the art of gesture

day 1

"This was an adequate enough performance, as improvisations go. The only problem was that my enentire education, everything I had ever been told or had told myself, insisted that the production was never meant to be improvised: I was supposed to have a script, and had mislaid it. I was supposed to hear cues, and no longer did. I was meant to know the plot, but all I knew was what I saw: flash pictures in variable sequence, images with no "meaning" beyond their temporary arrangement, not a movie but a cuttingroom experience. In what would probably be the middle of my life I wanted still to believe in the narrative and in the narrative's intelligibility, but to know that one could change the sense with every cut was to begin to perceive the experience as rather more electrical than ethical."

- Joan Didion, The White Album

i dont have a husband, a lover, a child. No pet, no real estate, no 401k. No saving, no marc jacobs bag, no thriving plants. No dream, no plan, no body of work.

i forget those resolutions of which i did not speak, for another day has fallen away and another blank canvas has escaped my meandering keys. i crawl from beneath the sheets to a window opened wide, the cool of the morning splintering across my laziness. I shall, i shall, i shall rise, run, and resolute.

it begins again. lucky 13

day one missed. day two. upon us. i toss and turn attempting to shake off the dreams that tie me to my bed, and brace for the 20 degree run that i hope will spur some sense of purpose other than a nap before work. I bookmark useless sites, from Marie Osmond fainting, to american idols toppling, Katy Perry puking, and teenage Abigail William's ranting. I try there gestures on,knowing that this will never amount to anything more than 10 minutes. But still i peruse, click, and save.