I'm tired of feeling like I can't catch up/keep up, and yet when I have time to do such things, I piddle it away.
Sometimes that piddling is in the form of self-care, so it's really not piddling, right? I hate it when I have to listen to my own sermons.
I burst into tears after seeing a piece of art in a most unexpected and unlikely place a couple of weeks ago. OK, burst is a strong verb, but "leaked into tears" doesn't have the same cliche-ness, even if it is more accurate and perhaps more poetic. I walked away from the print of a yellow house, but then went back, which is progress in and of itself. I've long tried to hold onto the idea that (when at all possible), it's best just to purchase that which moves me deep in my soul. The print is sitting in this room, and I find that I'm growing from it.
A dear woman gave me a gift this past week. I need to write the story behind the piece of pottery and why she gave it to me before I forget.
I woke up at about 4:00 this morning, and drifted between rest and restless for the next two hours, pondering the what-ifs, the what-nexts and the so-whats. Again, there's a reason that we write the sermons that we do -- we often need to hear them the most.
There is a break in the days to come, and for that I'm thankful. And giddy.
There are words and bits floating in my head. I thought about doing nanowrimo this fall, but not seriously. Of course I still have a couple of days to make some sort of commitment if only in my mind, right?
I raked leaves this afternoon, after confirming students and being relative-polite at parties. I love to rake leaves. And yet I wondered why my hands were tender as they cupped the cold wine glass -- really wondered, until I remembered. I'm sure there's a poem or a story in there somewhere about laying hands on crinkly-haired teen-age boys, glossy-haired teen-age girls, the leaves underfoot and my citified hands that gathered leaves and invoked that pesky holy spirit. but you'll note my awakening time this morning, and my lack of a nap (not that I'm a napper, but it's a good excuse) and realize that I simply don't have the creative bubbles within my syntax tonight.