Actually, I wish I had the key to writing a good article…I have to write 40 pages of tight prose this week, which represents a melding of intellect and practice, a synthesis of years of work and struggle, and it will be good, don’t get me wrong. Still, I figured I needed a break after sitting all day and aside from dealing with some difficult phonecalls about money and respect which always frustrate, consisted of me staring at a screen, writing a bit, and then essentially doing the equivalent of balling up the piece of paper I’ve been writing on and throwing it away. It’s not as satisfactory of course, when you’re sitting at a computer, you cut and paste it into another document which you title fragments and hope that something is worth salvaging. Since it’s essentially an angry and bitter rant at the left it’s probably best that no one but me read the thing ever. The left in this country already spends enough time deconstructing and self analysing itself and why it is utterly useless, it doesn’t really need my help.
So I figured going to get a couple of beers at the Red Lion with Celine was a good idea. And it was. I now know what I am dressing up as for Halloween! And I can’t say I’m entirely sober at this point, but I have a feeling that the article will just write itself, I’m feeling I could write all 40 pages. Instead I am writing a rather boring self-involved blog, I recognize the inconsistency, but I’m just relaxing gently into the writerly flow and trying to sober up a wee bit. Without losing the happy drunken sense of self sufficiency, I do hope that the deep seated emotional knee jerk response to all my musings of the past week will become something a bit deeper than, in the immortal words of Jon Stewart, fuck all y’all. It makes me feel good to say that but I imagine it won’t accomplish much. And they wouldn’t print it. And I’ve been trying to think of how to say it without actually using profanity and as an exercise it has really amused me, fuck all y’all in scholarly terms really is quite amusing. Still, I hate writing anything that doesn’t have a point, a means where people touched by it can take action. I am, after all, a woman of action, and I measure the value of anything to do with politics or movement in terms of utility. So I can’t let myself down, however tricky that is proving to be.
Ah well, I’m back in L.A.! Back to the city I love and hate, still torn deciding if I want to stay here or go back to the UK or be incredibly responsible and move to Arizona. Sometimes I hate reality, I rage against it however calm I may appear. And I don’t know how to manage inner fulfillment with class struggle and familial duty, it is utterly beyond me. And I really hate people who don’t have to face up to that question sometimes, especially after I’ve had a few beers. Probably just because I have to face it and as I say, it is beyond me…it’s hard even writing that anything is beyond me. I suspect that I shall just have to struggle until wisdom comes and everything sorts itself out, but patience is not at all one of my strong points. Still, who would I be if I didn’t have to struggle with it?