Herself: Talked with Bee about everything but her weight loss class. Gotta call her back. Still living “as if” except in painting class. A thank you lunch at a new restaurant. Ate soup and salad. Sorted Christmas Boxes. Worked on a piece about ship historians. Dinner entre and salad then M&M’s….ah, guilt. Only up once in night to reup on cough syrup and drops and the blue pill too.
Reading: Finished a new book about the war years in the Gurnsey’s. Touching.
Balance: Letting go of the massive sense of continuing failure.
Oh, but that’s what you are best at….the old argument. What I am best at is what I am doing now. That’s a better argument. I’m letting go of the old and moving on to the new. If I’m not working on a novel, what am I doing. I’m not going to my Wednesday writing class. That too feels freeing. I am going to my Thursday writing class. That feels right.
Life shrinks as you get older. Mine does anyway. Every day seems full, filled to the brim with worthwhile things, causes, and busyness. Never a spare moment, it appears. I, with my common cold, find time even more compressed that usual. If it takes ten minutes to blow my nose, then to take out the tissue, prepare the tissue, blow the nose, and banish the tissue seems to take an hour.
I don’t seem to have a proper perspective on things.
I seem to want to play with my cookbooks and not with my paints. I’m about to launch a barrage of negative notes to an Amazon seller who took my money but didn’t send me my new quilting book. I want to play with my fabrics. I relish this “free” day….only free because I am fading away from a commitment…..and plan on playing all day. When I’m not working on something, that is. Silly me.