that's mrs. mediocrity to you

Lately I am having the hardest time buckling down, getting things done, accomplishing anything. I blame it on the weather, but it’s a lame excuse. And then I start to wonder why I need to blame it on anything at all, is it a flaw, this lack of drive, or is it just a temporary state, a time to refill and recharge and allow whatever happens, or does not happen, to be?

In fact, I gave myself permission to do just this, to do whatever I wanted in January, or not, as I so desired. Of course there is work, and that is not optional, but beyond that, I told myself it would be okay if I did nothing, at least for this one month.

And here I am feeling guilty about it, constantly feeling like I should be doing this thing or that thing, or accomplishing something, or getting this, this and this ready for the year ahead. Silly me.

Or crazy, workaholic me, whichever comes first, and these days, I’m just not sure.

I gave myself permission and that was not enough. I planned for this break, and now I second-guess myself. Every evening, I walk around in circles trying to choose what to do, when all I really want to do is read.

So much for balance.

I am completely off-kilter and it’s only the middle of January. I have forgotten how to relax, and now I am stuck in this limbo between running around like crazy and enjoying some down time, not really doing either one. And so, not reaping the benefits of either.

I keep thinking I must be doing something wrong. I know my life is good, I do. I just need to figure out a way to make the days less of a jumble. Is that even possible? It looks like other people do it, but I have never figured out the secret.

I don’t have an organized brain. I accept this about myself. I work around it, but I always end up back in the same chaotic place. I think it’s who I am. Are creative and organized mutually exclusive? Maybe, I have no way of knowing.

Or maybe I just wasn’t meant to be buckled down. But we’re all buckled down to this life in one way or another, aren’t we? Even Peter Pan had to have his shadow sewn back onto his foot.

Still, my mind keeps rebelling and flying off to other places, declining to go where I direct it, refusing to stay where I set it down.

How does that saying go, “If you love something, set it free?”

I’m thinking it might just be time to give that one a try…

this post is part of  one word wednesday over at jillsy girl

blood red

on a backdrop

of gray on white

color of life

life hidden

inside

waiting

watching

for warmth

to burst into

leaf

in summer

this color

goes

unnoticed

everybody comes unraveled occasionally.

it’s good to be able to follow instructions.

sometimes you get all tied up in knots.

with enough patience, you can almost
always get things straightened out.

relaxation comes in many forms.

handmade and old-fashioned are still the best.

it’s possible to create order from chaos.

the math you learned in 10th grade
really does come in handy.

wool socks are still the warmest.

pattern and repetition soothe the soul.

some days are red, some days are blue.

in winter, it’s good to do something
that keeps you warm.

tying up loose ends is a good idea.

sometimes you increase, sometimes you decrease.

having the proper tools makes any job easier.

often, what looks like a big jumbled mess,
comes together quite nicely in the end.

frozen, though i sit before a fire.

whispering, though no one else is home.

asking, though answers seem irrelevant.

hungry, though my body has been fed.

the romance of winter

begins to give way

to an endless restlessness,

this craving for forest,

this longing for moon.

such a long way to go

before i get there,

as i sit here,

melting snowflakes

in this room.

Today I am over at Vision & Verb

having a midwinter night’s dream.

at least, I hope it’s a dream,

someone forgot to set the alarm…

the smile I would show you

would never hide

behind hands or curtains

words or rhyme.

.

the smile i would show you

would be effortless

and sincere

filled with peace

and brilliance,

possibility and time.

.

the smile i would show you

would be a hug in waiting

a melody of hope

a symphony of empathy

a heart,

sublime.

late last year i felt the sudden urge to read hemingway again.

he has always been my favorite writer, which is somewhat odd, because none of his books are on my list of favorite books. i have issues with some of his subject matter, issues with his treatment of women, issues with his views on love.

still, i adore the way he writes, his ability to condense entire stories into one paragraph, to make me not only see it, but feel it, to make everything he wrote seem like it was not fiction, but an autobiographical account of his life.

in fact, some people think that is the case. he has said it was not, and i believe him. but that is why i think he is such a great writer, i never feel like i am reading a story, i am immersed in a tale, a recounting, a snapshot of someone’s life. he knew how to make it seem real.

so i gathered all his books together and waited until the week after christmas to begin. and now here i am, wading my way through his body of work, in chronological order. and all i want to do is read.

in the past week i have been to spain and italy, france and michigan, to horse races and bull fights. i’ve gone fishing and to war. i haven’t yet been to africa, that will come later, and i will fall in love with that place all over again.

i will love the heat and the dust and the wine and even the machismo. when i was young, i hated that part. i won’t love the scenes with the animals, that has always been the hardest for me.

but i can read him now with one eye on the story, and one eye on the craft. i can appreciate the gift he left to the world, flawed as he may have been as a person.

i can appreciate the magic of a phrase like true at first light.

or a story that draws me in and won’t let me go until the last page has been turned, and even then, leaves me wishing for more.

a story that can transport me to another time and another place, even as i sit in a noisy room filled with people.

a story that is written so well that not one word could be altered or removed without compromising its integrity.

the kind of stories that have always made me want to read.

what more can you ask of a writer?

::

so much

hangs

in the

balance

::

this post is part of one word wednesday over at jillsy girl

There is always color to be found on the greyest of days,
food for thought when your mind feels so hungry.

Seeds cling to these branches because that is life, regenerating.

Cold winds blow and we scurry inside, hibernating, resting,
staying still, so that later we can race spring’s first breeze.

These cycles of life hold the promise of tomorrow.

The shortest day of winter is behind us, already.

The longest day has begun inching its way towards us,
slowly, almost imperceptibly.

The trees feel it first, but trees are so good
at keeping secrets.

A new  day, a new year, a new decade.

A clean slate, a blank canvas, an open road.

Let’s begin this journey.

Together.

Hand in hand.