Ah! There's the rub with all this planning/organizing/reading/silence/breathing.... work. How did I manage to forget?
Yesterday, I organized and read, giving in to the siren call of a clean, open office where I can look out the window and write novels so gorgeous that virgin hearts break. Or something. Call it the "Room of One's Own" procrastination. The idea that with "just the right space," the next novel would flow.
I also saw 127 HOURS, the James Franco/Danny Boyle movie about the hiker who, trapped in a canyon, cut off his own arm to survive. So whatever complaints I may have, let's keep a little perspective, shall we?
I also spent the entire day silent, moving like a quiet mouse through my busy, productive day. It was wonderful.
Today, at work, I resolve to talk less and listen more. To enjoy the gifts this job offers, and to be intentional about my Fridays off. This coming Friday, we have plans in the afternoon (family event) but the morning is mine, and 9-12 will be work time. What work? Which fiction? I don't exactly know, but Nate seems closest to ripe for re-starting from scratch.
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