Snapshots I had a problem last week, where I lost my talent. I have been in the tall grass, my friends. I have been in the weeds.
But I figured out what was happening on Friday, and will be making strides to head this problem off at the pass. There is now a Post-it stuck to the side of my monitor, a helpful reminder: maybe you need COFFEE. Oh, the joys of addiction.
Easy enough to jot down such a thing, but, of course, I didn't have any coffee today. And -- surprise, surprise -- very little has gotten done. Like everything else in life: easier to say something than to do it.Signed onto Adium this afternoon, because I was reading the archives of Belle de Jour and wanted to share some of the naughtier bits with someone. But as I scanned down my buddy list, I couldn't figure out who to ping. After all, who else shares my passion for discussing the intersection of sex and money? Not many of my friends, I feel. Most of those people are focused on actually attaining one or the other, as opposed to discussing them. So I can understand their lack of interest.
I've become very appreciative of silence recently. It's not good for when I'm supposed to be focusing on some task, but if I'm just reading or web-surfing, with the fan in my room blowing and the afternoon sun drifting through the window... The quiet can be extremely serene. There's something about silence that gives solitude some dignity.
It's for the advanced hermit, though -- Emily Dickinson and crazy old men who live on mountains. Beginners should feel free to leave VH1 playing in the background.I just realized that this goes both ways -- I can't relax and listen to music, because music always accompanies some activity, some goal or action: running, writing, working. This is a good thing to understand about my brain.
I've started a new yoga workshop, after about a year of no yoga whatsoever, so it's good that it's for beginners. I dedicated my first practice towards reconnecting with Old Liz. Old Liz had her problems, but she knew what she wanted out of life. She has been missed.
Today, my shoulders have been tense with ache, but it's a feeling I associate with days past. And I am breathing in and out, just slightly better than before. If you think that sounds dumb, then you have never sat for ten minutes at a time, doing nothing but focusing on even, regular breaths -- and then screwed up.Earlier this evening, as I cleaned the kitchen in a fit of "oh, my God, cannot really fathom the concept of doing anything creative right now," I heard that voice in the back of my head -- the mutter from the cheap seats, the gentle prod of my once loud and boisterous ambitions (my ambitions can only afford to spring for the cheap seats, which I suppose is part of the problem). "What are you doing?" the crowd murmured. "What are you doing, really?"
"Scraping cheap candle wax off wood," I replied. Which was the truth. I wish there was something more clever to say, but, well. I steal all my good lines from the cheap seats.I've been so disconnected from the act of writing, lost touch with that part of my brain. And that is dumb. I used to burn for words. I used to stay up all night in high school, working on awful fiction with my headphones on. I used to fill journals with self-important nonsense. So, yes, this entry isn't exactly thrilling, but writing it has been helpful. Writing -- the simple blissful action of it -- has been helpful.
Too easily, I forget.Labels: in which our heroine
posted by Liz # 12:18 AM
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