enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary
"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh
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The str@ight roads are the ro@ds to success; the crook3d roads are the roads to g3nius
So I'm listening to a radio piece on Bl@ke at the moment, and it is quite insightful.
It's not that I'm a Bl@ke devotee or anything.
But I'm thinking that I need to forget about all of the things that have been needling me of late - men who might or might not be available to me, new jobs that might or might not be wearing.
What I need to do is return to myself. Return to me. (And remind myself that thinking for a living is a real luxury in this world.)
It sounds so simple and yet I had forgotten it.
I think the happpiest summer of my life was the summer that I devoted to poetry and to making. (Although I could have one much happier, if nature were involved...how I missed nature.)
I was at university. I had remained in that university town to work as a waitress, given that I didn't exactly have anywhere to go home to at that time.
I was under-employed, to be sure, given that I'd failed to respect the basic laws of the economics that I was studying - when 10% of the population (the students) who are wealthy kids from Toronto mostly and so have 50% of the disposable income of the town go home for the summer...the tips aren't great.
Anyhow. :)
I'm always just about a step behind. I read things for the beauty of their actual form (e.g. the loveliness of an equation, a solution). And then at some point I connect the fact that the pretty model actually relates to something that my confident common sense always offers up to me intuitively anyhow, though only if I am pressed.
I really do live in a bubble.
And that's not the point of Bl@ke.
Blake devotees are seekers in a much more direct way than am I.
I've accepted that. I'm not really looking for answers, because I don't at this point believe that there are any.
I am simply looking for beauty in the minute particulars, and that is OK. I'm half-way there.It's enough for now.
Oops. I was pulled off track.
The happiest summer of my life was so because in my under-employment I decided that it was to be the summer of poetry and making.
I went to the library and took out volumes of all of the "great" English poets.
I pored over those volumes.
And I took out my caligraphic set and wrote out many of the poems, and took out my watercolour set and painted decorative borders. I gave many of those poems as gifts that Christmas. When my grandmother died, that faded piece of parchment with the inked poem was still on her wall in her weaving/knitting/sewing room.
That image reminds me of the W@terhouse poster that I have on my wall at the moment and that I love so much ("I am half sick of shadows, said the L@dy of Sh@ll0t). Dreaming at her loom.
Anyhow. So I'm getting to the point!
The point is that heaven is in a wildfl0wer.
It's all very simple.
I simply need to return to me.
This means returning myself to the world of books as I used to do. There is nothing wrong with this - it's not hiding.
OK, well, maybe it is a little bit hiding.
But I only have so many years remaining in my life and frankly there are worse uses of a person's time.
It's not that I'm not reading at the moment. I'm reading. But I haven't been giving myself over to reading. I've had one eye on the door, so to speak, thinking that I need to "get out there." And feeling guilty all the while, stuck with one foot in and one foot out.
So that was a long description just to get to the point: today is a secondhand bookshop browsing day! (And a croissant-buying day. I know a good bakery.)
I'll let you in on a little secret. (And it's not even really a secret, as I've mentioned it repeatedly before...but I feel it differently today. I feel everything differently these days - like the feelings have removed to a rational place.)
I've always felt that the true work of my life will be drawing.
But I keep on waiting, pushing it off. I'm afraid to begin the focus on it.
I'm not sure why that might be.
I've often thoguth that it has something to do with being found out to be "not good." Some sort of failure.
But I don't think that's it. At least that's not the reason now.
When I sit very still and honestly and meditate on this what comes out is that I still have the false belief that there will be time, there will be time. It's as if by delaying longer I can guarantee myself more time. And how could that be?
It could not.
In that happiest summer of at least my internal life, I had the good fortune of coming into the possession of a good old Sing3r.
And I sewed my little heart out.
I would peruse the fabric stores and construct bizarre little tops and shorts and funky dresses.
I have no desire to sew again. Sewing was a stage.
THese days all the making that I do involves knitting needles. And I love that. I do. It helps me to centre myself.
But it's not output of my soul.
I need to start producing output from the interior.
Drawing is that.
OK.
When to start?
I know that this is all very silly and unreasonable stuff to be writing. It's a bit windy!
olast night C. and I went to a European Union film festiv@l at the N@tional Libr@ry and Arch1ves. I became a member of the Canadian F1lm Institute.
