Brevity is the soul of wit

Well, I’m working through a lot of stuff right now because there are a lot of milestones/triggers/memories, whatever in this timeframe. From August to January, every year, I am most likely to go insane or start hurting myself in some manner. Whether it’s picking up old habits or inventing new ones, I struggle up or down the spiral. Right now, I’m terrified of going psychotic in a month’s time because my life is a cyclical series of history repeating until I learn my lesson.

So, that’s the question plaguing me right now. It would be too much to write all the synchronicities between then and now. Suffice it to say, Carl Jung would have SO much fun with me, and thank GOD I have so much fun with Carl Jung.

In three years, observation is teaching me that I have a process. To put that process in words is mostly foolhardy because it, like life, is far too complicated when put in words. It is far easier for you to picture a man standing in a pair of Santa Claus themed panties singing “All I Want for Christmas is You” than it is for me to write that combination of words to evoke that imagery in your mind. You see, brevity is the soul of wit. Brevity is the achille’s of my heel because words are my favorite. Yet brevity is the name of the game. How succinctly can you pack a punch? Hemmingway did it in 6 on a napkin. “For Sale, Baby Shoes, Never Worn” it took me 19 words to probably not make you laugh to the 6 that probably made your eyes sting.

(Especially now, when our attention spans have been so shattered and ruined, most people stopped reading after my first two sentences because we’re all toddlers now: where’s the picture? too much text! Uck!)

To try and write my process would take too long, but forgetting my process is bad. I at least know enough that, when something is bothering me, I write ceaselessly for days. I start anywhere from 10-25k words on the issue, and I will re-work/re-write this problem and process until it becomes succinct enough that I feel comfortable to put it on the internet (see above paragraph) and it is whitewashed enough that I feel safe to put it on the internet (see any references to my past ever) Most importantly, though, it has to be funny. It has to be both awful and hillarious. When someone tells me they feel fucked up for laughing at what I wrote, I file my writing, healing process, etc. under A+++++++++ The first time I observed this process, it took me almost 6 months, the second it was three, the third was a few weeks, and this is the fourth and day 3.

Down from 25k in prior problems that have gone through my process, my biggest problem in life – the kind of vital root that binds all of my ego together, started at roughly 11k and has, in 4 variations since, bounced between 1,700 to 2,600 words. This is clocking in at roughly 700.

The fact that I’m sitting here miffed with myself that all of it is way too long (not to mention all the shit I’m still working through contained in the writing itself) I need to stop and laugh, hysterically even, that I am so screwed up in the head that I can simultaneously work through severely deep psychological and emotional wounds and criticize myself for both taking too long to do it and taking too many words to write it.

My biggest problem in life is that I’m scared to write. So I’m forcing myself to write. It’s like…I’m writing again and doing the things that matter to me because I matter.

There. I did it. I made a meme. #priorities #brevity

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