Wilderness

What a week. Actually, two weeks.

My association is doing a massive construction project, and it’s been a pain at every step. I had to cancel three appointments at various times because construction either blocked me from leaving or blocked people from getting to me. I had to replace a variety of plumbing pieces, and then my basement flooded and I had to replace more. Today they hit our gas line.

I feel like I’ve been a drum major tossing out my spoons like candy at a parade. (If you’re not family with Spoon Theory, replace “spoons” with “limited energy.”)

Plus it’s my uggo time of the month, different from my period. There are 2-4 days a month when my body feels like it has parts that don’t fit, usually my neck. Yes. It feels like my neck is a foreign object being rejected by my real body. Cool. During these few days, my skin is also dull and I feel tremendously ugly, even though I know my hormones will chill within a week. Being a girl is glorious sometimes, hmm?

I’m re-reading The Writing Life by Annie Dillard and finding it even better than previous reads. This is the first weekend I’ve had to myself in a long while, and I’m going to use it to fight through the tangled brush of fear, avoidance, shame, and sheer overwhelmedness to get to my manuscript. I have tools. I’m ready to do this. The jungle of resistance will not claim me.

The wilderness is not unknown to me. I’ve spent time wandering there. Man, this is making me think of the O.C. Supertones when they nailed it in this song. I hope you’ll listen. It starts pretty upbeat (yay ska!) but ends pretty subdued and humbled.

I’m typing this from my phone and will have to go back in later and embed the video properly. Hugs to all.

The Clobbering Majesty of the Lilac

The first scent of lilacs in the late spring makes me think, oddly, of childbirth.

Stick with me for a second here.

Some women are said to later remember the actual pain of labor as less intense than it actually was. This, I would guess, contributes to having more children. I’m not a mother.

But I do know that every winter, I remember the glory of lilacs as less intense than it actually was. This, I would guess, contributes to surviving winter. I live in Minnesota.

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