Today’s weird thought came while I was at Zumba. I’ve been thinking recently about Marcel Proust, James Joyce and modernist literature.
The author of the book I am reading at the moment does not like James Joyce. He does not think that James Joyce wrote good books. My book is about the human need for stories (and it is very insightful in many ways).
The author of this book argues that since James Joyce didn’t write his fiction with a narrative (in fact he was rebelling against the tendency to write in narrative), his books are not widely read today except by academics and students. His argument is: people need stories and people don’t enjoy works of fiction that do not contain stories. I want to challenge his argument (even though I confess that I have failed to enjoy James Joyce). I would like to think that people’s thoughts can be interesting. So let’s test this theory.
While at Zumba I was thinking of the Joycian style of writing in the stream of consciousness and I began to wonder how my stream of consciousness would read and whether anyone would actually find it interesting (it not being a story as such). So I thought I’d test it by writing a blog entry of my thoughts during the first ten minutes of Zumba today (as accurately as I can remember now, that is, if you believe me when I tell you this is a work of fact not fiction).
So here goes. We join my thoughts just as the music starts…
Oh shit it’s been ages. It’s busy. I’m bound to bang into people. Oh well. Right. Warm up. God I always find the warm up the hardest bit, ironically, I get most tired, or is that normal? Especially after two weeks. I’m so unfit. Hope my heart doesn’t do that thing it does sometimes. It hasn’t done it for ages. Coming back from London that time. That was over a year ago. I haven’t even cycled much recently. Oh well. It’ll be good. Right, leg, oh shit wrong way, left leg, up. Oh arms. Her arms are up, yep, arms. Leg, arms, left no shit right, oh shit no everyone is turning. Turn. Oh left leg, left, knee up. Oh no it is Whitney Houston. Hate that song. Annoys me. Dance with somebody bla crap. Reminds me of school. Didn’t her daughter die today? Something on the radio in the car. In a bath, six months ago. Weird. Didn’t they both die in the bath? That is sad. I do like the kicks. Up. Phew. I can get my leg up quite high. At least I can do that. I can touch my boobie with my leg. I bet not many people can do that. I’ve always been good at leg kicking. I wonder if I could do kick boxing? Oh shit, wrong way again. Left. Forward, shake the hips thing. I can’t do that move at all. Does she go to hip shaking classes? She’s so good at it. I wish I could do that. Bloody hell I’m crap at that. What are we doing tomorrow? Going to Newport. I hope my belly behaves itself. I’m sure it will. I haven’t had beans today. Hope I don’t find too much in the charity shops. Left leg, forward. End of song. Need a drink. Thirsty. Lovely. Better. Open that door! Oh that woman is doing it. Oh like this one. What’s for tea tonight? Sea bass. Like sea bass. But my turn to read story so he can cook it. Good. He cooks it better than me. God I’ve missed this. Left, forward. Oh shit not that way. This way. What shall I do this evening? Don’t want to do work. Bored of work. Worked all day. I need a blog idea. What could I write about? I often think of blog ideas at Zumba. But I’ve done a blog entry on ideas at Zumba. Something to do with Zumba. Oh shit squats. Love these but damn they hurt. And I might slightly need a wee. Bloody diet coke. Wish I hadn’t had that before coming. Bloody pelvic floor exercises. Didn’t do enough. Remember there was a poster in the loos at the John Radcliffe. They used to say ‘do you want to smell like the old ladies in Chipping Norton?’ Not that that got me doing them. I do remember there being lots of old ladies in Chipping Norton but they didn’t smell. Perhaps I could write about what songs I hate doing when I need a wee. That jumping one. That is a killer when you need a wee. As is that wriggle bottom one. And Pitbull Fireball. Love that song though. This one now for starters. God my thighs. Agh. Am I the only person in agony? I need to cycle more. Hard in the holidays. Get fat in the holidays. Ough. Oh my toe feels odd. What’s that? Perhaps I am falling apart. I’m getting old. I hate being old. I don’t want to fall apart. I can imagine the doctor saying you have something awful in your toe that makes you bed ridden. That would kill me. I’d hate it. I could paint though still, like Frieda Kahlo in that film. She painted in bed. I could be famous. Right. End of song. Drink. That’s better. Oh what is next, oh that one. I like that one. I know the moves. Not too strenuous. Good. Back in my spot. Do we have any wine left? Oh yes, a bit. Like wine. Wine on a Monday. What a treat. Wine after Zumba? Sometimes my teeth hurt when I drink at Zumba. Why is that? God I’m falling apart. I hate being old. Feels bad my toe does but oh well. He won’t want the wine with tea, he’s being all healthy and shit. Good, I’ll have it. Nice. With cheese. Oh not having cheese for tea. Luke reckons cheese is good for you, nibbling between meals. How can that be so? I love cheese. Hmm is the stage better here or there? I quite liked it there. But feels more room now. Dunno. The school play was good. Oh gosh was that two weeks ago already. God. One week gone, six to go. Going to Newport tomorrow. I hope I remember it is earlier than usual. Oh damn it everyone is going the other way, clash into poor Janice again. Shit. Sorry. Oh I think I have a pen attached to me. That could be a blog entry. Why I feel the need to have a pen with me at all times. Why is that? Is it my security blanket? Left leg, forward, hip wriggle. I can’t do that move at all. I just don’t have sexy hips! Like whatseface Shekera or whatever. I wish. Right what to do with this pen. I could have stabbed myself with that. I could have ended up in A&E with a pen in my oesophagus. That would be nasty. I might die. Shit the news would say woman dies at Zumba due to pen attached to top. No. Not good. Better put it in bag at end of next song. Oh shit I need to email Lawrence and check FileMaker. I must remember to do that. Forgot. Alysoun is bound to email me lots of stuff tomorrow. Royalties. But going to Newport so I’ll have to do it after that. Need to text Shell about tomorrow. Luke at Isaac’s house. Mustn’t forget. Oh no new song. This is going to be fun. Legs. Oh shit, left, right, arms are moving too. I’ll just copy Janice. Perhaps this wasn’t new to everyone else. I seem to be the only total spanner here today. I like this one though. Eugh someone has botty burped. Nice. Armpits. I hope mine don’t smell too much. Oh no I did that thing when she crosses her arms to mean cross your legs and I think she means cross your arms. Embarrassing. What else are we doing this week? Can’t remember. What shall I wear tomorrow in Newport? The Boden dress? No. What else? I like that dress though. Oh shit everyone is going the other way again.
I think I’d better stop there. But wasn’t that fun? Are you still with me, dear reader? That was a piece of my mind. That was exhausting. But the question is: does it make a good ‘story’ or is it really just pure dross?