I made multiple attempts to upload a video about collage on Sunday and Monday. Spent hours clearing space on my iPad because full storage seemed to be the problem. It wasn’t.
Furthermore, memory kept automatically reverting to full. I have no idea why. It’s not as if the videos/apps that I deleted were restored.
On Tuesday before my class here, a twelve ounce drinking glass grazed the counter on its way to the dishwasher and EXPLODED. Shards everywhere!
Quick-crated Finn and got up all the pieces. There’s something satisfying about hearing glass bits rattle up a vacuum’s metal tubing. One last shard turned up in my pants pocket hours later.
Not long after my sister’s death a Pyrex dish of hers shattered violently, sending chunks of glass all over the stove top and floor. There seemed to be no good reason for it.
What an apt metaphor, I thought. Relationship with my sister involved enduring regular explosions of her rage, often triggered for no apparent reason. It was always dangerous, on some level, to be around her. Her fury and its wounding mess.
But this week? No clue. Maybe it’s her dropping by to say hello since the one year anniversary of her death is on the horizon?
I ended up being glad I couldn’t upload my comments about collage because that’s so last month. Writing in both classes has moved ahead at lightening speeds. Novel and not novel. For some reason, I couldn’t formulate anything to say here, as if the attempts at recording and the failure to upload left me mute.
This ramble is an attempt to come back.
How frustrating!
Picking up glass is easy. Fixing computer issues? Not so much.
My I phone is refusing to load any typepad blogs the past few days. I can view them on the desk computer but not the phone. I have dropped and shattered glass but not explosively. Dangerous.
My iPhone desktop and iPad are not talking to each other the way they customarily do. Very annoying. And google asks me to sign in every time I sit at the PC. My password now includes the words “Fuckyou”
Sometimes the answers to a challenge with any electronic device for me is to walk away, do something in the studio. Seems the harder I work to solve a dilemma the further from a solution I travel. Writing and creative endeavors seem to settle my spirit in a good way.
Enjoyed reading your words today.
Creative endeavors and house keeping for me.
reminds me of that old song from back in the 70’s “I love the sound of breaking glass”
wasn’t a great song but did stick in the memory banks
Yes I do remember it. Also Burning Down the House.
Yeah, I’m with Mo. Something about exploding glass seems right and righteous, although I’m glad you and Finn were not scathed. Maybe something is trying to break loose. Maybe Noreen’s anger belongs to you now (someone who can channel it more constructively). It feels like power.
Hmm. Interesting. I e already had my own anger. Way more than is comfortable (mostly for other people, not me) but I’m going to think about this.
There’s also “Love is a Dog from Hell”…https://youtu.be/KfkVrJMO2V0
We are all at the mercy of our technology and there is just no permanent fix for that ever changing kerfuffle. I agree that walking away is often the best response. When tangled up in speculation, distance is a fine solution. I surmise that consciousness has it’s own reason, like the weather, when all our spaces get filled to the brim, silence descends as a blessing.
Oh Michelle. That last sentence is pure poetry!
“shard” seems like such an apt word … so of course I looked it up on m-w.com:
Shard dates back to Old English (where it was spelled sceard), and it is related to the Old English word scieran, meaning “to cut.”
And “there are no accidents” … at least not if we’re paying attention … there’s usually a cause to be found (I daresay you’re on to it)
I agree about there being no accidents. Thank you for the word derivation. Who knew? Makes so much sense.
The look Finn was giving you! The exploding pyrex – energy focused, then freed. I thought about the mason jar full of turquoise dye that exploded in my hand. I felt the vibration just before it broke like the jar was full of angry bees. Blood and turquoise did not make purple.
Reading this confirms how full of violence and surprise this kind of shattering glass is.
Wow. Sadly, my mom gave me her fear of broken glass…of not getting it all cleaned up and later stepping on a piece barefoot, thus having it go into your foot to get infected. Now, that’s dramatic! Early eighties, I had a casserole dish, just removed from the oven and placed on the stovetop, EXPLODE entirely…spewing chicken, the sauce and glass everywhere! What a sticky mess.
This is turning out to be a more common occurrence than I thought. If it were the 80’s I probably would’ve gotten cut, too, in a slapdash clean up. I was so scrupulous about not getting cut last week.
To me the spontaneous combustion suggests the heavy duty pressure-against-pressure of the Saturn Pluto configuration. Reminding you, for just a moment, of the illusory nature of personal control over one’s individualized universe
Yes! And maybe not just the illusion of control but the illusion of object solidity.
Testing access (apologies)
Hi Maggie. No apology needed!