...and therein lies the dilemma. For all of Virginia Woolf's prognostications about "a room of one's own," I find mental space more urgent. For me to write today, this beautiful , warm Saturday, I not only have to flush out the busy and complicated work week with all of its mundane and irritating aspects. I have to deny myself the sheer beauty of the day and stay with the writing. Stay with the work. Sometimes I have to tell myself , "Get back to the laptop, Michelle, stay with it. Atta girl!" I feel worried lately, a bit bogged down, a tad sad, though nothing I can put my finger on. Maybe it is the sense of nothing ever really being done---that every minute of every day is often redoing what just keeps getting undone. There are some days that seem as though they hum along so nicely. I am really grateful for those days. Then there are those that are fraught with all sorts of complications. Days that I just fight back tears of frustration and the feeling that, despite my best intentions, I am being misunderstood, and it is working against me.
So right now, I am settling down,making the coffee, lighting a candle and limbering up my fingers. A bit of Edith Piaf in the background, to be followed by some George Gershwin (I am definitely in a Blue Rhapsody mood) and then perhaps some of Arvo Part's Tabula Rasa to get me deeper into the zone.
We'll see.
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