I woke up early this morning, another anxiety-ridden cruise dream fresh in my head, wondering what I'd write about.
While on one hand writing every day is getting easier—it's not fraught with the gasping-for-breath panic I used to feel when sitting down and staring at a blank screen, sometimes there's not much material to work with. The drama days, the anxiety trills, the self-doubt, frustration, anger storms are excellent inspiration. But sometimes, and trust me, it's not that I'm not grateful for them, life is more even keeled and that's not particularly riveting.
I laid in bed, fragments of thoughts bumping into each other, wanting to at least get something started before the morning crunch when I'd lose myself in other people's missing backpacks, breakfast issues, snow boot debates.
And then, I looked out the window.
Snow. So much snow I couldn't see more than 2 blocks down 6th Avenue. Streets almost empty except for the stalwart taxi and the occasional plow scraping by. White buildings turning grey in the diminished light. The eerie almost silence took my breath away. Not for its uniqueness, its beauty, but for what I knew would be there when I checked my phone.
Snow day. I had both emails and texts from NYC. A message from our parent coordinator. What was going to be my day of responding to the universe's double smacks on the head that I needed to get WRINKLE going, of having that extra time alone to build up reserves before yet another 48 hours that leave me battered and spent, was now part of a 3 day weekend.
I HATE 3 DAY WEEKENDS.
Call me resentful. Call me selfish. Call me a bad partner/parent. I relish my time. I revel in no one asking me for anything. While writing this I already had to fend off various requests and the glares of annoyance that I'm not quite immune to when politely declined.
You can also call me rigid. Bitchy. Set in my ways. Non-adventurous. Uninspired. Stuck-in-the-mud. I'm not rushing around looking for snow pants and sleds and whipping up enthusiasm to explore the storm.
I want my solitude back.
It's only 8:27 in the morning and I'm already yearning aching for Monday.
1 comment:
I don't have any advice for the solitude thingie...
But for the writing, I keep a book handy which will stir my pot. I might also read the book to read it, but often I have something else around just to read. Maybe think of it this way: it's good to have both a pot boiler and a pot stirrer. Writing gets easier then.
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