My daily creative endeavors are going well. So far, I’ve written two poems for the year, started reading Insurgent by Veronica Roth, watched two episodes of Sherlock Season 3 (loving it, but I am not looking forward to the withdrawal after the third and final episode of the season), and I’ve started a playlist for StarS and Laliba (the MC for book 1). I’ve also woken up Dark and Early every day to write morning pages.
And for my efforts, the muse has finally come slinking from the shadows. She showed up briefly, just long enough to whack me over the head with something big and shiny. Now she’s off again, hiding in the mist.
And if the head wound smarts…well, at least I know she’s been watching. I feel blessed for the gift.
Especially in the light of the events of the past two days. After dealing with some drama at work, I found out I didn’t make the cut for the Flag Football team I’d been trying out for since September. Guess this is where that whole ‘practicing self-compassion’ thing is supposed to come in. And you know what? It’s working. Maybe not instantaneously, but I realized this too was a gift. I’d been agonizing over how I’d get anything done on practice days, which are set from 6pm until 9:30 sometimes even 10 pm. My work hours are from 8am-5pm (usually, unless I’m stuck on one of the, what I like to call, awkward shifts). And while I love my job, and very much enjoyed practice, they are both very physically demanding, leaving me with very little mental or physical energy to devote to my creative endeavors.
Now, I won’t have to worry about that. Now, I have no excuse.
If I want the exercise, I can still attend a practice or two every once in awhile. Or I can take up running again. The possibilities are endless.