Litany
I am frustrated because all I can think about is being overwhelmed and tired and how this keeps me from focusing. I'm trapped in the moment of it, the obligations, the tiredness, my head not so much empty as stormy, gathering clouds, thunder, lightning.
I'd write about kittens, puppies, flowers in bloom, if I thought that I could make it less than trite.
Instead, I'm stuck inside my rushing mind, and this on a day when I have no other morning obligations but to the blog. Lately I've felt like this more days than not, and I know that more distractions lie ahead. Volunteer obligations, Halloween, a short trip to Southern California, and maybe, maybe if we're lucky, closing on the house. If that happens there will be insurance companies to call, meetings to schedule, money to juggle, ranges to shop for, furnace and hot water issues to fix. If it doesn't happen, there will be house-shopping and move-planning. All of this is in addition to the weekly slog, the cleaning and gardening, the cooking and shopping, the dishwashing, the dog walking and litter box scraping. The hour or so I spend each week in the kid's classroom doesn't count as slog -- I enjoy it and feel useful and he likes it, too -- but it is part of the distraction, the outside world coming in.
And what about my weekly therapy appointments? Going back to therapy feels good, though a bit self-indulgent, like downing a glass of champagne or three before pulling off the bandages. It also packs a wallop. I leave each appointment in a muddy daze, hobble back home with my mind elsewhere. Yesterday I made a post-therapy stop to Crossroads Trading Company, a used clothing store. There were too many racks, too much information, but even worse was the soundtrack. Every song was from the early to mid-1980s: U2's New Year's Day, Frankie Goes to Hollywood's Relax, 'Til Tuesday singing Voices Carry. It was time travel, and I'd already been back, thank you very much. Who wants to be reminded of their former helplessness by relentless pop tunes? I travel with the past neatly packaged, but the music brings back entire scenes and feelings and every conclusion is preordained.
Here's the thing: without peace, I can't write. My mind flits around. I have a hard time concentrating. I want to reassure myself, tell the words that it will be safe for them to come out soon enough. Then I look at the schedule and see it booked for the next four weeks, every week with something major to focus on.
I need to learn how to carve out time for writing, to tell myself that my mornings aren't "extra" or "free." Maybe I also need to learn how to relax, to not let the slogs and obligations take over my creative life. And, as Jim Murdoch wrote in the comments here a few weeks ago, "Love finds a way." I've got a story coming along very slowly that keeps calling me back no matter what. It could be the real thing. So now that I've gotten this bit of throat-clearing out of the way, I'm off to work on it.
Image: If I could just focus on calming imagery -- the Pacific Ocean from Point Bonita, for example -- maybe I would be writing something transcendent and amazing right now instead of coming up with this litany of complaints.