Not really me

A note on the pic: It’s not really me; I’m not angelic, not even close.

Blah blah blah  G…(pronounce that G with a bit of an edge, maybe say it out loud ,okay? Say “Eggg gah gah” )

My blah blah is what it is…. a certain blah blah blasé voice perhaps. I name that voice my blog voice…sort of a cross between journalism, memoir, letters to old friends.  It’s rather tame, really, though I admit it takes a  rigorous effort to clean- up the voice, touching up the playful intonations, some revelry. It is a hint, a peek, at a much less controlled kind of work – my poetry and plays, indeed, my daily practice—those are much more daring, fairly freaky, actually.  In fact,  most people just shrug,  “she’s so weird,  I don’t get that work at all.  She’s either a hack or brilliant, but either way, all those words she writes…it takes too much work: she uses ‘Too many notes.’ ”

Sigh. … I am quite cognizant of the various voices I house.  This is BLAH G… voice.  If you want to hear me sing jazz…you might have to wait til my next life, but I try to do it here and there,   mostly here…. But not Here.  You get that?  you hear me? Feel me?  In the meantime, this is BLAH G… blahblahlah G…. middle aged, middle class, middle of the road, easily pinned down prose.  I am a real pro baby, you found me….but you’ll have to inquire further if you want a different set of notes. and you want see me in a different dress, or under a different color light, okay?

In the meantime ….my Mean Time…my Nice Time…. Here’s a blah G…today

Walking II a(nother) revision

Yes, I was whining about not getting a chance to let my mind wander with my wandering feet–that was months ago—walking has now morphed into another surreal surround sound of Pandemic Life.

Well,  I confess, I was an Andrew Cuomo junkie for a few months.  Among a  thousand other little bites of his beautiful words,  I swallowed whole on idea he tossed out along his way. He told the national audience , ” I’m gonna start running again.”

Now that’s an idea! That’s action, the real thing.   So much for Pandemic stats and BLM upheavals, this was something I could do too! Do it today.   I will run!  Yes, I will run, I will run and run and run….(well I ran myself into the ground and then up to the heavens, only to end up incapable of either walking or running, but that’s another blog) 

I’m now a combo plate exercise gal – the run/walk combo thing. Anything to get the blood pumping hard and strong, the breath doing more work, the muscles burning with effort…oooh, baby, I like the heat, the pain…but let’s not go too far on all that…Just work it out …run it out…walk it off.  Okay.  Sounds good.

I need the hours that envelop the sunrise.— I can’t do this aerobic work with a  mask on. I’m sorry Tony, I’m sorry to all other humanoids, but I can’t run with a  mask on.  And I need to run. I also can’t run or walk among the plethora of dogs, strollers, casual couples and other such walkers. I need the alone time, the hour without the world’s opinion, without judgements.

I need the quiet of the streets.  Today, a good lookin’ guy in a pick up rolls up behind me, “ you should be on the sidewalk, not the bike lane.“

I don’t hear it at first because I’m lost in some nostalgia notes—I’m  likely dangling a conversation from Simon and Garfinkel,  reminding me of what it was like to ask a lover, “is the theater really dead?”

What? I pull out an ear bud.

You should be on the sidewalk.

Fuck!  Why do people think they can talk to me? 

Him: It’s safer.

Me: No, it’s not. I trip over things and ablahbflhalfalflabbfdajdkfjdlkajasdfbalhblahljjd

He’s gone, revving his engine as he turns around the corner, an exclamation point of some magnitude. 

I ignore his advice.   Everyone has an opinion. Blah blah blah. But they have judgements too. There’s too much MORALity being thrown about. Moral judgements are as common as the weeds.

Walking and Running at 6 am

Truck drivers, large and small (think on that for a sec, okay) … have the right to express their ideas just like the Prius drivers, I know.  Now you have to wear your mask or you’ re just an asshole. People want to be assholes. People don’t want to be uncomfortable.

If you are easily made uncomfortable, you might want to avoid my web posts…this is not to rev my engine with fanfare, but to let you know that I might drive into your lane, mix my metaphors and lose you and lose myself or vice versa….we’re on a ride. After All.

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It’s just miserable out there in some ways.  But I also love it and it’s my favorite part of the day.  Mask/no mask. Avoiding eye contact or too much. “good morning”  “have a good day”  These rare rare events. Everyone is scared or running or walking away from things.  Running to survive. No one talks to each other, no one looks in your direction unless they are busy damning you.

I run to stay up with the pace of it all. 

But in late June, I outpaced my own metabolism and ended up in the nuthouse last month.  WHOOPS ! I just slipped, that’s all. A little fall? hmmmm….

It’s true.  It has to do with running and I just let it out.  Now it’s out there.  Well, I can always hide.  I write in metaphor, so either dig it or drop it baby,  we can dance and play or we can have a blasé blahblahblah…what would the point be to that?   maybe a lot?   A lot of points. Pointillism…each point a “cone” to dive down into to discover something else. Well, as you can hear, I have more than one. Step. Tone. Note. Here.

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So much for my blah blah blah voice…you got a sense of the “G” …in the word today, for what it’s worth.

No pix today. I know I know…. Not good form.  But I have to be in a meeting in 15 minutes. If I don’t post it soon, I’ll lose any of my momentum on this run…

(I’m wondering about other blogsites, since WORDPRESS seems so cumbersome for the joe out there looking for some words to eat.  Who wants to dress up in a tux just to get a fucking appetizer?)

The point? – today?  The POINT: 

Walking used to be annoying in the days of my last blog.  Now, more urgent and ritualistic than ever…walking and running has become a field day for open hostility. The sun rises, the earth dips. I don my running shoes in a ritual of prayer. But it’s ” Open season.” Got a gun? A Truck? A heart?  Go for it.  It’s a field play of MORALIY, and it ain’t pretty out there. Still, I want my 60 something year old body to look cute, okay? I wear a little gray skirt made for running. And better Still…I like the pound pound pound.    Gotta build somethin’….Follow the beat…and the ellipses…