a poorly written essay on operant conditioning

I’ve been living in this city for a year. Sure, I’ve worked all these jobs and events and sure I’ve been with a number of men but nothing has filled my soul. I don’t know why I carry on here other than to defend my gender’s strength. To oppose the Uncle just because! In defiance is strength and in pursuance is rest.

Miss Anne was typing away in her study to have an excuse to drink scotch alone when there was a loud knock at the back door. Miss Anne sat upright, alert and stared at the door to her left. She drank a sip of wine and quietly walked away from the door to her bedroom where she stayed until 20 minutes after the knocking ended.

*****

When I write scenes like this I realize I’m obsessed with scene description. I don’t want to tell a story, well I have a story, but it’s all based upon the picture. I want to describe everything, from a toe curling to what’s happening outside. Minor dialogue in between. But it’s so boring, no one wants to read that! They want to read a story and be able to picture it themselves. *sigh* How can I challenge myself to ignore the urge to over-paint in words and simply write a movement. Challenge: Write a scene of Miss Anne going on her first date with Stephen without describing anything about their moods or appearance.

Miss Anne is a character I came up with around last October or November in my decaying studio apartment. I have around 5 female characters that float around, sometimes I try to combine some of their quirks or mingle them in one story. Just trying to bring them fully to life, but they’re all so complicated.  I really like Miss Anne, though. I could never put Miss Anne in a story with the other girls I have, but it’s almost like Miss Anne is either totally in all the people I’ve drawn or entirely absent. I think the main reason is because Miss Anne definitely belongs in an Historic time of progress and turmoil and my other characters are modern, leaning towards fantasy and future.

Right now, Miss Anne lives in 1941 United States. She’s a mid twenties single woman, struggling to define her mind and inevitably her place in existence while battling social anxiety and borderline lethargy. Anne Allen, but always called Miss Anne. Even strangers refer to her as Miss Anne and it can only be contributed to her demeanor. Anne has a college degree in [ ] that she received in her home state of South Carolina. Anne moved to New Orleans just before her senior year at the Women’s College and finished her degree by writing a petition to the president that her education and career would be undeniably better if she was permitted to study under a well-to-do book publisher and travelling lecturer in the arts. Anne was permitted and she finished her last studies by mailing in type-written essays every week for 8 months. Anne continued under the studies of Mr. Michaels for 6 months after, then spent a short time working in a book store and as she explains “taking time to relax and learn herself before she could be capable of affecting others and society.”

Miss Anne is beautiful, witty and can be very warm to be around. In 1941, she’s closer to a cold person to be around. She lives in Chicago and works at a card hall at night. During the day she attempts to keep herself sane and working on her writing as Mr. Michael taught her. At the end of 1941, Miss Anne feels comfortable with herself and goes home to see her family in South Carolina for Christmas. When she returns to Chicago she feels alone and lost until she develops a women’s writing club. In April she meets a kind man named Stephen at her card hall. He’s in town for a [medical] conference but he takes Anne out twice before he leaves town. Anne and Stephen fall in love and continue writing each other when Stephen returns to St. Louis. Stephen leaves for war/African excursion and never sees Anne again, but the triumphs she reeps from the short time he loved her and allowed her to forgive herself lasts in Anne.

I am Anne, in a much less poetic sequence. But in bringing love to Anne’s self I think I may find the keyhole for respecting my operant conditioning.

Next challenge, develop Anne’s family and friends and give Anne one amazing day.

I finally brought myself back to this log today. Let’s see, it’s been exactly 2 weeks. Of course a lot has happened and I feel like a much brighter, fresher person than the state of mind I was in when I wrote to myself that day. I couldn’t even remember the name I’d given this blog. I’ve definitely planned to revisit here, but my writing now is due to talking to an ‘old’ friend about starting an online magazine. I had to sign into my wordpress account so I could tell him the name.

I find it slightly amusing that one of the last things I wrote was that I’d challenge myself to write some more that night when I got off work. And here it’s been 2 weeks.

That day I was moppy and extremely anxious and paranoid. Today I feel calm, stable (if I will), and okay. I think “okay” as a state of being is hard for most to grasp. If someone were to ask “How are you?” and you respond “I’m okay” it would be taken negatively and more than likely followed by “What’s going on?” or “I’m sorry” or any number of half-ass concerned responses depending on their level of caring and time they intend to talk. However, to be ‘okay’ is good. To me, at least, in my connotation of the word. Which also is developed by my own experiences, yada yada. Still, I believe it should be a nice way to be for everyone and regarded in that sense when responding to “How are you?” Today I’m not feeling ill, anxious, afraid to go outside (necessarily, though I don’t want to), or that I’m exactly on the wrong track. I also don’t feel ecstatic or over-joyous, which I’m thankful for because that many times leads me to dysphoria when those emotions pass. It feels good to be okay and it’s perhaps the best state to be in for me to write.

Also, to touch upon the job that I was so anxious about. For back story, I went on a really, really nice date the night before and the next day I woke up early and readied myself for the interview. As I neared Beverly Hills at about 10:30 am- as I was sure the interview time was- I realized I had a text from my friend who set the interview up asking if I was there. This message was sent at a little after 10. The interview was at 10 am. There it was listed in my e-mail clearly, not half hour mark anywhere. I’d even thought to check my e-mail before leaving and (clearly) decided I didn’t need to. I remember feeling a strong need not to. I called 3 times and never got an answer. I felt bad and embarrassed for the friend who had gone out of his way to set it up, but I was enormously relieved. I have been since. Which I suppose is a lesson in itself to get in tune with my emotions and not be afraid to speak up for them, to defend them in their own entities.

