been thinking how happy i am to be getting back to friendship. the old way of friendship. the lazy, sitting around, feet pulled up underneath us, doing nothing kind of friendships. this is how friendship felt in my 20s before real adulthood (and for some of us, motherhood) set in, and god, have i missed it. all the busy-ness has filled up our lives to the point where we can’t even find the time to sit around without making appointments on our calendars. got time to do nothing with me on saturday? yes? great!
for me, nothing-doing has been sorely missed. i’m really feeling done with clicking on the same dozen sites over and over, just longing for connection. that connection and contentedness of good old fashioned, face to face nothing-doing.
let’s bring it back, shall we?
writing my one paragraph tonight in order to say i’m not writing. i’m not. there is simply no way. i am tired. i am empty. there is nothing to say. and i can’t string together thoughts right now. need to find me some inspiration stat. tried poetry. tried reading some of my faves. looking at photos. but nothing is pushing forth the writing. maybe if i left my house once in awhile… haha.
got any ideas, friends? i’m stuck.
gonna try christina’s just one paragraph challenge and try cranking out at least one a day for 30 days. you know, get some writing out. (i hope.) of course, i’m skeptical so i’m only telling you, dear blog.
i have so many stories i want to tell, but i don’t know who to trust. let’s face it. out here on the interwebs, there are many audiences you just can’t trust with a story. even a good one. especially a good one. especially a good one that’s only good in your head and could be good on paper with some time and love and revision and patience (and maybe after a standing ovation for effort). but i never even get that far. it’s so hard to put it down. to put yourself out there like that. to put your stories out there. the good ones. the ones that really mean something.
i know they say if your story/troubles/truth touch just one person, then it’s a good story. but i’m always holding out to touch 2 or 3. i want more before i’ve even had one. i want awards and accolades before i’ve even put down one word on paper.
what an a-hole.
the pictures, they’re the only thing that seem to fit just right. that’s why i keep taking them.
i spend an embarrassing amount of the rest of my time working, thinking about aging, folding laundry, pining, and trying NOT to eat as many cookies as i think i need. i am reading a book and watching a series, but they’re not the kinds of things that feed me. and they sure as hell don’t feel like this photo feels. the brilliant green. the sun shining through the blackbirds’ wings. the fuzzy landscape. the poetry. it’s the poetry i can’t get enough of.
where do you find the poetry? or whatever it is that fills you up? and what do you do when you can’t even identify what it is you need?
rode up on this flight of cliff swallows the other night. did you know that’s what a group of swallows is called? a flight. they were sunning on the dirt road and lifted into the air as we came upon them. such a good show.