Writing under pressure! Exactly thirty minutes to write and post. Making things worse, I lost the document that contained the jottings for today’s post. My mind revolves fruitlessly. Oops! Looks like I found a topic. Creating under pressure. Creating against a timeline. Creating a job that must be accomplished. Time is short and I can’t put this off until I have more time to write a better post.
These specific moments will never come again.
It feels better to accomplish something I told myself I would accomplish, than possibly do a better job at a later date.
The more I write, the better I write, that’s the theory anyway and I will pretend that it’s true.
What I I am living a Collection of Habits
Segue to a new thought. I woke up this morning, and I felt like I was a different person. I didn’t feel as if I were another person, but a different side of myself feeling a different set of feelings than those to which I am accustomed. Makes me wonder how much of “who we think we are” is nothing more or less than a set of habits that run themselves automatically.
Although I am sure that the handful of my followers certainly think so because I haven’t posted for how long? Let me count the years: one, two. Think I will don the green eyeshades of self-delusion and pretend it hasn’t been longer. My “end of days” plan was to write, write and write even more. The plan execution was avoid writing, avoid writing and avoid writing even more.
Here I am (with new driving gloves) reeving the engine, pulling out of the driveway, and entering the fast lane. It has the be the fast lane because I must increase my speed to 75 miles an hour to catch up.
The Thanksgiving when I was seven, I suddenly announced to the tableful of relatives that I was going to marry when I was seventy. To this day, I haven’t the foggiest what prompted that declaration. Here I am, past seventy, rarely a bridesmaid, never a bride.
So here’s the deal. Having no grandchildren (Holy cow, I am at the age of great-grandchildren) to justify my existence to myself, needs must hustle my butt to claim a better epitaph than
All hail my favorite month: and it’s one of the nice long ones with thirty-one lovely days. October sunlight is softer and deeper gold while the sky itself is a blue that I have always called “God’s-eye blue.” It’s a good month for imagination. I am anticipating magical moments throughout the entire month.
On a practical note: the trees and shrubs outside my window are still summer green. I want the apricot tree to drop its leaves by mid-month as I am planning a drastic pruning combined with heavy fertilizer to prepare for a heavier crop next year.
P.S. First good news of the month; Susannah Clarke, author of that remarkable tour de force of imagination Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell has a new book coming: Paranisi.
Cream cheese replaced my brain yesterday, and the early part of this morning as well; which means my day was filled with a mix of the sticky, the bland, and the vague. Only two useful things were accomplished: an appointment for a Low Vision 60 test, and first contact with Suzi from the County Home Modification program.
The thing is, those calls were not for my benefit, but for that of another person. Doing things for others is not all altruism, but a “respectable” excuse for sidestepping my personal goals.
It’s a habit pattern that I have run for decades. All I am going to do about it is make a note on my habit tracker and move on without further thoughts. More and more, I find the less I think, the better my day goes