Sundowner, You


I have nearly more creativity right now, at this point in time, than I can physically handle.
It’s such an odd thing.  I have to embrace it rather than fear it.  I want to supreme my heart into a hundred little segments and set them all out to do the work.

The muse is in residence.  We are having tea, or she is having whatever comes out of an empty tea-kettle when it is poured at a party of the imagination.  I am having wine, sweet as fresh fruit.  I am watching my calories.  I am stretching my legs out.  I am greeting the sun, saluting the moon.

I am living the Faulkner line:  “A story is in you.  It has to come out.”  It feels as though all the stories I’ve ever half-daydreamed a setting for are pulling themselves toward me. They see, perhaps, that I have the time for them that I’ve never had before.  Exercise is helping my head, and unfortunately, I have hours and hours now. Not really, of course,  some of this time needs to be put to use figuring out how I am going to pay to keep myself alive.  But for the time being, I am a mason jar of fireflies.  All the while, I am putting the story into me as I re-read and re-read the book.  I need to keep finishing it so that I can start working on it, which can only be explained by reading it and I can’t give up even a single iota of it until I’ve wrapped my arms around it fully.   Till I can crow about it and sing about it and not have a whole other truth yet to be revealed on a final pass.  I can only say that it is a doorway to me and even if I have to keep passing through and finding myself in the backyard, eventually, I will get in this house.  I will

I know it’s weird.  I gotta go weird for a while.  My weird bucket has been empty for too long and there’s a lot of weird in the well.

Real life:
My sister’s boyfriend, intending to be helpful, being urgent as he can be when he thinks there’s an opportunity ripe on the vine sent me a link to a public radio writing job.  A journalist’s job.  Perhaps if I wasn’t so chock full of…everything.  Not in a manic way, just in a…oh, shit, I love writing and reading and I’ve played so hard at not having time or space for it and now, even out of terrible circumstances, I’ve been handed them back as a gift?…sort of way.  Keeping having to find ways to be grateful for his interest and support, but not express my bemusement at his high expectations of me.  My poor little niecelings and/or nephews.  I will give them an excess of ice cream and tell them unsettling tales of the sea and perhaps let them play with my children who will by then have mastered all of the Archer’s Tales.

Ah, yes.  Real.  Life.

I am not going to be afraid to be inspired because it might make a hard life harder.  I am going to be afraid of fearing inspiration because it has already made a hard life unlivable.

You’ll Wonder Where the Yellow Went

No reason to be positive, but it feels better so I’m trying it.

Well, you will be pleased as punch to know one thing: the therapy is attempting to get away from me and I am not letting it.  After yesterday’s effusive LIFE CHALLENGES, YES, OKAY post, I got a message from the therapist that the date and time I’d set through the county didn’t work for her and could I call and schedule a new time.   And there was this little part of my head that said….well…the location isn’t easy for me and maybe this isn’t going to be this smooth in and out thing and isn’t this just maybe a really horrible idea because you might have to feel things or learn things about yourself and they might ask you to go outside of your comfort zone and well, you won’t, you just won’t, but you don’t even need to worry about it because you don’t even need to call her back.

And I held that thought in my head, even alongside this opposing thought of Yes, I need to get a new time set.  I have to see this through.

And here’s where you all come in…I didn’t want to have to post here that I wasn’t going to return the call.  I mean, all this talk about change and if I can’t make this happen, how can any of the rest of it come to pass?  If all the elements remain the same, the results should remain the same as well.   And my interests in the matter should just dribble off the table.  So, I didn’t want to disappoint either of us, me or the collective you, and so…I called and left a message.  Probably since she called me at 8:00pm last night, it’ll be a bit to confirm a new time.  Either way, the ball is not in my court to extend an accidental basketball metaphor beyond its capabilities.


So, ahem, update.  I will be going, tomorrow, no less.  And the office is walking distance from mine so I’m going during lunch and I hope it doesn’t fuck me up too bad for the rest of the day.


And further along that vein, I think I just signed up for a vision boarding class.  Whoa there, you may be saying, what is this?  Actual self(elf) improvement going on here? I don’t know.  There is a glass of wine included. I guess I just know that I have to start throwing myself into this, more and harder and better.  Otherwise, backwards we slide in Whippets and staring into the middle distances.   It’ll be fun.  It’ll stretch creative muscles. And it’s taking advantage of resources that are in my community, that are easily accessible to me, and the women teaching it remind me of SARK and make me think of positive, good energy.   It seemed serendipitous and a baby leap I could make, so I leapt.

Good that you haven’t all given up on me yet, right?


I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead: Day 2

What helps, more than anything, is the thought that if you are a creative person and you desire to create, there are outlets in nearly every direction.

This blog has gone some small way to let off the accumulating pressure in my head over the past year and a half or whatever it’s been now, but there’s tons of stuff I can do along with writing on the novel.  The very organization of the things around me.  Poetry.  Drawing.  And guitar which I got tuned as best I could before it got dark and I had to eat and I figured the people living downstairs and next door might not appreciate me jamming with Euterpe into the wee hours (it is definitely less jamming and more me just running my fingers over the strings and pretending I’m a rock and roll goddess. I am going to remember standard tuning: E A D G B E.  See, memorized.  One small thing.  It makes me feel like I’m not running laps until someone declares the race over.  That my energy is being poured into my purpose and not through a sieve.

So, no, I have no calluses. Not metaphorical or literal ones to speak of.  I am a priestess of the dawn.  I crave the newness and I move from branch to branch to branch seeking something better.  I think, actually, if I ever broke away from my daily routine, the diurnal existence that is made up of mortgage and job and responsibilities that seem carved and yoked to my shoulders, that I could do okay as a traveler.  As an on the road type of person.  At least, I think, for a lot longer than a lot of people around me would probably imagine or expect.

I don’t think I’ll be a guitarist.  Or a musician.  But I can play for myself, sing singsong songs for myself, soundtrack the worlds for myself and that’s enough.  I don’t know if this writing is going to come to anything – this hulking beast of a story that has tendrils growing in every direction and wants more and more of me – so much more than I know how to give right now with work asking for just as much and yet…yet…just allowing myself to try makes me feel so much better.

For a little bit, I was just tired and overwhelmed (it’s all cyclical and biological and predictably surprising) and you want so much to curl in tighter.  To shut off access, to kneel down and make more and more rules about who you are and what you do and what your life qualifies you to participate in.  I do that a lot thinking that I am staving off catastrophe.  It makes me lonelier and tireder and it makes me, truly, depressed.

This way – even though it terrifies me – I feel like myself as I go down this road.   This pathless journey.  A life frittered away on joy and attempts at creation and struggles to evolve…that’s a way you can find peace.  The alternative?  No.  And I’m slowly, but surely drawing myself fully into the former and away from the latter.

Start 158.8
Today: 156.6
Goal: 153 by July 1