I are doing the "We are non-smokers" thing together. I guess that has been another example of subtle programming since I have managed to go from a pack-a-day-plus smoker to nothing just by telling myself I am a non smoker.  I decided not to think that I was quitting, just that I didn't smoke and it's working - no patches, no nothing.

Until I actually wrote that I had never really thought about that either.  How oblivious am I to my own thinking????  Wow! I have always believed in the power of the subconscious mind but probably more academically than anything else.  I can see how it works but I haven't focused for long periods on utilising its potential, well not consciously anyhow, says the non-smoking, bedroom writer.  That is going to change.  I wonder if trying to make it happen works the same.  I guess there is only one way to find out.  So here goes. I drink lots of water rather than eating junky food and I feel great.  It is the natural thing to do and I listen to my body.

The feeling great bit shouldn't be hard at all.  My body is continuously showing me how much it hates my post smoking diet, so are the scales, but until now I have felt powerless to do anything about it.  That is all about to change.  I am healthy and I can write in any room in my house if I so desire! 

The blogging bit

I have just been wondering if it is easy to upload photos.  Hopefully, I will find out in the next day or two. 

That's it for now.  It's getting late and I really need to ring my poor husband.  He is down at the hospital, sitting in casualty with my son waiting for an x-ray.  Dan came off his longboard tonight and even though he assures us he is fine, he can't bend or straighten his arm.  They are both having a great time.  Three hours and they haven't been looked at yet.  It is Saturday night though so none of us are surprised.  I know I will have 2 not so happy men in my house at some stage tonight especially if it turns out he is fine.  You'd think that will make them happy but somehow I don't think so.  I know it will make me happy, but then I am here blogging away.  Since Adrian left I having been reading my book in front of the heater while finishing the Black Russian (Vodka, Kahlua and Coke) I had made for Adrian.  Oh well, I am looking after his liver health.  As weird as it sounds, I actually feel strange being at home and I kind of wish I was down there.  I am not used to not being the one down at the hospital.  If I was down there I would probably feel different, but maybe not. I think it is a Mum thing, but that may be a gross generalisation.

Anyhow, time to go drink some water and ring Adrian.

2 comments:

greenlabyrinth said...

I like that you now call yourself the nonsmoking bedroom writer. It has a very nice ring to it. As to your son. Longboard --skateboard? Or Longboard --surfboard? Once upon a time I used to manage a surfshop and we sold both. I guess that old part of me was curious. Hope all works out.

Melissa Jane said...

It was a skateboard/longboard and unfortunately he has a broken arm. Because it is at the elbow he is in a half cast from his shoulder to his wrist.

Thanks for all your positive comments. Hope all is going well for you.
Mel