At some point, while I wasn’t paying attention, I hit half a million views on ye olde blog.
Yay me. I know half of those are Good Karen. She’s confessed to reading everything, several times.
She has been amazing lately. Her medical background has allayed a lot of my fears and she is just cool beans in general.
7 years ago in December I started talking to myself, and people read it.
So weird.
I did a thing.
I am actually part of a private group on Facebook called ‘I did a thing’, people like me who have anxiety and executive function disorder. I haven’t posted there, and now I can’t, but it’s nice to see people doing things and be part of a community that cheers each other on about accomplishments that seem mundane to others.
I sewed a skirt that I bought at Disney 4 years ago and ripped the first time I wore it 3 years ago. It has been sitting in the ‘mend me’ bag forever. Now I can wear it on my next adventure. I feel satisfied.
Mercury retrograde is the best time ever for clearing out psychic and actual garbage, tying loose ends, fixing old things and letting go of what no longer serves us. And eventually I will get to the point of this article which is exactly that.
Papa Mercury spinning backwards is also notorious for having exes waltz out of the woodwork with a ‘sup’.
But we will get to that too. Probably in another article.
Right now I am looking at the sewing kit on my chaise, the pile of clean laundry that needs putting away, the bracelets I wore yesterday that are sitting next to me and an unmade bed. I have enough time before my next doctor’s appointment to fix all of that and do yoga, but I am not doing it.
I have been back for 2.5 weeks and I really thought I would have been writing for 2 of them by now. I have 27 000 words started on a novel that I seem to have channeled from the ether, it is the most euphoric experience for a writer, to see what is happening, to be tapped into another time and place and just be the scribe. I want that feeling back. But first I have to put that last load of laundry away, finish sewing that last skirt, organize my insane amount of bathroom stuff. I really don’t need to buy shampoo or lotion for a year, deodorant for another 6 months.
I was going away, not packing much in the way of toiletries and just buying new wherever I landed, then traveled back in time to the island where I had a full cupboard of more stuff, and some more stuff. And some more stuff and more stuff and so on and so on. I gotta chill out and use what I have.
I think part of me remembers being dirt poor. Kinda compounded and renewed by the plague. I can’t work right now, there is no work. I didn’t panic buy anything, so much as kept everything I had, just in case. Hotel soaps, deodorant that I don’t love but I might need. I am also not used to having this much downtime. Parts of me love it and parts of me remember that feeling of leaving perdition and having all of these adventures waiting for me. Some of them happened and they were amazing. I have a drawer full of ticket stubs from places I have been. To go from hyperactivity and never staying in one place more than 11 days, to 92 days in the same room in the same house with the same routine was a shock to my system.
I think I am better equipped for extended periods alone than most. The Milton house I would go weeks without seeing anyone but the lady ringing up my groceries. Solitude is peaceful for me.
And, as I cited in my last article, I have emotionally matured a significant amount since February. I can see very clearly where I was and where I am.
At this moment I am attempting to conquer this.
I always thought it was how I was raised. My mother takes great pride in her home and in this regard, I am my mother’s daughter. It has morphed into a source of pride for me. I have a skill, whether innate or learned (or both) of creating these beautiful, Zen yet cozy spaces wherever I live. When I got back to the island, I cleaned the house for the better part of 2 weeks. Room by room, finding lost treasures and putting things back to ‘right’. But right for whom?
Brian walked into my room on the third day, my old room, my first room and said, ‘it’s like you never left’. Kinda felt that way.
I also didn’t write when I was there.
Nor did I write at the farm. I was too busy with busy work.
I am noticing a trend here. And if this meme speaks true, I am not alone.
I remember having massive amounts of guilt about all my ‘crafting’ stuff. I never had time to sit down and make things. I think the truth was I did have time to sit down and make things, but I made everything else more important than me and how I actually wanted to spend my time.
I still drool over those huge armoires retrofitted to be a crafters paradise. I dream of making things and I derived and immense amount of satisfaction from mending a skirt yesterday, it’s a really beautiful skirt. When I play fantasy in my head about my dream house and my dream life, there is a room where I can make rugs and wall hangings and jewelry and head dresses. But I never budget for time in my fantasy land.
And during quarantine, I just didn’t have room or use for the things I imagined making. This room is gonna explode if I bring home one more shiny thing. But still…
When did making art have to have practicality attached? I just like making stuff. I loved playing dress up as a kid and would love to make fairy princess crowns for exactly that, and for women like me who still want to play fairy princess and dress up.
And writing. Why is this a guilty pleasure for me, or something I have to schedule after everything else is done.
And more importantly, how do I unlearn this?
My partner is incredibly supportive of me writing. And it almost makes me squirm. I am not used to this.
I think I made a good first step today.
I wrote this before I tackled the ‘practical’ things I have to do today.
And tomorrow is a new day.
Hopefully I can go back to channeling the story of 4 witches in the woods, I want to see what happens next.