We saw a Slov@kian trifle and a Luxembourgian not-bad film. All told it was a pleasant, meditative evening. Spontaneous. I had been just about to go to the National Arts C3ntre to see if there had been a single ticket remaining for the opera D0n Giov@nni and then C. stopped me. It was not the perfect trade, but it was fine.
The Slovaki@n film though a trifle was my favourite (Two Syllabl3s B3hind). Sort of an hommage to the French N3w Wave. It was fast-paced and quirky and a lovely trip around Europe...The particular trick was the beautiful face of the beautiful lead, and her bright and charming wardrobe. I
I couldn't stop looking at her. And she had short-ish hair. Her shortish hair gave me new ideas as to how I'd like my hair to evolve, and inspired me to stay with it.
Aside: People in my life and my hairdresser keep on talking about my hair as though I am going to grow it out. Frankly though I am not ready to grow it out. I'm in love with my short hair. I don't know why. I am prettier with long hair, to be sure. But the short hair so much more reflects my personality. It's so LOW MAINTENANCE! And it's so jaunty and playful.
I'm all of these things. In the morning I set my alarm clock for 7:45 and yet rarely drag myself out of bed until 8:15.
Before I go to bed I always pick out an outfit - almost any outfit, which is generally easy as for work I have a bunch of pencil skirts and wide leg trousers and a bunch of shirts and v-neck merino wool sweaters. Oh, and a couple of simple dresses -and then when I get up at 8:15 I jump in the shower and shampoo, jump out and towel fluff, blow dry with a round brush for 2 minutes...and then head to the living room and my clothes, computer and makeup.
As the morning radio show is finishing at 8:30, I slather some moisturizer on my face, put a few dabs of concealer on if required, and then put on some mascara. I throw on my biking outfit and stick my work outfit - rolled - in my backpack.
I next grab my lunch from the fridge and stick it in my backpack. And only then do I sit down to briefly check my email.
And then I run down the stairs to my bike. My landlord told me recently that he hears me running down the stairs in the morning, every day running. But he was in seduction mode at the time so he followed that up with a "It's like butterfly steps."
:)
Men are RIDICULOUS.
The point is that I am always running late.
It wasn't a big deal in my last job. I was permitted to start at 9:30, since I worked late. Mostly I would start at 9:10 or 9:15. I liked that. I could doodle on my bike in my favourite neighbourhood having avoided the rush hour traffic. And my walk from the bike racks at work up the many sets of stairs through the complex to my office always helped to prepare me for the day. I would park my bike at the farthest corner of the building and feel my body uncoil with the walk.
Line Dance is approximately a 1 mile walk from my house. I'll have to be there for 9. We'll see how that evolves. I can either bike for five minutes or walk for 12. Hmm...:) (OMG I just mapqu3sted directions to my office to discover that I am exactly 0.72 miles from my office, i.e. 1158.48 m from my work tower. This means I could run there in 3 minutes and 45 seconds. OK maybe 4:30 in heels. Hmmm....sleep...)
All good. Gee, I'm really babbling today.
I'm going to prepare myself, anyhow, for a nice walk to a very nice second-hand bookstore to buy some poetry. And I will take a coffee.
Of course I will also admit that said bookstore is on the edge, anyhow, of the eagle's quartier.
I'm unlikely to see him. I'm not planning it. I'm leaving it all in the hands of fate.
Maybe that's my problem - leaving too much in the hands of fate. C. suggested yesterday that I email him, now that I've left that place. I don't think I can do that, however, because his email account is open to all of his admins.
I woke up today thinking that I would leave it, anyhow. It wasn't meant to be. And if somehow my intuition was right about him then somehow we'll cross paths again.
That's it for silly, romantic me. I'm craving croissants. Best get showered and ready to roam. :)
And of course I have work to do this afternoon, and further should plot out a proper "first day at work" outfit. Ugh.
I just ate steak for breakfast, can you believe it? I was all carbohydrated out. But now I feel sick. I really don't love meat so much. I think I'm going back to being a vegetarian again. Yes, yes I am. Done. Incidentally, my organic farm delivery on Friday was UNBELIEVABLE. I will post some pictures later of the beauty of the colour variation in the sweet, tender carrots. Long live heirlooms!
|10:23 a.m. - 2007-11-18
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Come al solito - 2011-04-16 unfettered spending - 2011-04-15 How does it go? - 2011-04-14 Whirlwind. - 2011-04-13 bleak that flips over to daffodil - 2011-04-08 |