“My mind works in idleness. To do nothing is often my most profitable way.”
The peace I gathered and brought home from my recent retreat to the beach has worn off. Until this week I was able juggle all that I needed and wanted to do without overwhelm. But this week it hit me that suddenly the feeling of freedom had disappeared and my chronic dis-ease with too much to do with too little time, struck like a bolt of lightning.
Amidst dealing with a crew of painters working on the outside of my house, looking after an ailing dog, the daily stuff of laundry, and cooking, I’ve not been able to have extended moments of time to stare into space, when sweet epiphanies come my way and help me through the difficulties of writing and life.
I need time when there isn’t constant chatter going on just outside my window. I’ve had enough of men banging about with ladders and Molly and Sam responding with non-stop yapping in response. It’s been going on and off for two weeks and because my studio is above the garage, and the only way I can get to it is up a flight of outdoor steps, I’m currently locked out and have had to drag my computer into the house to the guest room, where the elderly card table I’m using as a desk bounces about as I type
There is Bill, my beloved, in the next room, making phone calls and recording a CD of his lines in Act I of the play he will be acting in come December. He’ll replay that darn thing until he’s learned his lines and then he’ll record Act II and begin again. I long to be back in my studio where the peace and quiet I love lives.
We’ve had monsoon-like rains for the last several days and the painting, though mostly done, had once again been postponed until things dry out. If the sun comes out and keeps shining this afternoon and tomorrow, the painters will come and put the final coat of paint on the studio stairs, finish up the doors and do a clean-up. I’m praying that my last day in the guest room will be tomorrow and that by Sunday I’ll be at peace again, tucked away in the room I claim as my own.