Looking Back: Poetical Parentheticals

“This post is a part of 20SB’s Looking Back Blog Carnival, and Ben & Jerry’s is awarding free ice cream to lucky bloggers and readers!”

So here you are, readers. A very old post from a very silly me, writing about the kind of writing that I set out to write... Whether or not I accomplished this feat I suppose is something that you are equipped to determine for yourselves.

If I remember correctly, I wrote this because my then-boyfriend had shared with me the now-defunct blog of a girl he said he had a crush on "because of her writing"... And I found it somewhat pretentious and off-putting (albeit witty and funny... so really, I was jealous). And I think I wrote this post at him (I'd say "to him", but he never lowered himself to reading my blog -- which I started because of his influence -- despite his insistence that I should read his).

Originally published 09/29/07. Enjoy!



My mother often will comment to me that she enjoys reading e-mails I’ve sent her because “you write just like you talk!” I don't understand... Doesn’t everyone? Why would you write any other way?

I agree with her. I like to think that I write in a fashion that is similar to the way I speak. Run-on sentences and fragments. Beginning sentences with conjunctions. An appalling amount of long, winding parentheticals (I don’t think that’s even a noun, but someone I know uses it all the time, so I’m stealing it… and I just realized that I put in a parenthetical right after mentioning my use of parentheticals. That was unintentional, and I’m slightly embarrassed that I’ve accidentally proven my own point. But since it so beautifully illustrates what I’ve said, I’m leaving it in. Wow, I didn’t mean to start that sentence with a conjunction. Smooth move, Angela. At least there is now evidence that I know myself). Other than omitting my disturbing usages of “like”, “um”, and “uh”, this is pretty much the standard way I communicate.


I probably shouldn’t admit this, but to make certain that everything I’ve written is something I would say, I recite each of my blog entries out loud once through before posting them. I remove anything that’s too fluffy or unnatural, because I don’t want to be that sort of writer. I want to be, for lack of a better word, real. (If you’ve met me, and you try hard enough, I bet you can hear my voice right now…. Helloooooooooo!)

I’m not one for long passages of purple prose. I’m not going to grab a thesaurus while typing (or rely too heavily upon the thesaurus I have internally). I’m not going to carefully compose something that is linguistically artful. I’m just going to write. And I’ll write whatever thoughts come into my head, whether they follow or not. Just like I’m doing now. Which is why I’m writing about writing instead of actually writing something of interest to others. Because that’s what I’m thinking. (Luckily, I’m a decent typist. Otherwise, this would be a far more complicated and arduous task. My fingers can’t quite keep up with my thoughts, but they do alright.) I still choose my words, because if I said everything that popped into my head, I’d surely be committed against my will. I have no desire to be institutionalized. I imagine that it would be far less interesting than the movie Girl, Interrupted made it out to be. So I only let the debatably crazy thoughts leak out (until I’m being arraigned for something, in which case I will find a way to use insanity as a defense. I wonder if that would work with parking tickets...).

I like to think that, despite my breaking the occasional rule of language, I'm relatively articulate. I think I get most things across exactly as I intend to. Although I do, from time to time, have to translate my thoughts into a language that can better be understood by people who aren't me. It’s not that I’m dumbing down my writing to make it more accessible (which I certainly did on occasion in my previous online journal… I had a couple of regular readers who became confused and alienated when I chose words in excess of seven letters… and I loved having fans so much that I catered to them a little in order to bait them into returning). I will only translate myself if the things I wish to say don't seem to be understood the way I wish them to be.

I'm not going to try to impress you. Why should I? It's not like you're going to read this if you have to google half the things I type. I hate reading ostentatious or patronizing writing (if you don't know what those words mean, then you really should invest in a good dictionary... trust me, you need it), which is why I refuse to compose it. I will not read text if it seems that the writer is out to prove something about their abilities or how “deep” they are. Tell me a story (or four). Take me on a journey full of ideas. Make me think. But don’t choke me with words; I won’t put up with it.

For the record, I am quite capable of writing at a more scholarly level than I do. I am, after all, rather cerebral (or, as I generally prefer to paraphrase that, “I think too much.” It makes me sound like less of an egomaniacal jackhole). Maybe someday I will. Just to prove a point. I’m not even sure whom I’d be proving it to (myself, I suppose). I’ll write something so condescendingly profound and pretentiously b****y that you’ll deign it to be good writing, if only because that’s the kind of writing you have been taught is good. I’ll throw in tons of unnaturally large words so that you’ll be confused as to what it’s even about, and you will be forced to say it’s great rather than admit that you had no clue what on Earth I was talking about. We’ll see. Someday. Hopefully I’m stimulating and eloquent enough that it won’t be a problem in the meantime. And if it is a problem, I have a couple of other blogs I can recommend that might better suit your liking (the very sorts of things that I, personally, will never enjoy).

