Yesterday afternoon, my plane was only 1 hour delayed, which meant that I had time to go workout. But I had to respond to some work emails that were time sensitive.
I take off my work pants, and put on running shorts.
I take off my work top, and I sit at the desk in my hotel room typing in my cami-undershirt.
I hear a noise.
I am curious because it sounds like someone is using a key card to enter my hotel room.
But that can't be right.
This is my room.
It must be next door.
I must have super-hearing.
And then he opens the door with one hand full of dress shirts on hangers.
He is smiling- this middle aged man.
And then he registers that there is a girl in his room.
With her crap sprawled out everywhere on the beds and floor.
"They must have given me the wrong room."
"Yes, I think so."
He retreats, and the door closes behind him.
After this happened, I felt slightly embarrassed that my room was so messy.
I don't mind the mess, but in hotels, I like to tidy up every morning before the cleaning lady comes.
I also was happy that I had clothes on.
I always lock all of the door locking mechanisms before I go to sleep.
But not every time I am in my room.
Especially if I am about to walk out to go exercise.
It is also interesting to me that I was not afraid during this encounter.
Probably because I have been staying in this hotel for the past 3 weeks, checking out on Fridays and checking in on Sunday or Monday.
Also- I knew that the normal girl who checks us in on Mondays is on vacation until Tuesday this week.
There were 2 people at the desk working the check in where there is usually only 1- the normal girl.
They slipped up a little.
I can understand this.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Sunday, August 12, 2012
This post is my response to a post by a friend of mine. She is a 10% real life- 90% internet friend, because although I knew her in real life first, most of what I know now is all internet. I love her writing. J loves her writing. and we wish she would come back to The PM. But no pressure.
She was asked by one of her (high school) creative writing students if she had ever been published. The answer was no.
I feel like she hit on this in her post, but maybe, being published (in the traditional way), is a yard stick that seems meaningful when you are in high school, but then becomes meaningless once you can see a little more clearly. For me, having a PhD is this way. I thought I needed to have one, because it drew a line in the sand between authentic scientists and un-authentic ones.
But now I know how subjective the process is.
I know that having a PhD means nothing.
What has meaning is what I can deliver in my work on a day-to-day basis.
And I am proud of myself for what I can deliver.
I think publishing is like that. Especially now that the publishing industry is changing. "Being Published" might seem meaningful before you know what exactly that means, and what it doesn't mean.
The discovery of meaning, and lack-of-meaning could be depressing, or it could be a good coming-of-age story.
Maybe what has meaning, is what you can deliver with your writing on a day-to-day basis.
Or maybe it is what your writing can do to deliver you.
That brings us to the question of why we write.
I think for some people, like me and David Finch, writing helps because talking can be too much.
Writing helps calm me.
And writing, here, can help me show J topics I am thinking about but might not bring up in real life- because real life is too full of other things.
I might write because I am egocentric.
That sentence makes me cringe. I feel like it is somehow bad to be that way. But I want to be OK with it. If I allow myself to be egocentric in my writing... then maybe I can be a better person in real life.
Posted by Fermi at 11:55 AM