Image is "Jo Scribbling" by Frank Merrill for the 1880 edition of Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, purchased from Louisa's Orchard House museum this fall.
Keeping a little writing vigil at my desk this late autumn afternoon, and expect that I will be here into the late hours. But at least I have some good company ✨
Moody mid-autumn light outside the window here, and yet, here in the dining room, the darkness is starting to creep into the corners of everything, letting me know that before too long, this candle will be the brightest light in the room. I've heated and reheated my mint tea twice already, and a third round in the microwave is inevitable. I'm wearing my husband's wool socks and feel proud that I've already taken three of my six supplements for the day. I'm trying to drink more water today than I did yesterday.
My meditation earlier this afternoon turned into a nap, leaving my cat delighted to have found me asleep in the living room chair, and found his place on my lap, and I wasn't mad about it. The laundry is done but not folded, and I have eaten an entire pot of chicken soup in the last two days. The slow cooker roast beef with carrots, onions, and mash potatoes is waiting for dinner, whenever I feel that I can afford to peel myself away from my laptop, where I am type, type, typing away as my MFA thesis draft deadline approaches this evening.
I had plans for a morning shower that never happened, though I am hoping to take a nice, hot, steamy rinse later on in the evening once the temperatures drop outside. After that, I plan to light a big blaze in the fireplace and try and burn away the rest of the perfectionism I'm hauling around about my paper, the semester, my own imperfections. I can't wait for the feeling of being curled up on the couch, surrounded by all the mismatched and personal treasures we have collected over more than 18 years together, and get away from screens, at least for the night.
I'm daydreaming of a cold January day spent in NYC, watching Hadestown in a warm balcony seat after taking a frigid but wonderful walk in Central Park and eating sushi together in a tiny booth in that unassuming Upper West side restaurant we happened to find that one time. I hope it happens. Until then, as Anne Lamott says, bird by bird; word by word.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(I've not been writing here this fall, as my writing energy has been almost entirely poured into my thesis all fall, as well as a fair amount of private journaling. But sharing this glimpse of the homestretch here has made me realize how much I miss sharing in this way, and how much I want to get back to this small space sooner rather than later.)
Moody mid-autumn light outside the window here, and yet, here in the dining room, the darkness is starting to creep into the corners of everything, letting me know that before too long, this candle will be the brightest light in the room. I've heated and reheated my mint tea twice already, and a third round in the microwave is inevitable. I'm wearing my husband's wool socks and feel proud that I've already taken three of my six supplements for the day. I'm trying to drink more water today than I did yesterday.
My meditation earlier this afternoon turned into a nap, leaving my cat delighted to have found me asleep in the living room chair, and found his place on my lap, and I wasn't mad about it. The laundry is done but not folded, and I have eaten an entire pot of chicken soup in the last two days. The slow cooker roast beef with carrots, onions, and mash potatoes is waiting for dinner, whenever I feel that I can afford to peel myself away from my laptop, where I am type, type, typing away as my MFA thesis draft deadline approaches this evening.
I had plans for a morning shower that never happened, though I am hoping to take a nice, hot, steamy rinse later on in the evening once the temperatures drop outside. After that, I plan to light a big blaze in the fireplace and try and burn away the rest of the perfectionism I'm hauling around about my paper, the semester, my own imperfections. I can't wait for the feeling of being curled up on the couch, surrounded by all the mismatched and personal treasures we have collected over more than 18 years together, and get away from screens, at least for the night.
I'm daydreaming of a cold January day spent in NYC, watching Hadestown in a warm balcony seat after taking a frigid but wonderful walk in Central Park and eating sushi together in a tiny booth in that unassuming Upper West side restaurant we happened to find that one time. I hope it happens. Until then, as Anne Lamott says, bird by bird; word by word.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(I've not been writing here this fall, as my writing energy has been almost entirely poured into my thesis all fall, as well as a fair amount of private journaling. But sharing this glimpse of the homestretch here has made me realize how much I miss sharing in this way, and how much I want to get back to this small space sooner rather than later.)
