Heavy day

[vaneramos]

Traffic told me the street was wet before I opened my eyes: the first really truly dark morning, in that peculiar autumnal way.

Over decaf and toast I emailed a troubled loved one, wanting to encourage, then realized it's out of my hands. I can write all the inspiring words I want. If he were here I would hold him. In the end, I must trust my family and lovers to look after themselves and find their own ways. After that, the weight of sky pulled me lower. I had dispersed some of my own hope. It frustrated me at first, but this is what we do for one another.

At 8:30 the window behind the desk offered barely enough light for writing. Death crept around the horizon of my thoughts; a flicker of a shadow, like depression. Suddenly I felt mad for light.

Someone suggests keeping a skull on the desk as reminder you're better off than that, but I'm not content to merely live. I will not go quietly into that silent night. If dissatisfaction is our inbred instinct, let me be an animal now—a predator, to seize life by the throat. A whole pride of big cats. You'll hear my desires drumming across the plain.

Better still, a barbarian horde to storm the battlements of my complacent world, pour ambition into the city, run up and down the streets slaying comfortable monsters who tell me to be quiet. Now is not the time for peace. I will triumph over my inner slaver-king, rob his treasure houses and armouries, turning all resources to a war of change. It's time I became my own hero again, the one with gleaming helm and starlit blade, not afraid of the dark.

After morning pages, I turned on the wide-spectrum light behind my computer desk, but sat there barely five minutes. Restless energy. I arose and pillaged my apartment, tearing up layers of clutter and stuffing it into boxes to sort another day. Then I vacuumed. The office floor is mostly clear for the first time—since when? Things got out of hand when I published the chapbook last winter (I hold no grudge against myself on account of that fertile mess), and the office hadn't been tidied since.

Considering my list of 13 priorities written on September 4, eight have already become part of my routine. I'm preparing to tackle a ninth, the hardest. Nine days since. Some feel good, others it's like fighting, but it's going as well as could be expected so far.

Comments

[missprune.livejournal.com]

Marvelous photo. It looks like a being, with a hand gripping tight. Seems to go well with the mood of your post.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Thanks, Elizabeth. I wanted something a little darker for today, but the tension here served just as well. It's one of the photos I brought back from Hockley Valley on Friday.

[artricia.livejournal.com]

Great post, great photo -- both very artful.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Thank you!