Heat wave
Yes, it's hot here, too, but I've hardly noticed. I've been enjoying a visit from miaokuancha.
The plan for today was to sit together and write. She is the only person with whom I can do that. She brings
peace and space with her wherever she goes - space to think, space to pause before speaking and to reflect
afterward; space to read, to write, to create.
Today she was afire with inspiration, sat down at my computer, and completed a whole chapter of her
wonderful, poetic fanfic while I drifted in and out, puttering, circling around but never settling down to do the
same. In fact, I fell deeply asleep for half the afternoon. Me, the insomniac. When I awoke, she presented me
with beautiful, lyrical pages to read.
We dined on wonderful food, and she drifted off to bed and presumably, into the untroubled sleep of the artist
who has been creatively productive.
Now the insomnia is back. While the rest of the house breathes with sleep, I lurk alone in my private corner,
unable to close my eyes until I bring something to fruition in my own story. It is taking small, unexpected turns.
Every other sentence surprises. I don't really know where this story is going. It is dragging me.
It is a joy to share time with someone with whom one can be quiet and productive, yet fully present. Someone
who understands the struggles and shares the achievements. Someone with whom there isn't the slightest
competition; only the shared journey.
More of life should be like this.
The plan for today was to sit together and write. She is the only person with whom I can do that. She brings
peace and space with her wherever she goes - space to think, space to pause before speaking and to reflect
afterward; space to read, to write, to create.
Today she was afire with inspiration, sat down at my computer, and completed a whole chapter of her
wonderful, poetic fanfic while I drifted in and out, puttering, circling around but never settling down to do the
same. In fact, I fell deeply asleep for half the afternoon. Me, the insomniac. When I awoke, she presented me
with beautiful, lyrical pages to read.
We dined on wonderful food, and she drifted off to bed and presumably, into the untroubled sleep of the artist
who has been creatively productive.
Now the insomnia is back. While the rest of the house breathes with sleep, I lurk alone in my private corner,
unable to close my eyes until I bring something to fruition in my own story. It is taking small, unexpected turns.
Every other sentence surprises. I don't really know where this story is going. It is dragging me.
It is a joy to share time with someone with whom one can be quiet and productive, yet fully present. Someone
who understands the struggles and shares the achievements. Someone with whom there isn't the slightest
competition; only the shared journey.
More of life should be like this.