Twenty-Fourteen

I am having such an existential year. 

Friday Before Work

On mornings like this, when everyone else has left the house and it's just me here, it's so quiet. And I long to stay here, puttering in the upstairs hall while the sun dapples in on the pine floor. I want to heal some of the neglect that is all around this place. All the rushing around that is life makes me feel tired and I crave simplicity. I crave energy.

Some days, I want to throw everything out and start all over again. Instead, I spin in circles and I have to leave in 10 minutes and the E light is on again, and what will I make for dinner, and we're out of clean towels. All these necessities of a modern life.

Time.

Always Moving Forward and so on

It seems ridiculous that I am writing on my phone. That is, using my phone (no longer a telephone), and even using italics in the process, to write a blog post. And as I type the phone makes the fake metallic clack of wanna-be typewriter keys, ironically. But the writer always persists in searching for ways and means of keeping the words flowing. This tool will enable me to write a little anywhere. To note a few things before they leave my dying mind. I will never abandon my cozy notebooks. But I see that this can be good, too.

And I do so need to get back to my writing. I am thinking about an anonymous blog where I can speak comfortably about work and life and death. I have to be so careful all the time.

But I do not want to be careful. I want to be free.