And now it’s Thursday, and I’m dead tired and wracking my brain for something to say because it will not do to miss three days in a row. It’s not like they were uneventful days. Stuff happened. I went places. Things got done. Fun was had.
Still, I’m having trouble marshaling any of it into what might be called a narrative. So I’m going to fall back on a standard and relate something my niece said. Mainly because my parents really like getting to hear this stuff. Think of me as the family archivist. (Also think of me as flawed, for a number of reasons, but here because I may not have remembered her whole spiel accurately. It’s representative. The bit about the cup is right, though.)
“I want to travel with you on a train or in a cup with milk and then we fly and go down a slide and it says ‘mew, mew’ and I take Orange Kitty!”
“Please never stop talking.”
I am brain tired and bone weary, but happy with my progress and feeling good about myself.
I’m experiencing a learning phase right now, in several aspects of my life. It’s one of my great pleasures to immerse myself in something that someone I like is good at: I thrive on enthusiasm. It makes the information stick better, and there is nothing more fun than giving a good teacher pleasure by learning something they’re passionate about. So I’m having a pretty good time, discovering new things and improving at them.
That being said, the water is nearly over my head just at the moment. I’m learning something new that I hope will improve my creative life. I’m exploring and getting better at something that I do for fun. I’m adding to the roster of my professional skills in order to improve my life in general. I’m learning things about myself. A lot of the time, this feels like too much information, and I’m positive I’m not taking it in. Too much practice, and I feel I’m just stumbling around in the dark. But here’s the thing about learning, particularly if you’re pushing yourself too far: it all makes the blade sharper. I’ve been surprised again and again at how much of what I’m learning comes back to me a week or ten days later at the appropriate moment, even if I was absolutely blurry-headed when the information imprinted. The new things bubble to the surface as I need them, and old things that I’ve forgotten about, but that are somehow relevant, come with them. Like the paperclip metaphor for memory: pick one up and a whole string of them comes with it.
This evening, I was experiencing some guilt over not getting more work done this evening. Then I started mentally reviewing my week – things I knew at the end of last week, and things I know now. Things I was afraid of last week that I plunged in and did this week. This week has ticked quite a few boxes for me, and the next two weeks are looking about the same. A lot of information, a lot of trepidation, some challenges that definitely feel too hard. My jewelry making has suffered some neglect, as has my business housekeeping. But I spent this weekend resting and recharging, letting my new information settle in my bones. Next week I’ll keep adding to it, and even if I miss the mark, I’ll know more than I did this week. My world is getting bigger.
When Clementine woke in the morning, she found the typewriter sitting beside the bed, regarding her with a solicitous tilt of the return bar. There was a piece of paper in the roller, and with a groggy sense of bewilderment she read:
I COULDN’T HELP NOTICING THAT YOU WERE HAVING SOME TROUBLE. PLEASE FORGIVE MY PRESUMPTUOUSNESS, BUT I’VE FINISHED YOUR MANUSCRIPT.
Today I’m feeling a genuinely unreasonable loathing for this project. I had a good day. I’m having a nice night. I’m sucking on a tiny lozenge of unnamed melancholy, which isn’t enough to bear examining. I just want to keep reading my book in the ticking silence, but there’s the noise of having to do this cutting across my avenue of escape. And now it’s done, but will I get back into the silence?