I had to throw last week in the scrap pile, as far as routine goes. I don’t know what I was thinking, jumping out of the gate like a race horse. Nothing was normal last week. Monday was a holiday, so I fell behind on Monday stuff. It was also the first week of the month, so I fell behind on first week of the month stuff. Ruthie started school, and her district likes to be all tricky right from the start, confusing me with delayed start times and no school on the second day.
Clearly there was no time to poor out my creative energy.
I ran from the shower once, dripping water all over the floor as I scrambled for my idea notebook – nothing but a towel between myself and the open windows. By the time I found it, the idea escaped my strainer brain and I shoved a chair in frustration.
I feel like a college frat boy who hasn’t had a lay since spring break at Daytona Beach – tense and jittery, on the prowl for opportunity, all filled up with something needing release.
I need a creative one night stand.
Better yet, I need a creative affair.
If I don’t rendezvous in a shady roadside motel soon to unload all this writing angst in my head, I think I may suffer a brain freeze.
The thing is, I can’t write at the dining room table anymore with the kids running around. I can’t steal an hour of writing while the kids nap. I mean I can, but you’ll get things like book reviews and recipes. I love writing those, but what I need to get out of my head are the trains of thought that are going somewhere. I need time and space to pick just the right word, to think straight, to connect tangible with transcendent.
I’m also learning it takes me a long time to crawl down into that well of concentration, to get into the mind space of creation. And once I’m down there, it takes me even longer to climb back out of the well again into real life. If someone pulls me out of the well before I’m ready, I’m grouchy and distracted, unable to check my mind back into reality.
(I read of this well of concentration on someone else’s blog, and it resonated with me. I’m sorry to say I can’t remember whose it was).
I don’t know where I’m going with this. It’s late, and I can’t afford the time it takes to wrap it up neatly with a bow. Maybe I’ll ask a question: how do you make time for the one thing you are passionate about, without neglecting all the “have to’s” in your week?