Eric Brown (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} outotoro) wrote,@ 2009-04-19 19:32:00 |
|
A sure sign of stress in me
I can tell I am feeling stressed. How?
I was folding laundry and felt the desire to write poems about my T-Shirts, debating as to whether or not I should identify the subject of the poem as being about various T-shirts.
Now, this is not as odd as it might seem. Those of you who have known me a long time and where on the precursor to my friends' list (i.e. Eric's e-mail list of top ten lists, Uncle Eric's Storytimes, and poetic doom) surely understand that a stressed Eric finds wordsmithing a matter of stress relief. Happily for y'all and your aesthetic tastes, I write for a living - 4 or 5 thousand words a week. Plus I teach, pontificate, ramble off the top of my head for a few classes - this normally absorbs the poetic desires and channels them into a productive (i.e. something I get paid for) direction.
However, it's been a busy month, both for me and for me bride, and I can feel the tension in me. An Eric with a lack of time off is an unhappy Eric. Of the 8 days off I should in theory have - I've had three. And that's it for this month. Sure, I've take other bits of time off, but even then there is that twinge of guilt (I admit it, when I call off sick that means I slug through 4 or 5 hours of stuff instead of 10 - I just don't talk to people). And so, folding the massive pile of T-Shirts, I wanted to write about them.
Again, even the subject matter is understandible. T-shirts are my history - I get attached to certain ones. The Bubblegum Crisis shirt that I picked up in the Mall of America in '98. The Jenni's Restaurant Hot Sauce shirt I got on a visit to Houston. The Pimp Stewie shirt that was a Christmas gift. The "Cheat" shirt a friend got me while in Sem. They are bits of history - a story is attached - and some are old favorites, old friends. Who knows, some of you might even have a T-shirt you remember me for. . . Vampire Beer, the handsketched Ryoko that Wicker and Birdy-lady put onto a shirt for me. . . I don't know. Quite a few.
And many are getting old. The aforementioned Bubblegum crisis shirt is sort of a steel grey now. Just sort of made me whimsical, sort of kimagure seeing a bunch of them, jumbled together - different schools, different states, all mixed up together.
Odd.
Ah well, that's it. That could have been turned into a poem. It's this instead. Ah well. Feel free to put down any T-shirt memories you have if you are so inclined.
P.S. I had to retire my 1996 National College Bowl shirt with the Catcus holding the buzzer - it was just getting too worn. That was a few months ago - still, a sad thing.
I can tell I am feeling stressed. How?
I was folding laundry and felt the desire to write poems about my T-Shirts, debating as to whether or not I should identify the subject of the poem as being about various T-shirts.
Now, this is not as odd as it might seem. Those of you who have known me a long time and where on the precursor to my friends' list (i.e. Eric's e-mail list of top ten lists, Uncle Eric's Storytimes, and poetic doom) surely understand that a stressed Eric finds wordsmithing a matter of stress relief. Happily for y'all and your aesthetic tastes, I write for a living - 4 or 5 thousand words a week. Plus I teach, pontificate, ramble off the top of my head for a few classes - this normally absorbs the poetic desires and channels them into a productive (i.e. something I get paid for) direction.
However, it's been a busy month, both for me and for me bride, and I can feel the tension in me. An Eric with a lack of time off is an unhappy Eric. Of the 8 days off I should in theory have - I've had three. And that's it for this month. Sure, I've take other bits of time off, but even then there is that twinge of guilt (I admit it, when I call off sick that means I slug through 4 or 5 hours of stuff instead of 10 - I just don't talk to people). And so, folding the massive pile of T-Shirts, I wanted to write about them.
Again, even the subject matter is understandible. T-shirts are my history - I get attached to certain ones. The Bubblegum Crisis shirt that I picked up in the Mall of America in '98. The Jenni's Restaurant Hot Sauce shirt I got on a visit to Houston. The Pimp Stewie shirt that was a Christmas gift. The "Cheat" shirt a friend got me while in Sem. They are bits of history - a story is attached - and some are old favorites, old friends. Who knows, some of you might even have a T-shirt you remember me for. . . Vampire Beer, the handsketched Ryoko that Wicker and Birdy-lady put onto a shirt for me. . . I don't know. Quite a few.
And many are getting old. The aforementioned Bubblegum crisis shirt is sort of a steel grey now. Just sort of made me whimsical, sort of kimagure seeing a bunch of them, jumbled together - different schools, different states, all mixed up together.
Odd.
Ah well, that's it. That could have been turned into a poem. It's this instead. Ah well. Feel free to put down any T-shirt memories you have if you are so inclined.
P.S. I had to retire my 1996 National College Bowl shirt with the Catcus holding the buzzer - it was just getting too worn. That was a few months ago - still, a sad thing.
