Mensch, it took some mental pinching to get me out of bed this morning. My brain realizes it is getting light now an hour later, and I seem to need that light to stimulate my ‘get up and go button.’ Without it, I snuggle deeper under the covers and hide – somewhat like my granddaughter when she sleeps over.
The sewing projects are zipping along and everything – so far – is turning out great. I just realized I need to make another Christmas stocking for the new grand baby. The difficult part might be adding more mantle for hanging all of them! After my trash can project, I know it can be done!
The novel is bubbling out at a good pace. That is how I describe where the words come from. I don’t have a precise process for my fiction – such as the one I used for writing papers in college. I have a mental map of where and what is happening. I have a several pages of notes about people and places and their respective descriptions, but beyond that, the words just bubble out like a spring. Kind of freaky – kind of neat.
I realize, as I sit here writing this morning, that many of the activities I have taken up since my move are activities I did in my youth, such as ping-pong and tennis. There is probably a psychological term for returning to one’s zone of familiarity in your later years. I don’t know what it is called, but I do know I get great joy from doing these things that I used to do.
What a racket selling a house has become. You have to get things inspected, which you pay to have done, then in addition to that you have to pay the county to get the inspection report. Racket racket racket. Don’t mind me. I’m just venting. I’ll be so glad to have this process over, I won’t even be sad about selling the house… until later.
And so it goes….p