Today I did something I've been meaning to do, wanting to do, needing to do for a long time. I finally went through a pile of papers I've been accumulating for years under my desktop monitor.
What is on those papers are blog ideas, story ideas, bits of dialogue, possible play titles, reading suggestions, quotes, and poems. I have always figured that I create stacks like this because I'm a writer and blogger and my fecund imagination never stops gathering and jotting down ideas. But maybe everyone has some kind of stack of paper that gets out of hand.
I've been putting off going through my stack because it didn't seem as important than everything else I can be doing with my time. Also, I knew that I was going to want to keep a lot of those scribblings for later reference, at the same time recognizing that I might go to the trouble of typing them into a document and then never look at them again. But I decided to get to the stack today because facing it every time I sit at my computer makes me feel unfinished, messy, lazy. There is something about a clean space on a table or shelf or really anywhere at all that offers psychic space as well as physical. I'm inspired now to clean up more of my office, gather and organize and review everything that's lying about. I'll either rediscover useful gems of ideas or will do a lot of recycling or both.
And by the way, this morning I ate some of the chocolate persimmon I mentioned buying a few days ago. I'd been waiting for it to soften, but instead it just started to get old and develop brown spots. It never did get as soft as I have imagined persimmons are at their best. So I ate a slice. Didn't taste like chocolate at all. Where did it get that name, I wonder?
Okay, I just looked it up, and supposedly a ripe chocolate persimmon has brownish flesh, which this one did not. Was it not ripe? Was it mislabeled? Who knows? It's one of those mysteries that are not in any way interesting enough to try to solve.
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