I learned something while writing that last paragraph… I am apparently hesitant to swear in my blog. I took out two instances of using language that my mother would not approve of, and I used asterisks on a third (I actually considered going back and paraphrasing that last one… replacing b****y with “haughty” or “pompous” perhaps, but I decided to keep my self-imposed suppression to a minimum. Besides, that one seemed necessary). I don’t know what I’m afraid of. I guess that people will read it, realize I know how to use curse words, and condemn me to some netherworld in which people are made to suffer until they can respect language. I try not to swear very much. I only began swearing about a year and a half ago. I always felt the power behind those words when I used them sparingly. Throwing one out in conversation made people shut up and pay attention. Now, I spit them out a little too freely. I usually ask for forgiveness about that. It just seems like the right thing to do. I apologize at work a great deal, as I use the phrase “what the hell?!” quite a bit while talking to my computer about why it is choosing to so rudely disobey me.

(I wish I knew how to type an interrobang on the keyboard. An interrobang is a piece of punctuation that looks like a question mark and an exclamation point rolled into one. It takes the place of “?!?!?!” rather nicely. The alternative seems confused and rather juvenile.)

You know what, I’m done. I would normally allow this to evolve into a blog entry about something (anything) else, but I just don’t feel like I should. I think I’ve said what I needed to say (although, trust me, I have about three directions I could take this entry from here… and it’s a little hard for me to not dive into any of them). And for those of you who are psychoanalyzing me right now (I know there’s at least one of you who is), yes, there’s a reason that this is on my mind. And yes, like always, I’m judging myself, over-thinking things, and wondering if I should just delete this whole blog altogether. But that might just be because I’m listening to “Feathers and Doom” by The Cardigans right now and it makes me want to curl up into a ball and be reborn as something more beautiful than myself.

And yes, if you’re curious, I did just read this aloud and cut a whole slew of things that didn’t quite sound like me; they sounded like me trying to be a writer.

May you never try to be someone you’re not, in writing or in life.

Much love,

~A~

P.S. I hope you paid attention to rule #7 (and if you don't understand why I pointed that out, go back and read my first entry, "An Introduction to My Mind")
P.P.S. I chose the title because of a scene in Twelfth Night. A disguised Viola has written a speech for Olivia on behalf of the Duke Orsino. She begs to be allowed to read it, saying, "I would be loath to cast away my speech, for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it." Later, she states, "Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical." I felt that those statements somehow applied to this entry and wanted to find a way to stick them in. And besides that, I find "poetical" to be a very fun word.
P.P.P.S. If I had not already named this blog ~angelaboration~, I think that "Poetical Parentheticals" would suit it rather nicely.

Chicago-less

Can I just take a second to say how sad I am that I can't be at the 20sb meet-up this weekend? Because I am. Particularly because it's in my old stomping ground of Chicago, Illinois. *sigh*

Instead, this weekend I will be playing a role in a movie.

It's a graduate student film being directed by the other film student I bonded with in February (mentioned briefly here), who happens to be very good friends with my boyfriend.

I auditioned for the role in March, and the director/writer has been sort of tailoring it to my skill-set since then.

So I'm excited. I know this is going to be good for my résumé, and I can start a reel (which is like a video résumé for performing artists)...

But I'm still a little sad.

Think of me once or twice during the festivities, okay?

Thanks.


May you have good reasons to pass on great things.

~A~

Pain from the Brain?

I had my blood drawn a couple of weeks ago because of all the weird pain I was having coupled with my freakish cycle.
My doctor told me that "no news is good news", and that I'd only be getting a phone call if something was weird.
So it freaked me out when a phone call came.
My mother got a phone call when I was at work, and the doctor said to call back... but by the time I had the chance to call, the office was closed for the day.

My logical side, of course, said that if it was urgent, they would've tried my cell phone... So nothing insane.

A nurse called me the next day on my cell while I was at work.

My cholesterol was fine. I'm not gluten intolerant. Things looked pretty good.

But one level was high, so the nurse said that I had to get my blood drawn again, but I had to be fasting before getting it drawn.
I said, "Um, I fasted last time before it was drawn. For ten hours."
The nurse seemed surprised.
She said I might need an MRI, but that my doctor would be out of town for a couple of days, so she wasn't sure.

Yeah, that's so not what I wanted to hear. If something is wrong with you that requires an MRI, the last thing you want to be told is that you have to wait.

I talked to my father (who, conveniently, is a gynecologist). As it turns out, having this one level high might be a sign that I have some sort of growth in my pituitary gland in my brain.

My doctor is now back in town. She's having me repeat the blood test this week, fasting again. If that level is still high, then we'll go the MRI route.

Weird brain growths and cysts seem to run in my family, so I won't be shocked if that's the case. But don't freak out on my behalf. According to my dad, it's not as bad of a problem as it sounds like.

I'm going to have an ultrasound tomorrow morning, and I'll probably get blood drawn again on Tuesday.

All that said, I haven't had any stomach pain for about a week now... So maybe it was just a weird fluke of a month? Or, as someone suggested in my comments section, maybe it had to do with anxiety after all?

I just hope it gets figured out soon.


May you know what's ailing you.

~A~