24 November, 2008

Seeing Through the Days of Haze

Once in awhile, I find myself in a prolonged haze, with apathy creeping in. It's times like these that the old movies and chick-flicks find their way to my television screen. Naps become frequent and lengthy, and I start fantasizing about things currently out of reach, like renting a van and driving across India, or buying a stone shell of a Tuscan house and becoming an olive farmer. Nothing at hand holds interest, and only that which is beyond my grasp is appealing.

When I worked for the pimped-out non-profit, or the places before that, I might take a "mental health day" or just bury myself in work and, soon enough, the haze would clear. In worst case scenarios, I'd simply pack up and jump off to San Francisco for a week, or run away with the circus for a few days of French Quarter fortune telling in New Orleans.

Alas, being a car-free, cash-poor housewife and fledgling freelance writer precludes those tried and true forms of self-medication. After all, I can't exactly call in sick, and I certainly don't feel like burying myself in dishes or laundry, though both are quietly begging for my attention. There will be no spontaneous adventures abroad, or even afternoon tea in the city. So, how does one push through the haze?

I need a project.

Oh sure, there are a million things undone around this little suburban plot. There are weeds to pull, seeds to sew, a patio to dig, and likely much more. And I do have my bursts of productivity. Currently, there are two steaming cauldrons of broth simmering away atop the stove, and the laundry has all been put in its place. I've plans to vacuum a bit and inventory our food stores, but today these hold no real satisfaction.

I really need a project.

For the past, ohh, dozen years I've had ideas for more than five books, novel and non-fiction alike, rolling around inside my head, some even testing the waters in the outside world, but none have really come to much at all. Perhaps I could try again, and really get one started. I've recently concocted an idea for a new business I'd like to try, but the car situation has slowed that roll, though I suppose some prep-work could begin. I'd give my eye-teeth for a paint set and canvass right now, to again try my hand at oils.

Perhaps one of these projects will ignite my passions once more. Perhaps the upcoming, very round, birthday will do the trick. Perhaps pulling out the holiday decorations and lighting things up will set me right.

I'll never be one of those women who jumps for joy at the thought of a day's chores, or who professes tirelessness when tackling monotonous tasks and to-do lists. I'll always be the gypsy roamer, at heart; the office worker who moonlights as a nightclub tarot reader; the housewife who dreams of refugee work in Africa.

Ah well. A hot cup of coffee, Breakfast at Tiffany's, and Brie Bleu on fresh toast will have to do, for now.

2 comments:

Dartanyan said...

(i think blogger ate my comment... trying again)

thoughts on being a writer:

as Uncle Bob Wilson said, whatever you want to be in this world, be it every day and you WILL succeed. it doesn't matter what it is.

i say, fill your head with words, until the seams burst and new words come out.
for me (a writer with not enough talent at fiction to share it with anyone else), reading does that. and coffee.

for others, reading just muddies the waters, but looking at natural beauty or lovely vistas replenishes the spring to overflowing.

or, there's the bustling melange of people in town/city, seen distantly enough to not intrude on your monkeysphere.

i'm sure there's even some who need the world to go naturally silent, or at least quiet enough for the Universe to be heard.

whether your Muse lives in books, the streams, the cafes or the stars... find her and let her loose as often as you possibly can. (and don't worry about the calendar)

Kelly the City Mouse said...

Dart: I agree completely. Reading sometimes jumbles me up, often staining my work in the style of my latest read. Sadly, I've all but abandonned the printed word since moving Down Under. Ironic, given all my "free" time. I really need to delve into my overstuffed bookshelf and find a new treasure to explore. Sadder still, my muse is most definitely a city-dweller, firmly entrenched in her cafe chair, watching the people go by. Someday, I'll have a way to go visit her, and we'll see what transpires.