Day: February 1, 2017

A Day Off

I took the day off from novel writing yesterday. OMG, I hated doing so.

I hated taking time off from work back in the days when I worked or was in the military. Even when off, I checked in, kept in touch, monitored things and was ready to take care of problems. I was never really off.

The same goes on with my writing efforts. I frequently write in my head and love sitting down and writing a few hours every day. Writing provides me with intense joy and satisfaction. That’s great, I love that I receive emotional and intellectual rewards for my efforts. But, I’ve conditioned myself to write every day. I love that structure.

I cling to that structure.

I knew all that.

I hated knowing because knowing means I could either be willfully ignorant and act in bad faith, or I could ‘do the right thing’.

A Resist Trump march going on in Medford was the wedge issue. My wife wanted to attend and felt it important to attend. I wanted to attend but I wanted to write. I’d put off a lifelong desire to write and pursue my dreams to provide us security and help her pursue her career. Surely I deserve to pursue my dream.

Besides that, Michael, I told myself. You’ll be in a crowd, with all that this means. I’m not a social person. People are energy sucks for me. I’d be waaay out of my comfort zone.

Being out of my comfort zone is supposed to be good for me. Supposed to help me grow.

Yeah, but I don’t wanna grow. Can’t I just stay as I am? Can’t I just be selfish? Damn it, no.

Damn it.

The other aspect of this was working around the march period. We were meeting up at 11:40 AM. The location was thirty minutes away by car. The march itself was to be from noon to 1:30. Basically, I consider that the meat of the day. I could push, get up early, wiggle in some writing time beforehand. I considered the logistics and issues with this, knowing the Boulevard opens early enough, but is busy early and very full. Chances of finding a table were low.

I could write afterward. If I was truly dedicated, I would, but here is where my crutches were employed, things like my energy levels and writing preferences.

I could try writing at home.

Yes, I’ve tried that multiple times. It’s hugely disappointing and frustrating, partially because its silence highlights the interruptions, and the interruptions are of a personal nature.

That left me with not writing.

This so bothered me that I didn’t sleep Monday night. According to Fitbit, I achieved a little over three hours.

I understand myself, and I don’t understand myself. I can control myself and I can’t control myself. I’m such a conflicted person.

Worse, and not surprising, was that since I didn’t write, my writer wasn’t happy and kept pushing words and scenes into front center stage during the march. Apparently nobody notified him that I was taking the day off.

As if he’d care. He and the muse have independent contracts. The contracts stipulate they’re required to use my mind and body to do my writing, but they don’t always accept the limitations incumbent in that arrangement.

TG I’m back here today, coffee at hand, free and ready to write like crazy again, at least one more time.

Here I go. Three…two…one….

Blast-off.

 

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Glass

My dreams were like glass last night, slick and transparent, and then breaking with sound, jarring me from one direction and composure, launching me into a spin.

I saw myself in different worlds, and viewed myself in different times, leaving me to awaken and wonder, where am I now and where have I been?

My body was rigid. The colors struck me with hurricane force and the sounds were like boulders falling down around me. Stars stared down at me and I stared back. The Sun lit the darkness with a sudden flare, and I saw more, and further, in its blaze. I saw mountains and seas, buildings and cities, volcanoes and swamps, violent red sunsets and cold red mornings where my breath fogged the air into crystallized obscurity. I saw sunshine on ice and moonlight on ink.

But I stood straight and remained myself throughout the changes. And awakening, thinking and contemplating the melting shards of dream, I was pleased that I had that much.

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unplug

And sometimes, so I think. Withdraw. Disengage. Pause and let my thoughts settle like the mud swirling in stream, like the motes dancing in the sunshine, like the leaves caught in a whirlwind.

Finding the center is hard. Keeping the balance is difficult. Stilling the thoughts, impossible.

Yet, I try.

Amy's avatarMy Path with Stars Bestrewn

unplug

It’s more for me as with going into a forest:
if you sit quietly for a long time,
the life around you emerges.
As the world grows ever more clamorous,
my hunger for silence steepens.
I unplug the landline.

~Jane Hirshfield

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Today’s Theme Music

This whimsical song, ‘At the Zoo’, is from yonks ago. I don’t agree with Simon and Garfunkel’s characterizations of the animals but they’re interesting. Reading about the song on good old Wikipedia.org, I discover that the song was written for ‘The Graduate’  but was never used.

I remember being young and awash in sunshine as I walked some Laketon Road in Wilkinsburg where we lived in a duplex. Dad had given me a small transistor radio. A brown leather carrying case was provided for it. I could slip my belt through the back of the leather case and carry the radio around but have my hands frees. I was listening to this song, clapping my hands to it as it speeds up, trying to sing the lyrics.

Anyway, it’s a mellow, lighthearted song. Hope you have a mellow, lighthearted day. Me, I’m drinking coffee, listening to the music, and reading the neighborhood out my window.

It’s my own sort of zoo.

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