Scribbling Digitally


I have this need to write. And if I don’t have pen and paper readily available when I do, or feel like typing instead (even if on a tiny phone screen), I get ansy.

The following is a little test with an app I got a few days ago. Somehow I want to incorporate writing even more into my work. Like a sibling, it’s crashes the image party and begs to be tagged along. Thinking yet again about how to do this gracefully…

I got this typewriter type thing. To practice when I don’t feel like cramping my hand scribbling illegible things to decipher later.

It’s cool and windy out today and for the next 5 days it’s going to be around 90 degrees. It makes no sense. Read about ancient mummies going gelatinous and oh yeah, the “big one” coming sooner to California than expected. Real cheery.

What else? This thing counts words. I haven’t written in a journal for a long, long time. Bits of paper with some writing, ideas for a design project which I can’t seem to quite commit to, sketches, all come to bent corners and tears and some dirt in my bag as I carry them around. Nothing is bound.

My life always feels like a mess, with precious little to anchor me when I’m drowning in too many thoughts, emotions, and worries, suffering with physical pain I never can quite describe… I remind myself, my home is my anchor, and nothing else really ever works like that. My mother’s saying about “trust only family” keeps dinging me in the head – how I wanted it to be otherwise in the past, a bigger circle. This loyalty thing always being the measure for my relationships – who can stick it out with me stays, everyone else becomes minor. I spend all my best energy in depths, this I know is my preference and what satisfies me.

With little stamina for a lot of emotional and intellectual races left in me these years, what can I do but spend it in a way that pleases me? Life forces us to find our pleasure, or at least it is that way with ever disappointed and questioning me. Once I was confident, but maybe only in more areas of myself than now. Now, confidence has a short sprint to its half-life. It only becomes more ghostly from there.