I’m resenting that I can’t be outside sitting in the sun with Nick, but it was I who made myself come inside to write.
I get too frustrated writing by hand. My penmanship cannot keep up with my mind. It’s too much hassle to cart out the desktop computer, so I’ve suggested to my honey bunny an iPad would be very helpful and happily, maybe we’ll be able to afford one next year. Definitely tops on my wish list. In the meantime, I had been reading in the sun but had started feeling antsy so time to write.
We’ve discovered that if I don’t put out some creative energy, mysteriously, out of nowhere, huge arguments blow in. I never start them. I try very hard not to start them. But somehow a gradual series of irritations builds, usually over the small stuff that we’re not supposed to sweat. From dishes in the sink to clutter on the floor to shouting and door slamming is such an easy, slippery slope, when I haven’t had a chance to commune with my muse.
The best times are when I’ve reached some revelation about myself. Then I either have enough energy to attack the clutter, or I am sublimely unconscious of it and Nick and I treat ourselves to a cricket match or book on tape/cd. Even just a moderately successful creative period leads to a more comfortable, relaxed mood.
So that’s why, even though the golden sunlit backyard beckons, I’ll slave away here a wee bit longer.