Writing the wild things

I've been following the practices, or at least the ones I've read about so far from "The Writing Diet, Writing Yourself Right Sized" by Julia Cameron. This is good stuff. Not that I like the thought of "right" sized, like there's a wrong sized? But there is a better size that feels better and is healthier. For me there is.

I love the writing. I'm finding myself awakening at 6:15 even before my alarm goes off, I guess at 6:14 and 55 seconds then? I wake up just so I can write. And then I walk. The other morning a fog was just lifting and clearing with the good strong spring sun. I saw these white orbs in the grasses. Then I noticed them suspended in the trees. Spider webs outlined in droplets of water left behind by the shimmery fog. It was beautiful. When I get to the bridge over the creek the smell is wet wood and sweet grass and bay trees. I know that a little fox or a raccoon or even a little deer has probably bounded out as I came around the bend. They watch me from the bushes, waiting for me to walk on so that they can drink and sun again.

It's beautiful.

The writing yourself right also invites a daily food journal. I haven't kept one for a long time, and I've been really resistant to it. But it's good for me now as I right myself. It's like a sailboat being upside down in the water and taking some leverage to right itself. I'll have nice deep pull in the water again. But for now I need a little push, a little help. I bought a lovely little red journal and some of those liquidey lovely pens to write with. And while I'm yet to do a full day, I'm making progress. Progress is good.

So far it's been a clean week. Yes, it's Monday but Sunday counts, too. I had dismissed what the impact of such a radical turn in goals would mean. I'm digging into old scripts and old losses. It is extremely hard. I'm longing for a church, a religious community that could help me through this. But I signed away my church and my religious community when I signed on for the job. I knew it, went in with eyes open. It may not have been the very best idea though. Not for me. Not for a person who treasures church and the ritual and the weekly filling.

I miss sitting and being led. It could be that I planned my time off poorly this year and that two of the four weeks I was to have off wound up being weeks on for one reason and another. It could be May. May is hard. It could just be that it's hard to give up your church when you love chur ch.I do love my work. I love it like I love the air and clean sheets and hot baths. I love it with my skin and bones. Deep. Soul stuff.

But it's a hard time. And taking care of myself is hard when I'm responsible for so much.

Things are good though. I love the walks. And I love the writing. For the last two days my new love Noodles has come with me. Oh, having a fur ball to love. And for now, the food is clean. It's good.

The next thing I really must do is to plan some time off. Some time off that includes a Sunday. Some time off that includes a Sunday, and a dog, and the water and writing and a walk in the early morning before the fog has completely left the valley. Some time.

The morning after

I have the worst hangover. I feel just awful. No mind altering substances, just food. Food's clearly worse for me. Today I turn 42, that's really "in your 40s". But that's not it. I'm letting go. Letting go of dreams and hopes and plans and a future I thought was the right one.

Thing is? It turns out that it wasn't the right one. I thought I had an academic future, that when the kids were old enough I could go get my master's degree and think about a professional future. But I am taking a class. And while many, many people can do this. I cannot. There are not enough hours in the day to study and work and be a good mother. Not with my husband gone three of the last four weeks for work. Not with the kind of job that I have that eats time like the plant in Little Shop of Horrors. Not if I want my kids to grow up in a house that is not run by chaos.

The funny thing? The academic part isn't the problem. I'm not a traditional learner. I'd have done much better back when you learned your practice or your craft from a real person, over years yes, but by doing and modeling. Text books make me want to cry and research? Oh my god, it's horrible. But I can do it. And I don't even really hate it. But I hate being so pulled in so many directions all the time. And I cannot do it and be who I really am. So, I'm not going to. But it has a long term impact on what I'm going to do with my life. That means a different future. That's scary. That feels awful.

So, what do we do when we're scared and feel all alone in the world? Reach out to friends? Go for a walk in the woods? Write? NO! We eat Salt and Vinegar chips and chocolate and bread with butter. Of course!

Of course.

So today, I am on my knees, praying a big huge "please" prayer. "Please help me eat with love today, just today. Amen."

Amen.