It's a fact: dress shirts with rolled-up cuffs make me happy.
So does watching youtube vids of the guys in action, but that’s more problematic, since my video-watching activities are limited to library days, and beaming at the screens of public library computers is just so undignified.
But I persevere. *grin*
This month was supposed to be all about writing, but instead has been more about reading, and sorting. When I’m not at work, I’m out in my storage space, going through the boxes of flotsam. Lately, this has taken a very liberating turn. More empty boxes are being piled up in the corner than are being repacked. I am excavating the true ephemera of my life, and it is as if I am saying ‘no’ to every external expectation, every layered piece of junk pasted over the windows of my spirit. I am starting over. I don’t need to save for what if’s and just in cases. Just me, stepping into my own life, with the things that are beautiful to me.
The days I’ve spent sorting and the nights I’ve spent writing are waking me up to a portion of my interior self that had fallen silent, landlocked, in the years since the road trip. Perhaps the Atlantic is still working its magic on me, revitalizing all the hollows, in preparation for the next phase. The topsoil is thin now, you see, and I can almost push my way out through. During my library days, when I’m not on the computer, imbibing music (old & new), I’m in the stacks, greedy, feeding what’s gone astray.
Right now, I have piled near my bed an artisan bread handbook, Julia Cameron’s “The Sound of Paper,” a survey of traditional Japanese architecture, Leanne Prain’s “Hoopla: The Art of Unexpected Embroidery,” “1000 Ideas by 100 Manga Artists,” a massive history of Japanese woodblock prints (oh gods, the colors), and “The Art of The Fellowship of The Ring.” (Of course I do, it has John Howe’s floor plan for Bag End in it, how could I resist that?)
And the bread book makes me want to draw, and the architecture makes me want to write, and the embroidery...well, I miss the slow painting with colored thread, the shaping with darts and tucks, carving muslin into figures like it was clay.
I don’t know how well I might be doing as regards my resolutions, but something’s happening, just under the surface. I’m percolating.
So I’ll write fanfiction for favorite anime characters, and read it for favorite television characters, and watch videos of energetic endearing men, and bounce in my chair to new sounds and beloved old resurrected ones, too.
I’m done with this place. I’m done with waiting. You may not notice it, you might not recognize it, but I’m going into my future.
But I persevere. *grin*
This month was supposed to be all about writing, but instead has been more about reading, and sorting. When I’m not at work, I’m out in my storage space, going through the boxes of flotsam. Lately, this has taken a very liberating turn. More empty boxes are being piled up in the corner than are being repacked. I am excavating the true ephemera of my life, and it is as if I am saying ‘no’ to every external expectation, every layered piece of junk pasted over the windows of my spirit. I am starting over. I don’t need to save for what if’s and just in cases. Just me, stepping into my own life, with the things that are beautiful to me.
The days I’ve spent sorting and the nights I’ve spent writing are waking me up to a portion of my interior self that had fallen silent, landlocked, in the years since the road trip. Perhaps the Atlantic is still working its magic on me, revitalizing all the hollows, in preparation for the next phase. The topsoil is thin now, you see, and I can almost push my way out through. During my library days, when I’m not on the computer, imbibing music (old & new), I’m in the stacks, greedy, feeding what’s gone astray.
Right now, I have piled near my bed an artisan bread handbook, Julia Cameron’s “The Sound of Paper,” a survey of traditional Japanese architecture, Leanne Prain’s “Hoopla: The Art of Unexpected Embroidery,” “1000 Ideas by 100 Manga Artists,” a massive history of Japanese woodblock prints (oh gods, the colors), and “The Art of The Fellowship of The Ring.” (Of course I do, it has John Howe’s floor plan for Bag End in it, how could I resist that?)
And the bread book makes me want to draw, and the architecture makes me want to write, and the embroidery...well, I miss the slow painting with colored thread, the shaping with darts and tucks, carving muslin into figures like it was clay.
I don’t know how well I might be doing as regards my resolutions, but something’s happening, just under the surface. I’m percolating.
So I’ll write fanfiction for favorite anime characters, and read it for favorite television characters, and watch videos of energetic endearing men, and bounce in my chair to new sounds and beloved old resurrected ones, too.
I’m done with this place. I’m done with waiting. You may not notice it, you might not recognize it, but I’m going into my future.