If I were to post daily (I'm not going to), what would I write? I find that an undocumented life slips by, faster than one that has been captured and wrangled into a more permanent medium. Things do not have to be earth shattering to justify recording them.
Today I applied for a new apartment. One I will share with my significant other, my cat, and hopefully a dog. If all goes according to plan, I will be in a new home by this time next month. If all goes according to plan, I will buy a home by this time next year.
This forward movement is refreshing and steadying.
If I did not note this here today, I would easily forget when this happened. There are so many days of my life that I could not define, describe, or detail.
Life is good, and I'd like to remember it.
Wednesday, August 1, 2018
Thursday, July 26, 2018
begin again.
I have not written in a very long time.
That may not be true. I have my fits and starts, privately kept. Nothing sustained. Nothing open. Nothing available for consumption. Which is not to say that readers are the point of writing. Readers can be very nice, yes. The possibility, maybe even just the illusion of an audience, is a motivating factor. It helps, and so I'm venturing out into the internet again.
I've found that the act of writing helps me organize my thoughts. It creates a record of a time and place. A state of mind. It helps me reframe, rethink, to say things I can't say out loud. Spoken words never have come out quite right for me. I get by, but that medium has a surface tension that keeps things from breaking through into what lies underneath. And when I don't write, I start to believe that there is no underneath - I become two-dimensional. I need the additional gravity, escape velocity from my planar existence. I can return to the written word and clarify, retool. I can continue to tinker and take my time.
And it is so nice to play with language. It's a game I love to play, if inexpertly. I honestly enjoy my own words, and it feels unseemly, but it's true. Even when I am wrong. Even when it hurts. Even when I get nowhere and simply circle around a thought that refuses to be pinned down. Even when I repeat myself.
I've said all these things before, but not here. Everything that came before has disappeared into draft format and there is no reason to raise those ghosts again. I will not worry about what came before.
Better to start over. Quietly.
Hi.
That may not be true. I have my fits and starts, privately kept. Nothing sustained. Nothing open. Nothing available for consumption. Which is not to say that readers are the point of writing. Readers can be very nice, yes. The possibility, maybe even just the illusion of an audience, is a motivating factor. It helps, and so I'm venturing out into the internet again.
I've found that the act of writing helps me organize my thoughts. It creates a record of a time and place. A state of mind. It helps me reframe, rethink, to say things I can't say out loud. Spoken words never have come out quite right for me. I get by, but that medium has a surface tension that keeps things from breaking through into what lies underneath. And when I don't write, I start to believe that there is no underneath - I become two-dimensional. I need the additional gravity, escape velocity from my planar existence. I can return to the written word and clarify, retool. I can continue to tinker and take my time.
And it is so nice to play with language. It's a game I love to play, if inexpertly. I honestly enjoy my own words, and it feels unseemly, but it's true. Even when I am wrong. Even when it hurts. Even when I get nowhere and simply circle around a thought that refuses to be pinned down. Even when I repeat myself.
I've said all these things before, but not here. Everything that came before has disappeared into draft format and there is no reason to raise those ghosts again. I will not worry about what came before.
Better to start over. Quietly.
Hi.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Hello, my name is Jessica
You can call me Jessk.
Jessica is a very common name. In fact, it was the most common female name in the eighties in the United States, the decade and country from which I hearken (quickbabynames.com).
According to babynameshub.com, "records indicate that at least 1,023,215 girls have been named Jessica since 1880 in the United States." The meaning is a bit muddled, but I've heard many times that it means "wealthy" (babynamescountry.com) and may come directly from Shakespeare, who coined the name for the Jewish merchant's daughter in The Merchant of Venice (thinkbabynames.com). There are also intimations of God in my name, a theme that seems to apply to nearly every name out there; its basis is in the Hebrew language.
An ordinary name for an ordinary girl. In some ways this makes me a modern everyman. Being a twenty-something female named Jessica is almost like saying my name is Jane Doe. I've always felt it suited me.
But I need differentiation. Thus Jessk. I could explain how I created this moniker, but it is neither interesting nor important. What matters here is that you may call me Jessk. That's it.
Jessica is a very common name. In fact, it was the most common female name in the eighties in the United States, the decade and country from which I hearken (quickbabynames.com).
According to babynameshub.com, "records indicate that at least 1,023,215 girls have been named Jessica since 1880 in the United States." The meaning is a bit muddled, but I've heard many times that it means "wealthy" (babynamescountry.com) and may come directly from Shakespeare, who coined the name for the Jewish merchant's daughter in The Merchant of Venice (thinkbabynames.com). There are also intimations of God in my name, a theme that seems to apply to nearly every name out there; its basis is in the Hebrew language.
An ordinary name for an ordinary girl. In some ways this makes me a modern everyman. Being a twenty-something female named Jessica is almost like saying my name is Jane Doe. I've always felt it suited me.
But I need differentiation. Thus Jessk. I could explain how I created this moniker, but it is neither interesting nor important. What matters here is that you may call me Jessk. That's it.
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