I have been trying to post to my space for over eight hours now. I do not know what is wrong, but that is why you have not found any newer entries for me. I have closed MSN, reopened it, restarted the computer, reopened MSN, and none of it works in the least. I am about ready to give up. I fail to understand what is going on.

I can open my Space, open and entry window, copy my stuff into it hit post and it tells me Space Unavailable. I would curse but it would do no good.

I think I’ll try pasting a poem in here.

A View of Time

Immersed by the ocean

Of time’s onward flow

I travel to destinations

I only later begin to know.

Space eddies round me

Showing settings I recognize

As at least feasibly real

Though the patterns tease my eyes.

The waves of time

Flicker with the tide

Feeding me fresh memories

From when we traveled side by side

The shore seems close

Then further away again

For time’s ocean continues

Carrying me toward my end.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

March 13, 2003

Well, I am going to try one more time… I hope it works.

Smiles,

Jo Ann

I have been busy. Today has brought up some things I need to express so bear with me. I went to bed at 2:30AM and woke at 7:00AM. I took Alex to the bus and came back to bed until 9:30AM which means I slept through the alarm for thirty minutes… I keep forgetting to get a new alarm.

I left the house at about 10:00AM and drove a more reasonable speed than usual so I only made it a few minutes early to my 11:00AM appointment with my counselor. I had not finished the worksheet so I tried to complete it in the waiting room, but did not finish.

I admitted to my counselor that I had read all the assigned pages, but had not completed the worksheet. She was very understanding. I did explain to her that I was resistant to exploring my past feelings because I am a little depressed right now and looking back on what I feel were better times might drive me deeper into that state. We also discussed my habit of procrastination and my perfectionism. These things block me from action at times. I am working on them but discussing them helps clarify why I do this self-defeating behavior.

Then I brought up how all that links to my personal demon, my inner critic. I struggle with this hellacious part of myself constantly. This morning I looked in the mirror and was attacked by the thoughts that I am fat, ugly, disgusting, incompetent, poorly dressed and groomed, patently inferior, and basically useless. Plus some more truly scathing adjectives. My counselor said that was a lot of venom to have thrown at oneself when looking in the mirror. She asked how I dealt with it. I replied not nearly as well as I would like, but I told the bitch to shut up. I then told myself that I was okay, and went on to face the day.

Since this critical part of myself is so destructive we discussed it at length. I went on to talk about the nagging I get when I try to do anything creative, like write this blog or do something artistic. I have to exert a great deal of energy to create anything, because the self-talk is you can not write, you are not an artist nor writer, no one is interested in your thoughts or vision, you are stupid, you can not do anything right, you think that is a sentence, you can not even think of the right word, that is not a picture a two year old could do better than that. This goes on consistently while I continue to press out words or images. My counselor asked what I do to counter it and I again said I send the critic to the corner and tell her to shut her mouth and I tell myself that I do have something to say, I am a creative person, and I am a writer and an artist. I just need to create. The will to do this consumes a lot of power. Sometimes I feel exhausted when I get done, but I refuse to quit. Maybe one day the demon will be banished or at least I can duct tape its nasty mouth shut and close the door on it. Writing about it makes it seem smaller and less threatening, though of course I am not sure I should post this.

I have a poem I wrote about this horrible creature a while ago:

The Critic

I wrote some words

Upon the empty page;

Looked at them

For what seemed an age.

Then my mind

Filled with rancid hate

For what I had written

Was only second rate.

How could I be

So deadly blind

To criticize my voice

And be so unkind?

Now the gentle words

Have ceased to flow

And this hurtful block

Continues to daily grow.

Jo Ann Joyce Anita Jordan

© September 24, 2002

I think that sums it up pretty well and explains why my creative block is so entrenched. I am working on it, chipping away at it, but it is hard work.

I thank you all for reading and encouraging me to keep up the fight. This Thursday will mark the third month that I have written something here every day. That is an accomplishment for me, because I have not worked creatively that constantly in a long time.

I hope you are having a wonderful Monday. If you have one of these infernal critics I encourage you to shut it up and do what you really want to do, whatever that may be.

Always,

Jo Ann

I added some more links. Not all of them are Spaces, but that is okay I think.

I cooked pork chops, broccoli rice au gratin, and carrots for supper. It was very good. Alex ate it up even though he had just snacked out a while before. I noticed today that he had two pair of pants laying in the floor. When I asked what was up with that he said they don’t fit. I guess it will not be too long before I have to make a trip to Old Navy to get him new pants. Always something clamoring for my money. The kid is a money magnet, but that is okay. I love him so much.

I messed around with BlogShares some more today. I think that could get addicting. If you have not registered or claimed your blog you really should. It is a neat thing.

I do not really have much to write about. I should say my earlier remarks about men were not meant to reflect on them negatively. More to express my wish to understand these fascinating beings more fully.  I find other females almost as confusing at times. People in general are mysterious.

I went out for a walk and enjoyed the sun so much. I did my usual thing and read a book as I walked. Lets me accomplish two things at once, and since I am inclined to dislike exercise it keeps my mind occupied. I know the path I take so well that I do not have to watch where I am going exactly.

An older poem:

Blocked

Like a stream

In its course

Which cannot flow

My mind will

Not let me know

The words I need

To fill the empty page.

I sit and stare

Then sometimes rage

Because I want

To unleash my vision

In imaginative artistry

And make no provision

For this block which stymies me.

Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Copyright September 22, 2002

I feel this intensely at times. 

The following poem I like a great deal:

Doodles in the Sand

She stood alone, circled by accusers

A gleeful scow etched upon each face,

No hint of mercy showing.

The guilt not solely hers

Yet, she knew she had a part,

She could not deny her fault.

They gathered stones,

Each held one in his hands,

Instruments of her demise.

Then He entered the circle,

Squatted down to doodle in the sand

She watched amazed His hand.

What did His writing mean?

Would He also condemn her?

Children, she thought, doodle.

The mob asked Him what they

Should do with one so guilty

He merely wrote in the sand.

What, she wondered, did He scribble?

Was that her name He wrote?

Something about sin… shame… love?

Maybe He did not hear nor care.

He stood only for a moment firm,

“Let him without sin cast the first stone.”

He knelt again swiftly writing

Seemingly unaware of the murmur

That rose angry on their lips.

She watched as the elders first departed

Then the younger disappeared,

Suddenly He and she were alone.

She gazed at Him in awe.

How, she wondered, did He

Know just the words to say?

She had no idea how to thank Him

Wondered if He would judge her,

Baffled she watched this man.

He smiled at her tenderly,

“Woman where are your accusers?

Did no one judge you guilty?”

She stammered, “ No one, sir.”

He grinned, “Neither do I judge you guilty.

You are free to go now, sin no more.”

He forgave me, even me, she thought.

She lingered a few moments

Then skipped away heart singing light.

Many times, she wondered

About the doodles in the sand

The Savior had written there.

As years passed she realized

The doodles were not important.

“Not guilty” was written on her heart.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

March 22, 2000

I wanted to reflect on the position of the woman in this, maybe because I always identified with her. I hope I pulled it off.

Well, I guess that is all for right now.

Always,

Jo Ann