The last few days, with orders from the doctor to keep on moving, I’ve been killing the dust mites. We are really allergic to the dust mite poo, but it sounds so much nicer not to say that. So in small increments, I’ve been dusting the books, I’ve been getting rid of the books, and I’ve been creating a small work space.
Small is the operant word. Once the living room was redesigned, I found that pushing the table to the bookcase was truly non-functional. No wonder I never worked there. Once I turned it out into the room, my imagination began working again.
I could see myself drawing. Doodling. Looking out into the world and seeing light again. I could even envision a new technique. Or even doing.