The Clock is Ticking

***Note: this one is cross-posted. Hey, some of you don't read both blogs.

I've been thinking a lot lately about language. Mine, in particular. To be more specific, my use of "foul" language.

See, The Man and I have decided to make a conscious effort to clean up our language. We both cuss too much. He was in a conversation with a coworker a few days ago who commented on the incredibly foul language of another colleague (let's just, it would make a sailor blush). She pointed out that he does cuss, not as often the others they work with, and he almost always checks her (the colleague he was talking to) reaction. She doesn't like the language at all. It pushed him to do something about his own habit.

I've spent a good few months feeling guilty lately when I cuss around him. A random "damn" or "hell" has never bothered me, but I know I've gotten comfortable and that's not all I'm saying anymore.

I will admit that sometimes, there just aren't other words--either for emphasis or intensity. I mean, come on, when I fell a few weeks ago and nearly broke my tailbone, saying "shoot" just didn't do the pain justice. And I've always thought you should say what you mean (and mean what you say, of course.) I've even been known to use the "f" word for shock value, or to make sure I'm getting the attention I'm needing from the person I'm talking to.

A friend of mine said that swearing wasn't banned in his household. However there was a rule about the use of certain 4-letter words. You couldn't use them just 'cuz. You had to be creative in your use. In my house, creative use or not, you got punished. But we're all different.

I know I need to curb my mouth. Does that mean language will disappear from my writing? Not all. Some words just can't be replaced, specifically because of the implications to writing.

I mean, really--would "fudge" really replace "fuck?" I think not.

I've been thinking a lot lately about language. Mine, in particular. To be more specific, my use of "foul" language.

See, The Man and I have decided to make a conscious effort to clean up our language. We both cuss too much. He was in a conversation with a coworker a few days ago who commented on the incredibly foul language of another colleague (let's just, it would make a sailor blush). She pointed out that he does cuss, not as often the others they work with, and he almost always checks her (the colleague he was talking to) reaction. She doesn't like the language at all. It pushed him to do something about his own habit.

I've spent a good few months feeling guilty lately when I cuss around him. A random "damn" or "hell" has never bothered me, but I know I've gotten comfortable and that's not all I'm saying anymore.

I will admit that sometimes, there just aren't other words--either for emphasis or intensity. I mean, come on, when I fell a few weeks ago and nearly broke my tailbone, saying "shoot" just didn't do the pain justice. And I've always thought you should say what you mean (and mean what you say, of course.) I've even been known to use the "f" word for shock value, or to make sure I'm getting the attention I'm needing from the person I'm talking to.

A friend of mine said that swearing wasn't banned in his household. However there was a rule about the use of certain 4-letter words. You couldn't use them just 'cuz. You had to be creative in your use. In my house, creative use or not, you got punished. But we're all different.

I know I need to curb my mouth. Does that mean language will disappear from my writing? Not all. Some words just can't be replaced, specifically because of the implications to writing.

I mean, really--would "fudge" really replace "fuck?" I think not.

Oh, this is great. Being an English major, I'm always a little itchy about grammar and punctuation. I'll grant I'm not perfection in human form when it comes to this, but some things are just freakin' obvious.

Like quotation marks.

The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks.

It's time to bare all. I'm going to finally admit a silly, almost embarassing crush I've had forever. Ever since I first saw the reruns of the tv show, so many years ago. It burns me now that I can't find those reruns anymore.

I've always had a thing for the young David Cassidy. Why, oh why wasn't he born 15 years later? It wouldn't have been a celebrity crush I had to hide from everyone.




Shhh..don't tell The Man. ;)

I'm up at 6:30 on a Sunday morning. Do you realize there's very little on at this time of day on Sunday?

I did find one thing that interested me. A&E Biography is airing it's biography on David Cassidy. Of course I'm watching...I've always had a crush on the YOUNG David Cassidy. You know, The Partridge Family era. It's really kind of sad that he was such a cliche'--sex, drugs, and, well..not really rock and roll, but music.

He looked so old after the Partridge Family ended. His age lines were just horribly obvious. And the hair. I don't think I'd ever realized a man could use his hair as an acting prop. He really did though..you know, when it was long.

He's pretty neat, still though. Definitely remade himself, on his terms, not the studio's.

The random prompt generator over at Poetry Thursday when I visited this morning said "combustible." Instantly, I'm getting images and pricks on my arms (that synaesthesia thing again). Obviously, the initial images run to flames and danger.

But, then...the leftovers of last night's dream win out. It wasn't remotely hot and steamy, or even PG-13. It was decidedly PG, bordering on G. But it struck, mid-dream, and lasting into the morning, a mild "combustion" feeling inside.

So, though there is not poetry here, today. There may well be some later.

I did find something interesting this morning, to share...

