Observations

When I write in my notebooks/journals, I'm most often looking to convince myself that I have a plan, and life is going to be OK. When I blog, I am looking for attention and recognition--and generally I feel like I've gotten it simply because someone is reading. I'm guessing a dozen someones, actually, which as I've said, is gratifying.

Two unresolved things: one, I'm not sure how I feel about my own desire for attention--what kind of attention (and attention seeking) is healthy, and which isn't. . . so I need to figure that out. And two, neither of these sorts of writing is what I'm most interested in. I'm not sure yet of my best medium/s, but I want to articulate people's unspoken views in a way that resonates with them deeply. I want to incite people to attempt the impossible, a lot of people, and in so doing make it possible. Indeed, my ambitions are very low. Call me Rocinante.

I had a great conversation with one of my sisters (Patent Office Babe, we call her online, or sometimes Ivy) when she was visiting, which brought me to some conclusions about what I need to do to get to my work. I need to be a better listener, more open to the likelihood that I don't have everyone else's answers. I need to take myself far less seriously, and my work somewhat more seriously. I need to be less in love with my own words. I need practice; practice writing a lot, on a deadline, with an editor; practice composing images, practice capturing compelling moments on "film". And I need the companionship and collaboration of others who are productively working on similar projects. These things seem possible. It feels good to be working on them.

If I believed in God

I would thank him for plumbing.

There is something clean about it, even when you are covered with a soup of scum, mold, and whatever else was covering the particle-board floor of your kitchen-sink cabinet. Plumbing is elegant: water goes down. Seals must be tight, valves well adjusted. Every piece is for a reason. Ninety seconds, six diagrams, and I know how everything is supposed to fit. Zen, or flow, or something.

And it isn't just that; everyone needs plumbing. No one is going to use their kitchen sink to be a better racist. Like any privilege, plumbing stratifies people--and as with any privilege, those who have automatically, at some deep level, begin to assume that those who don't have are at fault for their own lack. . . but no one is making the argument that other human beings don't deserve

plumbing. Sanitation. Hygiene. Hot running water to envelop your skin and make you feel a little more whole.