I've started another blog space for those times I don't feel like physically writing. I can type far faster than I can write longhand. Of course, the urge to journal has dissipated with the searching for and creating this space. I mean, the initial impetus. That was this morning when I had a few dreams and awoke feeling very sorry for myself, iow didn't like myself much. Happily I pulled myself out of that and have had a pretty good day. What gets me about me is that I waste time on trivia when I could be; writing, painting, riding, doing yoga, going to the gym, walking the dogs, digging out lantana, cleaning up the yards, the list goes on.
Then there's this sense of solitude, which I crave and find necessary, but which also keeps me from talking to like-minded people much. Suppose the one being who would really understand me is the person who is almost always with me in my dreams, there but just out of sight, standing to my left or right. Strange that. I've questioned a few people about that but haven't met anyone who has this *shadow* in their dream although I think it's a common experience.
And then, writing here I think, I should be working on the book. Did bugger all yesterday and nothing today either. Ack! I'm my mother's daughter in some ways. Dad complained she started many things and didn't finish them. I made certain I broke the mold by completing one book. Just because I love to read and started with an idea, thought I'd try to write another. Of course the motivating buzz has long since died with the hard grind of writing. The initial idea even changed when I found it unworkable, altho the second idea hasn't worked out too badly. I just finished reading the last of the Vampire series. I procrastinated for a couple of weeks. A friend had lent me the book. It was like having a yummy chocolate bar in the pantry. Once I bit I'd have to finish it. I didn't want the book to be over. Now it is. Sigh. Should re-read it as she makes the writing seem so effortless, so natural. Like JK Rowling. Now you know (is there a you out there?) know what kind of writing I'm attempting although it is for adults, not children. I'm not even jumping on the bandwagon as I've been attempting this sort of book for many years until I finally finished the first one (don't ask, it was a learning experience). It's easy to say next year, after I've finished work, I will be able to devote more time to it but good habits start now, don't they? I'm a master procrastinator (God curse Spider Solitaire!). And that's a funny thing for once I've actually opened the ywriter software (brilliant writing software and it's free) and write the first word, it isn't that bad.
Then I beat myself up for having an unfinished painting lounging about the lounge room. I know I go through phases. I'll want to paint again but am put off when it doesn't go well. That's a self-defeating exercise. Who wants to be perfect from the get go? (me).
Our entire lives are learning experiences. Learning not to self-destruct with self-loathing. Learning to allow for oneself as one would make allowances for others - which I usually do. With the animals (birds, horses, dogs, cats) I am very patient usually. With myself, not so much. And I've so much to be grateful for. The six o'clock news is a grim reminder of how easily one could lose everything or even never have had anything. I AM grateful. Truly I am. You can hear a *but* in there, can't you. Maybe just best to leave it at that. I am grateful.
Good things: I'm getting fitter and more supple. The yoga I'm doing is making a huge difference to this 53 year old body. Wouldn't have believed it possible, but it's true. Perhaps not changing my shape so much but, for instance, I can bend over and lay my hands flat on the floor. I can finally do the cobra pose without pain. Other things too. Just by being consistent and working within my boundaries, not making it hurt. By breathing. It's wonderful. There's hope. I'm still smoking, darn it. 7 months now after 2 years smoke free. What a silly thing to do but there you go. It's a learning process.
Drinking a glass of red wine and listening to the masked lapwing creaking in the darkness. Life is good. And I have that different kind of glow from having written, even tho' it's not The Book. There's something that stretches and breathes inside when I put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard.
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