NaBloSoFroDraWe 2011

It's that time of the year again. Time for the week you thought you'd forgotten about, but someone just won't let you. Time for the blogging project that has ruined you for all other blogging projects.

It's National Blog Something From Draft Week!

Begun in 2008, NaBloSoFroDraWe (also known as NaBloSoThaDraWe) encourages bloggers everywhere to select something they've written in the past, but for whatever reason never posted, and finally share it with the world.

It's kinda like getting back together with an ex. You completely ignore all the reasons things didn't work out in the first place, close your eyes, and hope for the best! And that always works out, right?

I like to think of NaBloSoFroDraWe like this: Less travel than BlogHer, less writing than NaNoWriMo.

NaBloSoFroDraWe is a mystery only in its inexplicable lack of popularity. I know I was baffled when reading over the list of obscure holidays for August 10th this morning and saw that Duran Duran Appreciation Day was cited, but not NaBloSoFroDraWe. And this from a guy who likely has more appreciation for Duran Duran than any other 38-year-old heterosexual male you know.

So come on, bloggers. Time to dig out that post you never quite finished, or thought was too personal, or just really wasn't very interesting, and let it see the light of day! And remember our slogan: "Some day we'll look back on this and cringe."

For now, here is my entry for NaBloSoFroDraWe '11. It's something I wrote in 2009, about a dream I had. I have fought and defeated every urge to edit it. And believe me, there were plenty.


CLOUD NINE

I was on cloud nine that day. My mind, a glorious confusion of thoughts and emotions. The prevailing question was how did this happen.

I remembered very clearly and precisely when I first clasped your hand in mine -- both our hands shaking so slightly but the feeling of now that we'd gotten this far not wanting to let go. Then at some point we kissed. The rest was a blur. But it did not matter. For when one is on cloud nine, one does not question how one arrived there. One simply enjoys the all-too-brief stay.

Someone called my name from a bench on the sidewalk. I did not recognize the fellow, but he asked if I wanted to go into a nearby pub for a drink. Since I had just realized that although I was walking, I had no idea where I was going, I accepted.

We sat there for ten or twenty-five minutes, him rambling on like we were long lost friends, me pretending to know who he was but never figuring it out. Then he spilled his drink and got into a shouting match with some lady I had seen there before but did not know her name, and I left.

Back out on the street, I still had no idea where I was going. I was just walking, and thinking, and smiling. Wondering when I'd see you again.

"It gets worse once we get to her room. She stops and she sings, doot do doo do do doo do doo. I claim New Religion is my song. Ah, she doesn't get it. It's all before she was born..."

Dreaming in color, living in black and white

To say I'm not doing much these days would be a gross understatement. Or should it be overstatement? Whichever, it's definitely gross. The Januarys are in full force around here. I do feel inspired sometimes. But if I wait an hour, it usually passes.

Meanwhile, I've been having wildly vivid dreams lately. One of my very recurring dreams is that I'm golfing but I can never quite get the ball teed up just right. It's too close to me, then too far away, then it falls off the tee, and on and on. It's extremely frustrating.

So then I try and think what am I frustrated about. Life? Love? Writing? That Matchbox Twenty won't put out a new album? Probably the last one.

I have been thinking a bit about turning thirty-eight next month. And I have decided I'm going to go ahead and do it. I mean, when I considered the other options, the choice was pretty clear.

Seriously though, at first glance, thirty-eight seems so benign. Then I think about the whole thirty-nine-and-holding thing, and suddenly thirty-eight feels like the last year of... something. But I am fairly certain no one wants me to get into any sort of deep self-analysis on these feelings, least of all me.

Meanwhile, the wildly vivid dreams continue -- about golf, ex-girlfriends, even Family Feud, though not all in the same dream. In the Family Feud dream, the entire facade of the house across the street was one gigantic Family Feud board. And the guy who lives there was asking me survey questions. Unfortunately, Richard Dawson wasn't in the dream, so that was a little disappointing as you might expect.

A couple of nights ago I had a bit of a different golf dream. The Darryls and I were three holes from the end of our round when one of the course workers rode up on a golf cart and said all the carts had to be in immediately because they were going home for the evening. After much discussion, I finally convinced him to take my cart and my bag and just let me keep 3 or 4 clubs out so I could finish the round, and I would pick up my bag at his house later.

However, the Darryls had continued playing and were now a couple of holes ahead of me. And when I started trying to play again, I was back to the recurring dream situation and couldn't get my ball to stay on the tee.

OK, so they weren't very wild, but they were vivid, darn it! I'm open to interpretation. And interpretations. Other than I suck at golf and play way too much Family Feud online. I already know this.

I have surmised that my subconscious self is living the life my January conscious self can't. Well, note to subconscious Bone: Enjoy it while you can, buddy boy. February's coming, and conscious me will be back to normal, whatever that is.

I may even attempt to socialize with the other humans.

"Don't tell me how to be, 'cause I like some suffering. Don't ask me what I need. I'm just fine here finding me..."

Escape

Blogtober may have gone, but the posts live on. This is from a writing exercise I did last month out of a book that I have. You were supposed to start the story with the opening line they gave, which I think is horrible, but nevertheless...

Sometimes I feel just like a gerbil, running around and around on his wheel!

I go faster, it goes faster. I slow down, it slows down. I hop off for a nap, but then I wake up and get right back on. The world doesn't stop spinning just because I'm having a bad day or I don't want to go to work tomorrow.

Vacations and holidays help to ease the monotony of it all, providing a brief respite from the shampoo bottle regiment of sleep, work, eat, rinse, repeat. But when they end--and they always end--it's right back on the wheel.

I've thought a lot about New Orleans since our weekend there back in January. We had an absolute blast. The food, the night life, the culture, the architecture--it's a wonderful and unique city. But trips like that end up feeding my wanderlust and leave me jonesing to move some place like that permanently.

As long as I can remember, part of me has wondered what it would be like to just up and move somewhere far away. Quit my job and leave Alabama behind for the beach, or California. Or move to Nashville and live in my car until I find a job.

I suppose it's mostly nonsense, especially in this economy. And honestly, it feels a little embarrassing to even admit such a thing. But I know it can be done. I mean, people have done it, I've heard and read about them. Stories like that always make me smile. They provide a glimmer of hope, and also leave me more than a little bit envious. After all, isn't that really living life? Well, isn't it?

It's hard to know which dreams to chase and which are nothing more than nonsensical fantasies. Or perhaps it's just easier to toss them all into the latter category and be done with it.

Sometimes it's not enough simply to be alive. Sometimes you need to feel alive.

Maybe everybody has these thoughts. That deep-down yearning for something more. Maybe it's not unique to humans, either. Maybe that's why sometimes the gerbil hops off his wheel, chews his way out of the cage, and escapes.

"I'm always on the move but never gainin' ground. And the brightly painted ponies, they have feelings inside. Like me, do they ever want to get off of this ride?"