Old Habits Never Die Or Fade Away

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Send us money in order for us to create "fun writer parties" in exotic locations your money will pay our way to. I keep getting this message over and again from National Novel Writing Month. Today I got a form letter addressed to a woman that was intended to encourage me to write and do what I don't need encouragement for. How weird is that?

If having written 50,000 words a month for the last twenty years doesn't do the trick for me, then entering a phony contest that sends a t-shirt in exchange for donations ain't gwine do shit for me. Why am I always the last to know? I'm the fool, of course, they passively invited me to be their fool and I almost accepted. The form letters could be sent to anybody indiscriminate of gender was the last straw that sort of informed me that particular goose's eggs are not golden, so I killed it.

Last night I got the message from a friend that pretty much suggests their life would be better if I don't mention them by name in my blog. Request granted. I don't think I've done it that much, but hurting their feelings is the last thing I wanna do, so it's history.

I changed the settings on the Thomas e-mail discussion group yesterday to received individual posts again. I have been on No Mail for a couple of months now. I guess I needed to abuse and be abused again. I may be even more masochistic than I'd figured earlier

I woke up having a hurtful dream early this morning. In the dream I appear to have hurt a young woman who was head over heels in love with me, but I didn't realize how serious it was for her until I decided to be truthful with her, and tell her I was in love with another woman. She walked away from me in the dream bearing such pain I couldn't go back to sleep for a long time.

I seem to have two women players in the dreamtime. One of them that I sense is what some might label my anima, a elegantly beautiful blond that wears a flimsy white dress down to her ankles, and the other one who is a brunette that has a look similar to the Disney cartoon careactor of Sleeping Beauty. It was Sleeping Beauty that took the hit last night.

The fact that in the dream the brunette woman was really young (in her early twenties at best) should have informed me that I was dreaming, and allowed me to become lucid. I didn't get lucid, and the dream didn't inform me of what woman I was confessing love for. I am assuming for lack of real knowing the "woman" I was in love with was my anima, the blond that looks like Prince Valiant's wife.

In the cartoon strip section of the Sunday newspapers she was called Aleta. I promised her I wouldn't betray her, but there not a chance in hell I could keep such a promise. In beta consciousness I promised two ex-wives that I would love them forever, and I lied. I didn't realize in real time that I was lying, but my behavior betrayed me. I lied.

I figure that if I lied to these real women even if I didn't intend to, then lying to a dream phantom woman would be easy and without harm. I was wrong. I'm wrong a lot. Particularly with the feminine gender. C'est la morte!

One thing I got from registering for the writing contest is an AppleScript to counting the words I type using TextEdit to compose with. In the past I reckoned how many words I typed for each blog entry by how much of the side scroll bar got compressed. Now, I've started using it to get a sense of how many words are actually there when the scroll bar gets smaller.

Sometime pushing the limit of where I might naturally stop writing reveals info or data that I wouldn't have typed if I didn't push. For me that's like admitting that I don't have any faith in the docetic creature purportedly doing the writing. It's similar to this saying from the Gospel of Thomas:

44 Jesus said, "Whoever blasphemes against the Father will be forgiven, and whoever blasphemes against the son will be forgiven, but whoever blasphemes against the holy spirit will not be forgiven, either on earth or in heaven."

http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
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