Today, the Daily Post asked what’s in my drafts folder. I’ve explored my drafts folder before here and here, but I suppose it’s time to do it again. There are 42 items in my drafts folder. Some of them are useful drafts like my Awards draft where I store links for awards I’ve been given until I’m unlazy enough to do a post, and the Dear Goldfish draft where I save search terms I didn’t use in the previous post, but a lot of them are just posts I started and never finished for whatever reason.
Shadows Of Abuse
You don’t get to see this one yet. This is a draft I wrote as a guest post for Deliberate Donkey. I wrote it on my blog before I posted it on Melanie’s. I’m just paranoid enough to want to store it here in case the government or leprechauns steal it from her blog or something. It’s scheduled to be published on May 23rd over there, so check it out then. Yay for my second guest post!
The Tao Of Fish
I don’t really believe in any of the major philosophies, but it would be a mistake to say that I don’t believe in anything. I have my very own, custom-made philosophy, honed over the years with care and attention. I think about the larger issues a lot actually, and my views have changed over time. I probably don’t believe in the same things that you do and that’s alright. There’s nothing saying that I’m right or that anyone else is wrong. The institutional beliefs are just as valid as mine, which is to say, not at all. My beliefs are built on a foundation of facts deduced from science.
This universe we are in is so old and so incredibly vast that it’s nearly infinite. It’s infinite from our perspective anyway in the same way that the planet Earth was infinite to humans before planes and boats that were capable of traveling it. It is so large that we can’t even see all of it. From where we sit, we’re in the center of it, but who knows how big it really is? We don’t have the capability to even see all of it yet, let alone travel it.
I always go back to Carl Sagan with his Pale blue dot statement:
The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.
Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.
And that’s the end of that. It seems that I don’t actually have a philosophy.
A Pretty Bad Day
In the meantime, I got into a rather nasty argument with our inventory person. Our inventory person and I have worked together for over 10 years. We used to work at the same company and now we’re both here. She’s proofing the thing I need to get to the printer that my boss is ignoring. She found mistakes. “The last job was full of mistakes.” It’s my job to create; it’s her job to proof. There’s a golden rule in graphic design: never proof your own work. You need fresh eyes for proofing. You can’t have fresh eyes when you’re the one who created it. Apparently, I make mistakes and I give her attitude about it and never say thank you. RAR! It got rather ugly actually.
Ten minutes later, I went in and quasi apologized. “I’m not saying it’s your fault. We have to work together on this.” She was on the verge of tears. It ended with a hug, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t like arguing with people. Especially people who I have no beef with other than the fact that some mistakes get through proofing. She is Vietnamese. English is her second language. Her assistant is Chinese. English is his second language. I’m not saying it’s her fault that there are mistakes. After all, I am the one who made them. I do think it’s rather strange that we have two non-native English speakers doing all the proofing, but whatever.
What she said got me thinking though. I don’t mean to give attitude. I really didn’t mean to upset her. I have just over an hour before I can go home, hug my dog and forget about this damn day altogether.
Who starts a post with “in the meantime”? I do apparently. This is just me bitching and I’m very glad I didn’t post this nunsunse. Although, I suppose I am now…
World’s Greatest Comments
Merbear74 at Knocked Over By A Feather gave me The Fantastic Comment Award. Thanks!
Pick your 5 favorite comments and display them in your post.
Go to their page and tell them that one of their comments made your day.
grandmalin March 2, 2013 at 12:46 am
Your honesty is the most beautiful and refreshing thing about everything you write. Love this post, and you too.
Kozo February 27, 2013 at 12:52 am
“I am in a world of shit.”
“Easy, Leonard. Go easy man!”
Your post reminds me of the duality of man. You know the Jungian thing. I think you are onto something about releasing the past, Goldfish. Peace. Kozo
twindaddy February 26, 2013 at 4:39 pm
Goldy, you are a superb writer, methinks. This turned out pretty good.
I was supposed to pick five comments and I could only be arsed to pick three. Lazy, I am.
Thursday, 7:10 AM
“Get off of me!” she yelled at 55 pounds of dog who was standing on her hair licking her face. “Ouch.”
She glanced at the clock. “Too early. I don’t have to get out of bed for another half an hour really.”
She tried rolling over, closing her eyes and going back to sleep, but it was hopeless. Stupid dog.
Yup. Sounds about right.
