Reflection

[vaneramos]

Last night I took Marian and Danny to see a performance of Mozart's Requiem by Guelph Chamber Choir and Musica Viva, a small ensemble comprised of members of Toronto's Tafelmusik orchestra. It was a kind of Remembrance Day performance; my first live hearing of this favourite composition, and I enjoyed it, but was more impressed by a new setting of Lux Aeterna by a young Canadian composer (unfortunately his name escapes me), given during the second half.

It was odd driving by my house on York Road just to check that the people upstairs hadn't managed to burn it down (they have been forced to give their children to foster homes, so the place has been unusually quiet). We stopped at Tim Horton's around the corner, then headed back to Toronto.

There is much going on. Nothing unpleasant—just normal life events setting off anxiety, which is unpleasant in itself. I feel disinclined to write about it, or can't. I met S today. Danny and Marian are both otherwise occupied this afternoon, so I've had a couple hours to myself, and that is good. I'm feeling antisocial and asexual, but not depressed I think. I have nothing substantial to write here, or to contribute to anyone. My weird feelings about writing continue to develop; I hope they blow over. It seems this must be a time for inward reflection. As usual, (because I'm more restless at home) I'm catching up on sleep in Danny's bed, which is also good.

Comments

[token-otter.livejournal.com]

Well the reason I think for the lack of writing might be that you are starting to develop a life outside of it with more time with the kids and seeing other's art and volunteering and getting your first job. It will slow the process down a bit, but what you need to do is always be ready for the ideas to come when you're not near the computer. Keep the small writing book handy and I'm sure the ideas will flow. :)

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Thanks Steven. It feels like the resistance goes deeper than that, because when I do have time to set aside for writing, I don't want to write. As if part of my psyche is passive-aggressively punishing me for being busy with other things. In the past, when I had full-time jobs, I never felt like writing creatively. Either I need to discipline myself to "just do it", or concentrate on something that comes a little more easily, like drawing or photography (it's strange, because I feel more competent about writing, but it's the hardest to enjoy).

I'm not discounting your idea, though. I usually do carry my notebook with me everywhere, I'm just not in the habit of using it during a free moment here or there.

[token-otter.livejournal.com]

Well I know there is more stress to your life than most people's, so I can understand the deeper resistance. I'm kind of using my serial as a form of therapy right now I'm realizing. Maybe instead of fearing the writing, you might need to embrace it and through yourself and every problem you have into it :)