Day four. Hemingway?

Blog Entry:

“The power of less.” – Did Hemingway really say this? The movie ‘Papa’ says, yes. Cannot find proof. But I love it. Perhaps it is attributed to him because of the way his writing is classified.

This is where my life is headed, towards —> less.

What a strong name, the name, Ernest. Says so much, packs a punch, offers no apologies, or is it the man who influenced the name, and I can no longer see it clearly. Maybe he grew into his name, feeling its power since before he even knew who he would be. Maybe both. But damn, what a good name.

The Power of Less – a notion worth exploring. I have so much, I’ve spent a lifetime accumulating so much, closets full of clothes and shoes and scarves, Gortex gear for outdoor adventures, skis and snowshoes and tents and back packs and high-tech watches that track your heart rate and repeat back to you how fit you want to be.

Someday I want to have a home where family and friends come to visit and are asked to wait in the garden or sitting room with big comfy chairs, and my house person will say, ‘She is working. She will be with you shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like anything? Seltzer water? Coffee? Wine?”

Wouldn’t that be glorious? For some.
Meanwhile, I’m not sure how I’m going to pay my bills that come around next month, including my car payment, car insurance, miscellaneous credit card bullshit. Fuck, I feel so stupid. So. Stupid.

I started keeping a spreadsheet of monthly payments due. Gas prices are on the rise.
The power of less.
The power of less.

I dug out from under the stacks of books to find, On Writing, Ernest Hemingway. The page was dog-earned to this quote:
“Mice: What is the best early training for a writer?”
“Y.C.: An unhappy childhood.”
-Hemingway, On Writing

I do not profess to have any answers, in fact, the farther I move along any path that I try to make bright, turns out, I’m just filling in gaps and potholes.

I love everything, and nothing all at once. I care for everyone, and hate everyone at the same time. I would die for you, and put you to death at the same time. I want to be alone and be adored, clamored-for even, at the same time. I am dual faced. Your best friend and enemy, all at once. I will stand guard at the doorstep of your honor and I will throw you under the bus too. It’s just my way. I offer no excuse for this behavior. And that’s all I have. Sometimes I feel so angry. Never write from a place of anger.


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