PoetryKits

Interesting stuff there. Enjoy.

Check out Poetry Thursday for some other poetic offerings.

Check out the prompt over at Sunday Scribblings for this week. You'll find other thoughts about this topic as well.

We're supposed to discuss amazing phenomena that caught or does catch us. Gosh..there's just so many. I could go into those things that astonish and perplex me (like how people could actually feel sorry for Paris Hilton. But, I digress.). Instead, I would rather think about the phenomenon that gets me in the heart, every time.

I'm a high school librarian, by trade. I've always believed that my career is not a job, it's a calling. I was designed for this role, among others. While some may think that the most important part of my job is teaching and curriculum-based, I would disagree.

I'm a connection for the students that I work with. I'm someone who isn't harping them on to get school work done, or do their chores, or by golly pull your pants up. I just talk to them. I tell my colleagues that I have 1800 kids...and I care about all of them equally and to the best of my ability. Even when their behavior is unlovable.

I used to think, when I taught elementary school, that most amazing thing I got to see on a day to day basis was the "lightbulb" go on over a student's head. You know, when, after struggling and struggling, they suddenly GOT IT, whatever it was.

Now, it's when I look up to see who's standing at my office door and hear "Miss, can talk to you about something?" It means I got through to one of 'em. One of those 1800 kids has realized that someone gives a damn and isn't going to tell them what to do, but is going to listen and help them make choices. That's the phenomenon that makes what I do every day worth it. Why I go back.

I'm a librarian, which, by definition almost always means "book-pusher." That's the last part of my job. The first is loving those kids.

We both fall into this trap.

um...ok...

Something (unexpected...unpleasant...)
happens
and rather than deal with it head-on

um...ok...

And then one of us prattles on explaining,
while the other sits in silence.

um...ok...

(For other offerings, check out this weeks posts at Poetry Thursday.)

Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast.
--Oscar Wilde

I've reason to believe that dear, dear Oscar was correct. If I might say so myself, I'm pretty damn interesting a good 90% of the day, once I get through breakfast.

Note: Breakfast must consist of either 4 cups of strong coffee, or 2 SINGE THE EYEBROWS STRONG Espressos. It doesn't matter if there's anything else for breakfast. This is the law, and I follow the law.

The people I classify as dull after I have coffee are, well, dull. Rather, they are DUH-ll. Put me to sleep, pass me more coffee, "look, a diversion" dull.

But in the mornings, if I've progressed beyond the queen troll stage (read: "had one or 2 cups of coffee, already"), they're brilliant in the since that they catch my attention and make me giggle appreciatively, as opposed to at them.

What do you think???

Okay..so I haven't kept myself completely separated from the modern world (AKA, the 'Net)...here's what I've been looking at as of late...

daily dose of imagery

Twitter ----addicting, beware

Rebound Designs ----for those who need to start their Christmas shopping, I'd like one in red, please.

My Life's Work ----like so many other things, the government hit this nail on the head perfectly.

Ning ----Social networking without the craziness of MySpace.

Okay, so I'm not the quintessential sports fan, or heck, even the best baseball fan ever, but...geez...I hated hearing this.

Biggio says goodbye

Alright, I know I've been gone awhile, again. I'll make my excuses now..because it's my blog and I can do it. (Normally, I wouldn't try to make the excuses, but oh well.)

The longterm obstacle has been my insomnia. It's just been awful. Two or three hours a night, if that. On the rare occasion, four hours. And I do mean rare. Now I've never slept through the night, anyway. I've always woken up at least once and been totally awake for 15-30 minutes and then gone back to sleep. My insomnia has been worse in the last year or so. I now know that a lot of it had to do with some medical issues that are finally being discovered and dealt with. So...it should start getting better.

BREAKING NEWS!!!!!

I SLEPT ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE NIGHT LAST NIGHT. I didn't wake up once..not even at 3 a.m. like I have for as long as I can remember.

It's utterly amazing to me. Those "8 hours" everyone talks about? Yeah, I know what that feels like now. I never have before. I can't remember ever sleeping through the night.

Okay...what else? I know there are more excuses.
Anyway, I'm not going to promise to be good and write regularly, but I'll promise to try. (No Yoda comments please.)

Okay..go read this post at As If!

My personal choices and beliefs aside, the story concerns me. I'm not concerned about those students who are standing up for their rights (you know, those inalienable ones).

No, I'm concerned about those students who will walk away feeling like second-class individuals, or heck, just sub-human because they don't fit a lawmakers concept of "the norm."

It's what I'm listening to here at work, too. I've had quite enough of the intolerant talks being had outside my office door. No, they aren't about me, or even specific people. Just general talks. By someone who should know better than to be so damned intolerant.

A literary description of or commentary on a visual work of art.

