(no subject)
Jul. 5th, 2020 10:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sidewaysIt is midwinter, and I feel overly warm wearing jeans. Sometimes I worry I am squandering the winters that remain by living somewhere they exist only as a vague formality, but there are compensatory factors to this location. It does my heart good to see the ocean.
My heart is otherwise vibing with old Darwin of late. I am very poorly today and very stupid. It is particularly difficult when I am in one of those slumps where I am regularly frustrated in my writing. At least with work I can still feebly cling to the newness of it all as an excuse; what have I ever put into practice for as long as writing? Yet I still end up a penguin on a nest of stones, hoping that somehow, somewhen, something will turn out to be an egg. I hate the uncontrollable whimsy of how this works for me, even after a life of labouring at it. I hate the feel of empty static.
And, as always, I know the counter-rhetoric. I am tired and frazzled in general, and that rarely makes for fertile ground. Some of this sulking I do entirely to myself. Blah blah etc. It is still a nuisance.
And I miss my cat.
But I cooked more than I didn't, this week, which is good! For a certain value of cooking, in any case. I find myself eating like I do during university finals - sporadic insertions of nutrition that may or may not go together as an actual coherent meal. Tacos are coherent, tasty, and relatively easy at least.
No commentary on global and local affairs. It's there and it's bad.
My bowerbird friend still comes regularly to visit, and his routine amuses me. Other birds will fly directly to the water dish; he likes to fly to the middle of the balcony railing, for seemingly no reason other than that he enjoys hopping along it. O to be a feathery dinosaur entertained by stamping my feet.
My heart is otherwise vibing with old Darwin of late. I am very poorly today and very stupid. It is particularly difficult when I am in one of those slumps where I am regularly frustrated in my writing. At least with work I can still feebly cling to the newness of it all as an excuse; what have I ever put into practice for as long as writing? Yet I still end up a penguin on a nest of stones, hoping that somehow, somewhen, something will turn out to be an egg. I hate the uncontrollable whimsy of how this works for me, even after a life of labouring at it. I hate the feel of empty static.
And, as always, I know the counter-rhetoric. I am tired and frazzled in general, and that rarely makes for fertile ground. Some of this sulking I do entirely to myself. Blah blah etc. It is still a nuisance.
And I miss my cat.
But I cooked more than I didn't, this week, which is good! For a certain value of cooking, in any case. I find myself eating like I do during university finals - sporadic insertions of nutrition that may or may not go together as an actual coherent meal. Tacos are coherent, tasty, and relatively easy at least.
No commentary on global and local affairs. It's there and it's bad.
My bowerbird friend still comes regularly to visit, and his routine amuses me. Other birds will fly directly to the water dish; he likes to fly to the middle of the balcony railing, for seemingly no reason other than that he enjoys hopping along it. O to be a feathery dinosaur entertained by stamping my feet.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-05 02:14 pm (UTC)<3
no subject
Date: 2020-07-06 09:01 pm (UTC)Oh mood. Hope this feeling clears up for you.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-13 03:44 am (UTC)But congrats for cooking! (...belatedly, I really am terrible about using DW anymore)