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All content copyright 2010 by Chelsea Biondolillo. Seriously.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

365 days of being a writer: day 89

I was going to take today off from writing. But in the end, I did a thirty minute free write. I just couldn't bring myself not to do it. I read a blurb today that suggested a little ritual before writing, to train one's brain to get ready to focus. It's an intriguing idea, and one I'd like to pursue next week in the mornings. I am not sure what exactly my ritual will be yet.

The garage sale netted me $30 bucks less than what I needed for my applications, but I still have a pile of art supplies that a coworker is supposed to be buying for $30... It might just work out. I am still hoping that a pledged donation will come through for my UCLA transcripts. They charge $8 each. Because they are bastards.

My sister and I talked a lot today about her childhood, mine, and my mom's. It was weird, but a good way to spend a cold morning while strangers picked through some of my most prized unprized possessions. We met some more of the crazy neighbors. My favorite was Dude from Across the Street who is probably 50, with full color tribalesque tattoos all over two arms and one leg. He was wearing baby blue boxers covered in fish and a turquoise tank top. His skin was a boiled-pink sort of color, and he seemed to be bleaching his yellowy hair more blond--it stuck up in whip cream like peaks all over his head the second time he came over. He bought all of my posters, so he's alright with me. My sister was glad to finally be rid of a panini maker for a dollar that was in its fourth garage sale. I was glad a cool woman bought my pretty and delicate Madame de Dia de los Muertos. There was entirely too much interaction with the neighbor who offers up favors and gifts unasked for, only to turn around and ask for favors and gifts. "Here's some cat food you didn't ask for and don't want, can I log into your wi-fi?" I am terrible with such interactions; they make me want to stay inside.

Much of my non-sale time was spent knitting and crocheting. It is a withdrawal, to knit. But it feels so good to accomplish a measurable and undeniably quality amount of work. I look at my sock that has no dropped stitches, no knots, no wonky increases--it is a good sock. I can't look at a page of writing that is free of dangling modifiers, cliches, and comma splices and know the same thing.

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