The weekend was both less productive and less pleasant than I had hoped; our library trip was waylaid by an impossible parking situation, and Saturday was dominated by frustration and irritation brought on by lost sleep, work woes, and just general malaise.
Sunday was slightly more positive – I had enough energy to tackle the recycling pile, which was taking up about about a fifth of the kitchen (not a joke; it was a massive, months-old pile from too many forgotten pick-ups and scheduling snafus), as well as a backlog of dishes and some of the worst aspects of the living room. Bear even got his room cleaned (with the help of my wife), and we ended the night with an easy bedtime for Bear, and with Kira and I being joined via Discord by some friends to play a round of Monster Prom. Not a great weekend all in all, but I’m definitely happy with the turnaround from Saturday to Sunday.
Things have been a rollercoaster — a really promising lead Kira had thought was a sure thing wound up falling apart, while on my end, it looks like we might actually finally have a tentative contract, after over five hundred days of bargaining. My mood has been see-sawing with wild abandon from one day to the next, and while we aren’t floundering financially, I know the psychological toll it’s taking on Kira, and have my fingers crossed that we find something for her soon.
In the meantime, I noticed the other day that she had bought herself a small, Dollar Tree pocket notebook — thick cardstock covers adorned with pink and blue planets, pandas in pastel rocket ships, sloths in spacesuits, and the words “Dare to Dream” emblazoned across the top. It also, she told me with a combination of pride and possessiveness, came with a sticker sheet (she was right to be possessive. I hoard stickers like a little bitch).
But what’s it for? I asked her. I knew she had been looking for a notebook the last time we were at Target, thought they were all pretty exorbitantly priced at the time.
Poetry, she said. Poetry! This is, what, like week six of me saying I “want” to get back into poetry?? My wife tapped out a poem on a whim like a week ago (I won’t share it, as it was quite personal and doesn’t feel like it’s my place to do so, but it was actually quite good), and then goes out and gets herself a damn notebook from the Dollar Tree so she can write more. Meanwhile, I’m over here, waxing on and on for weeks about how much I miss poetry, having just finally dug up the Five Star notebook I had been hoarding away (I’m almost as bad about notebooks as I am stickers), agonizing about “setting it up” — I need sections; I need to organize it; ooh, it should have a table of contents like a bullet journal; I should decorate the cover; I should have a sections just for inspirational quotes — like, truly, what the fuck am I doing?
I am procrastinating, because part of me is really afraid of going back to writing, as much as I want to revisit it again. That’s what I’m doing. That’s why I’m doing it. Bam, nailed it.
Doesn’t make it any easier to start, though.
In some ways, knowing that Kira is interested in returning to poetry (she dabbled, in her younger days; mostly before I came into the picture) is actually kind of heartening, honestly, because it almost feels like a journey we can go on together, and I wonder if that will help us hold ourselves more accountable? As much as I uptalk doing things as part of a community, or reaching out and connecting with other artists, it has always in the past been something I’ve very much done only with internet strangers — I connected through writing forums, or blog hops, or LiveJournal, never in real life or with people I knew outside of a very specific corner of the internet.
It would be interesting to see how having that sort of personal, real life connection translates into creative output.
Meanwhile, I keep moving.
I’m trying to be kind to myself, even with all my procrastinatory and anxious bullshit; trying to remind myself that as long as I keep moving I’m making progress, but movement without rest is unrealistic. Slowing down is self-care. Stopping to rest is self-care. Taking the time to do silly, self-indulgent fanart is self-care. Which is to say, I’m probably going to take a break from “bigger” visual art projects for now in favor of trying to nurture the writing routine I want to get into, and do some silly art that’s literally just for fun, and just for me (though… if it turns out well, maybe I’ll share it).
Take care of yourselves; stop to rest when you need to, and indulge those guilty pleasures when the mood strikes. Cheers.
All Your Crooked Heart 