As I write this, the temperature outside slowly climbs. All this week it has rained and been cool. I walked every day after work anyway. There were five days of rain. When I walked yesterday the rain broke and the sun emerged for about an hour. My jacket and layers became too warm then. I am still considering whether I will walk today or not.
As a writer I pride myself in paying attention to the details. Yesterday I was shocked to see a small patch of 10 7 foot sunflowers in a yard I pass several times a week. I wondered if they had sprung up from the rain or they had escaped my attention before then. I guess I wasn’t in a place where I was ready to see them til yesterday. The sunflowers were a welcome sight in one way and a reminder of my flaws in another.
As I write this I think about how I have been incorrect about so much the last couple of days. I thought I had a writing meeting today but do not. The disappointment is immense. More so than it should be. I am consciously thinking about how I want to savor the Sunday time since I have to return to work tomorrow. The ease in to virtual learning is over and tomorrow the schedule is packed. I have written this morning and composed fiction. I have considered how I want to spend the day. I am hoping a book club meets today but anticipate it will not because the host is in Mexico. I feel like the rain clouds are weighing on me even though they have passed in the sky.
Yesterday I was highly irritated and the day did not go as I would have hoped. It happens. I am reminded that my mantra is true – Everything is temporary. Everything had been going quite smooth for too long and I knew it. I listened to a masterclass about Enneagram and honestly learned some things about my type that I am not pleased with. It made sense and was true but that reflection is the mirror was difficult to battle yesterday. There were other irritants as well, like the WIFI dropping in the middle of a podcast. Unusual and I didn’t want to be with my own thoughts.
As I write this I think about how I finished Near Witch by V.E. Schwab last night. It was not as satisfying to finish a novel yesterday. I am fascinated by the story behind this novel. She wrote it in 2 hour blocks while she was working somewhere else. She wrote it in a cafe. There is a romance to that snippet I admire.
As I write this I think about how I am obsessed with the idea that if I went to high school in a different town I would have come to writing as a serious pursuit much earlier. There was a lack of writing influence in my youth. I knew no creative people. I only knew books. Books I knew well, but there was no real life model for me then. I have this fantasy that I would have gone to school for creative writing and been immersed in an MFA. I should appreciate how far I have come in this life but today every thing seems heavy.
As I write this I send you peace and light to your realm of the world.