"once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." e.e. Cummings
I have been missing writing. The feeling is something like putting a thing in a good spot and then forgetting where that is, then figuring if it's in such a good spot it ought to turn up sometime. It appears I am describing laziness. I have wanted to write but the drive hasn't been overpowering enough.
I keep thinking I ought to be keeping a journal of my pregnancy, noting all the physical and emotional feelings and all the little conversations Jim and I have. I just haven't. but I should. I have also wanted to take pictures of my belly as it grows- so far I have one at 14 weeks. Well, that's not true, I have one taken after I took the pregnancy test in France, and then any picture of me from the summer could be considered 8 weeks-ish...
I overwhelm myself with all of my self-made expectations. It makes me brittle when I have to take direction from anyone else and it permits me to idolize people. It also makes me inactive, stymied.
But that's blessed unrest in a way isn't it, the grit in the pearl. You deal with being uncomfortable just long enough to get to the OH ALRIGHT! stage and then you do something worthy. I am writing now, OK?? And I like it, feels good.
Tonight, right after I make cream of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches from scratch (America's Test Kitchen, of course) I will clean off my work table, turn on my music and get busy making art. Damnit. Afterwards, I write about it.