Do you ever have those days when you just don’t know what to do with yourself?
I feel like I’m spinning my wheels a bit. I’ve been having troubles getting into any particular book, and I want, desperately, to finish something. I first drafted “Grey lady” and am now writing another short story, about a young woman named Aziza who is a “bell witch”…she walks through her village at night, the bells she wears scaring off evil. So, at least I’m writing, but gah. Let’s finish one of my 13 books, shall we Miss Muse?
I know how very fast time goes, and the fact that it’s already the end of May makes me wonder if I’m going to meet my goal of completing another book. I’m not doing very well, because I forget that we find a million ways to fill out time…re-doing the filing system (Which is done! Yay!) cleaning the computer, re-doing the bathroom. I need to make myself set blocks of time aside better.
I did manage, however, to finish my bodice for Saturday’s SCA event. The costume is in evolution, I originally used a very sheer cloth to make the shirt and skirt, and now I regret it, because while it is lighter – it breathes very nice, and I don’t feel dead so quickly – it is rather too sheer, and if you thought that having an over skirt would provide enough shadow/coverage so that people couldn’t see your legs through the skirt, then, like I once was, you are mistaken.
So, gauze. I’m making my next blouse and underskirt out of gauze. At least the skirt. I can’t fence in a gauze shirt. I will photograph as soon as the bodice is ironed.
So, that’s it. My brain is sort of clogged up with the Pirate event that I’m helping with, sewing, fencing, reading, renovating the house, taking care of the garden. (The Irises look fabulous! I need to show them to you.) But these things, they are also in sort of a holding pattern. My father, we just have to wait until he heals. Fencing, I have to just wait and hope that I am doing the right things to make the club strong. The other stuff is all, well, you pick it up, you work on it until you can’t.
The good news is that despite the fact that I have apparently declared this the Summer of Self Improvement…where I am working on everything to see how much better I can make it…I am regaining my calm. I have this image, I’ve always had, of this pool of cool, calm water in my chest, over my heart. In the past, when I needed to, I was able to dip into that water, concentrate on it, and remind myself to be cool and calm…to have grace under fire. Between all the things that I won’t bore you with my reiterating, I’ve had cups taken out of that pool, but never at any time was there a point where I was able to tap into something to refill that pool. When I wasn’t upset about something, or wired up, I was asleep. Since last September my life has been a roller coaster of crazy, and I look back with regret at how skitzy I must have seemed to the people around me, because I used to be so proud of how calm I am. Dignity and decorum – those used to be my watchwords.
Note: I do act dramatic about things to be funny. Because I’m a nutter. And no matter what has happened in my past, when things are really, really bad, I still become dead calm. So, I guess the rule of thumb is, if I’m cussing and festering over it, it’s not really horridly bad. If I seem to be handling it with a serious, calm voice, taking it in steps, you should be worried.
Well, maybe not, since I intend to be more like that now. But we know what intentions are, right?
Anyway, point is, it feels SO good to be calm again. To sit and think of the lake inside of me, quiet and inviting, and know that I feel like I’m in control, like I’m ready to walk my path.
Maybe, to get back to my complaint about writing, the fact is, that I am in a healing process, and as I recover everything will start snapping back into place. It already is…I’m slowly recovering ground that I had lost, rebuilding everything. I’ve not gone through a lot, not compared to some people, God bless them, but I’ve gone through enough, trying desperately to juggle all of my goals and responsibilities. So, the moral of the story, if there is ever a moral to my maunderings, is to do one’s best, to try and be happy when one can, and to let life roll on – not over you – and just keep breathing.
Now that all that is out of my head, let’s see if I can get any writing done.
PS. The subject line is from a Tanya Donnelly’s “Landspeed Song”