Study #1

4.27.2011 / 4:20 PM

I have about ten minutes before I have to leave for work. I actually just noticed that my time to write this post is much less than I need. But it could be helpful in the goal of overriding any excess thought, hesitation, and unproductiveness I usually suffer when trying to allow my thoughts to flow freely*.

The goal is to write without editing or using the delete key. In writing the last sentence I used the backspace button twice and twice while writing this very sentance – sentence.

When I first began to think of what exactly I wanted to write for my secdond- second post I was stuck between writing about earlier experiences, my time in rehab and treatment specifically or about 20 minutes prior when I sat on the patio and experienced anxiety, social paranoia and then nausea. I came inside after feeling like I might vomit and painted my nails with two different types of glitter polish.

I’m also caught today in trying to make a premature (thought I also struggle deciding if it’s premature or appropriate or god knows what) decision over interviewing and accepting a new day job. The job is an assistant to a successful female entrepreneur in Beverly Hills who also happens to be the mother to a well-known comedy actor. I think I could definitely benefit from this, I have a college degree I want to use it. Or do I want to use it? I’ve felt frustrated and slightly confused, but to the best of my knowledge mostly happy in the past couple of months since moving in with a roommate and only working at night at the bar. I’ve created two new blogs and had a couple other ideas and creative endeavors I feel/felt really good and enthusiastic about. I enjoy having the day of and feeling like I can do as I please or whatever order without judgement since Sarah is off to work and no one else is watching or ‘keeping any tabs.’ At the same time, this also makes me wonder if I’m being immature and inconsistent in my thinking. If I’m hiding away, holding myself back, and/or allowing harmful pyschosis to be the leading thought rather than my current goal- which I’m not exactly sure of… though have a few good contenders. This is all I have time to write about now. I’ll challenge myself to write at least a few thoughts after work.

4:36 pm

I find myself in a drowning race to complete a thought without being tempted by the fruits of the internet. Set me in front of a typewriter and I can bang away for about 5 hours. (Which is really 2, 3 at best considering I have tiny fingers and they tire easily). Same for an unlined notebook. But when I sit at my laptop to type I’m overwhelmed by the tools and enhancement features available.

I have a very hyper brain. Not hyper in the Bill Gates sense- if there is one? But hyper in the 6-year-old kid way. I wake up and immediately want to get ready so I can write. Write the weird dreams from last night after the 1. inspiring conversations with a coworker at the bar 2. creepy conversation with a drunk at the bar. Write about the new zombie character I’ve finally drawn out of all failed projects, and a deep love for Joss Whedon’s superhuman heroins. Maybe just writing about the struggle to write. But first, I’ve got to get ready. I can’t sit down and sometimes even make a meaningless to-do list until I’ve gotten ready.

So begins the 1-2 hour process to ready myself to write. Spend 20 minutes deciding whether taking a bath or shower fits my mood better. Pick out an outfit before bathing so I wont obsess about it while I bathe. Decide to take a short bath then shower so my hair doesn’t touch my bath water- which means I’ve now got to clean the bathtub because I could never relax thinking I’m sitting in a dirty bath. Bathe, obsess about outfit to wear before work (credentials: comfortable, but not so comfortable that I lounge too much, and cute enough to make me want to put on make-up). Now I spend an average of 30 minutes trying different outfits. I name all of my outfits; past contestants that never made it outside include: City Cowgirl, Western Geisha, TLC Revival, Aspen Space-Lodge, and The BreakDancer. Finally, I make coffee, make a to-do list and make my face up all at the same time. Multi-tasking my last three items usually adds an hour more to getting ready than if I could finish one before beginning the next.

Feeling as though my mind has done enough to sit down and ‘write,’ I set up my office. I’ve got to browse through internet stations until coming to a compromise on one genre of music and volume level, then set up two TV trays at the couch. One tray for my laptop, phone and some pens. The other tray for a glass of water or juice, a cup of coffee, a notebook, TV remotes, a book I wont even open, and sometimes a hairbrush. The only thing I don’t do before writing is brush my teeth or put on deodorant.

Now, two hours later and a head full of seven different stories or websites I want to create I start the one I feel the most connection with.

This is the hardest part, my favorite part, the one I dread the most. Open a document. Write a sentence. Delete. Write a sentence. Write another sentence. Delete the first sentence. Rewrite the sentence. Get stuck on mundane vocabulary, look up synonyms on the internet. Get stuck studying new vocabulary. Go back to writing in document. Get stuck on a description, start reading in the encyclopedia. Get up and brush teeth, get more coffee. Decide to start a different project, save writing in a folder that is never re-opened. Then, if I actually start a new document I usually wind up obsessing over the format, the sentence lengths, the amount of words I italicize…

I experience bouts of joy, excitement, frustrations, knotted stomach, brainlessness, and an impatience with the world outside my door.

I have an understanding for the power of thought- it’s influence on the attitude, mood, etc. and goal successes. So much so that I’ve become obsessed. I’m not a clean freak, I can drink some whiskey and knowingly fall asleep in a bed of ants, but I can’t take a bath unless I know I’ve completely cleaned and disinfected the tub. And I can’t write a sentence knowing that there are an infinite number of free tools and databases just one click away from potentially making my writing better. So how to draw the line between allowing my voice to take over as it does with a pen in my hand and allowing my obsessive thoughts to do some research?

This is my study to rewrite my psyche. To examine the influences, the balance, rewards and pains as well as dissect my memories to better realize alien constructs molding on my gray matter.  Ideally I will breakdown operant conditioning without bias and conquer the spazzoid neurons.

Or I will save this document and be too afraid to ever write on operant conditioning again.