Hehe..this'll be fun. I immediately thought of this piece. Frankly, it's bothered me for years and years.

And so...here's what I think, after God knows how many years of existence, the red dot has to say.

Yes, I'm a dot.
Yes, I'm aware that I'm a big, red dot.
No, I don't "mean" anything.
Well, not really.
But I'm sure you've read some sort of
"deep, inner meaning"
in my roundness.
No, I don't want to know what it is.

Hehe...I had too much fun with this!

**Fire a volunteer (when you really need the warm body)?

**Tell someone that you think she's being a bigot and is teaching impressionable young minds to be bigots too?

Forget the volunteer bit. There's little that can really be done about that.

But the bigot thing. I just had to listen to a conversation about "Straight Pride Parades" and "White History Month."

I think I wore him out. He hasn't moved in 3 hours.

Hm...where does my inspiration come from?

I've written so many times about the way words affect me (here and here), my thoughts on just poetry in general.

But where does my inspiration come from? That's so much harder.

I take pictures a lot..my camera's almost always handy and I think the most fabulous gift I ever bought myself is my camera phone (and then I learned how to blog via my phone. Ain't I spiffy?). I rarely share the pictures I take, but I just look back at them and smells and feelings and words come right up (there goes that synaesthesia again).

Sometimes I'll hear a word or phrase and I'm just done in. I used to carry little bits of paper with me all the time. Now I text the phrases to my email address.

I'm a rehearser. I rehearse the important (and goofy...and sexy...and duurrrrty) conversations I want to have with The Man. (It makes me glad I run with an MP3 player strapped to me, people think I'm just singing along.) Sometimes I'll say something--or feed the words I want him to say--and it'll spark something else.

And sometimes I'll hit the prompt for Sunday Scribblings, or Poetry Thursday, and sometimes even One Deep Breath and I can't help but write.

When it hits, it's different every time. Some days, I have to stop everything and go with it. Other times, it marinates for a long while. I can always tell when I'm going to have to stop and focus on the word--my (self-diagnosed) A.D.D. gets so much worse. I've just got no chance of focusing on anything else. None.

For other thoughts on inspiration, check out Sunday Scribblings this week.

Just roaming around the internet this afternoon, while waiting on the Nascar race to start.

First, Visual Personality DNA... Here's mine...


Check out yours. I'm not certain mine's exactly right, but it's interesting.

Then, of course, being a Nascar fan, I ran across The Church of the Great Oval. Odd little site. A mix of just general Nascar commentary, and the driver's astrological forecasts for race day. Ok, sure. But it is fun to read.

Youths probed for daubing swastikas on sheep
Okay, so we're worried about why the kids behaved this way toward the good-natured sheep. What about just painting swastikas? I mean, yes, it can result in fines or prison time in Germany, but how about why swastikas???


I noticed something this week. Actually, I've noticed it before, but I'm mentioning it now. Because I have a small mouth (jokes ahead aside, my friends), I use a youth-size toothbrush. Okay, a child -sized toothbrush. I can't find one anywhere that doesn't have cartoon characters on it. There's not just a plain old toothbrush. I had, finally, found one without characters on it, but it's got a blinking light in the bottom but they were out this week. Certainly makes The Man's daughter laugh at me.

I find it really embarassing to stand in the lane at Wal-Mart at 30 years old trying to decide between Dora and Strawberry Shortcake.


What's the smell? Oh, it's the police
Um. Okay.

They could make it realistic, though...donut smell.

One question...why can't he just be a well-socialized cat?

Mama cat adopts Rottweiler puppy

I mean, doghood can't be all it's cracked up to be.

Okay, a few weeks ago, I wrote about my clock and a case of the "I want ones."

Well, they passed. Quickly, in fact. Well, they started fading before I wrote that post, and were pretty much gone by the end of the day after hitting the publish button.

I've always wavered about wanting children. Well, wanting my own children. I've gone from naming my future babies to shying away from babies in general--related or not. I've thought about adopting older kids--which is certainly something to consider if that's what God has in store for me and my one-day husband. But I've never imagined myself pregnant, giving birth (though I do know that if that ever happens, I am not one of those women who want a natural birth. Give me drugs, in quantity, please.). I've never looked at my friends who have new babies and wanted that part.

Babies don't scare me, any more than older children scare me (now, adults, they scare me). I've babysat, kept my friends kids, and goo-gooed and gah-gahed with the best of them. I've just never felt that pull for longer than a little while.

I'm perfectly happy being Aunt Jayne and would be the most devoted of step-mothers if that's how things happen. I know a couple of kids I'd love to be wicked step-mother to. In that "love you to bits, miss you all the time, saw this and thought about you, can't wait to have you home with us again" kind of wicked.

But is my clock still ticking? Well, yes. But not for kids. It's more about getting on with life.