Retreat Denoument
Can't believe my week on retreat is almost over.
Of course I haven't accomplished as much as I had hoped/expected, but there's a lesson in that as well. It seems that I write slowly because I think about stuff, and it takes as long as it takes to think things through, no matter what the circumstances. Having said that, it is incredibly satisfying to be able to think about your own stuff uninterrupted whenever you like. I write the way I write, and shall have to accept that once and for all. The important thing (which I already knew, and the opportunity to "retreat" only confirmed) is to show up at the page every day without fail, no matter what is or isn't accomplished, and to keep going back to it again and again until roadblocks smooth out and the occasional flash of real insight occurs.
I've got pages, anyway. I like some of them quite a lot. The cat, that undiscerning creature, likes them all.
I think I might be a natural-born hermit. I could go on like this for quite some time. I talk to loved ones on the phone every day. I watch simulacra of human behavior and interaction via electronic media. (Actually, I've spent my evenings watching episodes of "The Legend of the Seeker" on hulu.com. It has been quite entertaining.) I say hello to people in the elevator and in stores. Aside from that, I'm on my own with the cat.
I like it, I really do.
I like the cat, too. I don't normally get to hang out with felines because all the men in my life are allergic.
MaxxCat is a recent rescue, a big ginger cat adopted quite recently from someone who saves cats from the street. Nobody knows much about him. He was out on his own for quite some time, but he has a really winning personality, so we figure he was loved once. He's incredibly suspicious of new people, of course. During my first two days here he hardly spoke to me, and scampered if I so much as moved. Now he's forever underfoot, circling my ankles, even trying to share my pillow. He wakes me up at night with his incessant purring. (It's like snoring, I explained to the Master Jedi; the only difference in the decibels.) Maxxie doesn't even mind if I toss him to the end of the bed; he just comes back, the purring barely interrupted. I hope he develops the same trust for the next catsitter on the list.
But no more digressions. Back to the story page. Always, back to the page. Thus the story grows ... a little every day.
Of course I haven't accomplished as much as I had hoped/expected, but there's a lesson in that as well. It seems that I write slowly because I think about stuff, and it takes as long as it takes to think things through, no matter what the circumstances. Having said that, it is incredibly satisfying to be able to think about your own stuff uninterrupted whenever you like. I write the way I write, and shall have to accept that once and for all. The important thing (which I already knew, and the opportunity to "retreat" only confirmed) is to show up at the page every day without fail, no matter what is or isn't accomplished, and to keep going back to it again and again until roadblocks smooth out and the occasional flash of real insight occurs.
I've got pages, anyway. I like some of them quite a lot. The cat, that undiscerning creature, likes them all.
I think I might be a natural-born hermit. I could go on like this for quite some time. I talk to loved ones on the phone every day. I watch simulacra of human behavior and interaction via electronic media. (Actually, I've spent my evenings watching episodes of "The Legend of the Seeker" on hulu.com. It has been quite entertaining.) I say hello to people in the elevator and in stores. Aside from that, I'm on my own with the cat.
I like it, I really do.
I like the cat, too. I don't normally get to hang out with felines because all the men in my life are allergic.
MaxxCat is a recent rescue, a big ginger cat adopted quite recently from someone who saves cats from the street. Nobody knows much about him. He was out on his own for quite some time, but he has a really winning personality, so we figure he was loved once. He's incredibly suspicious of new people, of course. During my first two days here he hardly spoke to me, and scampered if I so much as moved. Now he's forever underfoot, circling my ankles, even trying to share my pillow. He wakes me up at night with his incessant purring. (It's like snoring, I explained to the Master Jedi; the only difference in the decibels.) Maxxie doesn't even mind if I toss him to the end of the bed; he just comes back, the purring barely interrupted. I hope he develops the same trust for the next catsitter on the list.
But no more digressions. Back to the story page. Always, back to the page. Thus the story grows ... a little every day.