Notes
Writing, for me, is like tantric sex, if I knew what it was, I mean. The process is so extremely slow, almost maddening. Every little detail, every word combination, every bit is tweaked and retouched in an obsessive manner. When I am satisifed that the piece is ready to ship, I am so extremly happy, so thrilled and relieved at the same time. And I never think that I will be repeating it. I mean, it's not like 60 minutes on a stationary bike, or getting through a years finances for the accountant. The next venture at the computer will be a new assignment, another piece completely different and maddening and rewarding in its own way.
I understand there is a Rachel Ray Sucks Community, an anti-fan club, as coined by Rob Walker of the New York Times. I am not much of a cook, so I like her. I thought, as lately I keep seeing her face peer out from every book jacket and magazine cover, "Wow, she's shoved Eva Longoria right off the cover of everything." Thank god.
In the Maudsley approach (Maudsley Hospital in London) to treating anorexia, family members take the place of nurses, and encourage and calm the sufferes into eating. Harriet Brown's experience is also in the Sunday Times Magazine, and she talked of separating the demon from her daughter, and teach her daughter to not listen to the anorexic voice. It took me back to working on my father's disease, thinking about him as two people. I sensed that the drug dependency had actually so interwoven itself into my father's neuron efficiency, that the two could no longer be separated, but maybe for me, there was still time to talk to my bad selves: "What? Do you really need to eat an entire bag of all anything? Don't give me that all natural nonsense, either." "And you will drink that red wine because you have no recollection of how awful you will feel in the morning, or what?" "Would it kill you to be nice and bite your tongue, to not have to always say somehting?" I am up for treating the demons, but I will probably invest in a head set so people will not think I am always talking to myself.
I understand there is a Rachel Ray Sucks Community, an anti-fan club, as coined by Rob Walker of the New York Times. I am not much of a cook, so I like her. I thought, as lately I keep seeing her face peer out from every book jacket and magazine cover, "Wow, she's shoved Eva Longoria right off the cover of everything." Thank god.
In the Maudsley approach (Maudsley Hospital in London) to treating anorexia, family members take the place of nurses, and encourage and calm the sufferes into eating. Harriet Brown's experience is also in the Sunday Times Magazine, and she talked of separating the demon from her daughter, and teach her daughter to not listen to the anorexic voice. It took me back to working on my father's disease, thinking about him as two people. I sensed that the drug dependency had actually so interwoven itself into my father's neuron efficiency, that the two could no longer be separated, but maybe for me, there was still time to talk to my bad selves: "What? Do you really need to eat an entire bag of all anything? Don't give me that all natural nonsense, either." "And you will drink that red wine because you have no recollection of how awful you will feel in the morning, or what?" "Would it kill you to be nice and bite your tongue, to not have to always say somehting?" I am up for treating the demons, but I will probably invest in a head set so people will not think I am always talking to myself.
posted by Cate at 9:54 fm
2 Comments:
On the other hand, there's also a Rachel Ray appreciation society, sort of. And when you say "a years finances" you mean "a year's finances." Just trying to help you tweak.
Yeah, tweaking doesn't happen here. It used to, but now I just live for the day I make it to "publish post."
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