I'm sick. The works : colds, cough, headache, and a fever that's been trying to get a foothold, slowly inching into me, burning up resistance as it goes. I gave up trying to be valiant and productive, and went to bed after lunch.
This morning I've printed out most of the notecards for the smallstorypoembook. It's well over two hundred notes. But each note/page is mostly a few lines of poetry, and some illustrations. The whole book is a love letter of sorts, addressed to absent persons who are really just one person, who is still an unknown stranger, wandering in the parts of the wildforest where I have yet to lay claim and power. It's heartwork, this smallstorypoembook. It cannot be put aside to wait. It has to be made. It has to be.
I'm exhausted by Duty. As always. I have dayjob work to do that I could not do with the little time left to me for the holiday break. I may have to spend my first day of the New Year doing the dayjob work. Or if I'm still too sick then I will just have to find another way to get it done.
But despite my state now, my heart is fortified. A friend posted a question on his timeline: what is your takeaway from 2017?
Be brave, and love anyway.
And in my Twitter feed I threw out a challenge for the new year:
I dare you
The Stendhal reference is from something I picked up in Helen Oyeyemi's book of short stories. It was mentioned that according to Stendhal (a French writer from the early 1800s), it takes about one year and a half to fall in love.
I wrap up this last entry of 2017 with a quote from Paulo Coehlo. I'm going back to bed. I'll see you next year.