I just can’t seem to reach it no matter how hard I try. My legs feel like they’re trapped under cement. I can hardly move anymore. I feel I’ll be stuck here forever. All these people walking by and no one will help me. It’s right there but I can grab it. If I can just stretch a bit more… No. It’s no use. I can’t do it. Why won’t anyone help me? Can’t they see that I’m stuck here?
This was for a writing challenge, but since I didn’t include a link to it in the post, I have no idea which one. Unfinished.
Themes. I hate them. I hate all of them. I keep switching my theme like I switch shoes. I still can’t find one I like. I was using Yoko, but I didn’t like the way the text was so close to the sidebar. I didn’t like the way it was three column layout unless you clicked on a post and then it all of a sudden became two columns. Tah dah!
I just moved back to Twenty Twelve, which I’ve used before. I don’t like the sidebar on this one. The header text is too small and it makes it look all mashed up, but at least there’s space between the sidebar and the text and it stays two columns no matter what. I hate this infinite scroll thingy, too. Just give me a new page, please.
I am constantly futzing with my blog because I’m never happy with it. I keep hoping they’ll come out with a theme that is everything I want it to be, but alas, no luck. It shouldn’t matter anyway. Themes are just a showcase for words. Words are what count on blogs, right?
Yes, No, Maybe So
I fucking love you guys. Really. Before I started complaining and waffling or whatever it is that I’m going to do here (I’m really not sure yet), I just wanted to get that out first.
I think most of you are probably know that I was sexually abused as a child by someone who, as of yet, still hasn’t managed to die slowly and painfully in a horrible fiery accident. In fact, this person is still out and about. This person (is not worthy of pronouns and) was, to the best of my knowledge, never sent away for anything he did to anyone. It was not just me. I never received justice at all for what happened to me. So, when I see stories about how Cardinal Mahoney covered up hundreds of cases of child sexual abuse, it makes me want to murder.
Anyway, that’s not the point here.
I have no idea where I was going with this post nor the first clue as to how the title relates to anything. If you read the first paragraph, I didn’t have any idea when I was writing it either.
Time Travel Concert List
I have been very fortunate in my lifetime to have seen a lot of amazing artists perform. I saw Nina Simone‘s last ever American concert. She was so personable, like she was performing in her living room for friends. She died not even a month later. I saw Andrés Segovia‘s last performance. I saw Tiny Tim‘s last show. I swear, I had nothing at all to do with any of their deaths.
Last year, I was able to cross two artists off my list at the same show. One of the very first punk bands I ever heard as a wee lass was The Descendents. They broke up before I got a chance to see them. So, when I heard they were playing in Los Angeles, my friends and I all got tickets. As an added bonus, we got to see Black Flag with Keith Morris playing for the first time in over 20 years.
The point is, I’ve seen a lot of great shows, even by some artists who didn’t die immediately afterwards, but with as many amazing shows as I’ve seen, there are still some bands that I love that I never got to see live. This is a list of those performers. If anyone would like to build a time machine so that I could see them, I’d be much obliged.
Hm. I forgot about this one. It seems like something I should have finished. Maybe I’ll finish it someday.
Guest Post: Male
Weekly Writing Challenge: Tell us about a character in your life. Write a post from their perspective, matching your narrative voice so that it sounds just like them when we read it.
What the hell am I doing here? What? I’m writing on Goldfish’s blog? Goddamnit. I knew that blog of hers would get me into trouble someday.
Well, since I’m here, I’ll write something.
I met Goldfish a long time ago. At least a decade. We met at a new years party. I drove a friend to that party and he would just not shut the hell up. He was talking to these two chicks for hours and hours. I had to pull him out of there. That was the first night we met Goldfish and her best friend. They had just moved to Los Angeles.
Goldfish always forgets that I was there that night too. She remembers that night, but she doesn’t really remember me. She always says we met later than we did, but I remember. She thinks our first meeting was months later at another friend’s party. That was a crazy night. We were all so drunk. She was talking to this loser. Her best friend swooped in to save her and suggested that she talk to me instead.
The first thing I noticed about Goldfish was her eyes. She’s got these big green eyes with flecks of gold in them. I am a sucker for eyes. We started seeing each other. And then I broke her heart.
Heh. This sounds more like me aping Male than Male himself. That’s probably why I didn’t finish it. Although he does tend to go on about my eyes. They are my best feature.
Well, that’s about all we have time for today. Join me next time for more discarded, crappy posts!