I'm still exhausted but I'm moving. I'm not staying still, not now, not yet. The urge is to move. Even when I am fueled by smoke. There's going to be a rest stop somewhere ahead. But not here. Not now.
Today is better than the days before. So far it seems so. At the very least I won't have to expend energy standing by for dayjob duty which in itself adds to the severity of my fatigue.
Tomorrow, despite my severe shortage of funds, I will take myself to a movie (if not me, who will?). Because I want to see Maze Runner. And I want to eat a nice meal in a Japanese or Korean restaurant. That'll set me back about $20 (but if not me, who will?)
I hope but I won't wait. I'll keep moving. I'll be in the forest. You all know where to find me. As to how, well, perhaps that's another story.
I'm posting a Story after this blog post. A fragment. A rattling that needs to be quieted.
I've been making a lot of new Things. I'm also beginning to realise that my one-woman-production setup is lagging behind the slowly increasing interest and demand for products. I may need to start rethinking how to work the balance between shop work and full heart work. The shop work is essentially production and reproduction. Full heart work is the creation of originals and the shaping of the Stories. Full heart work is the books and the poetry and the storymaking. Shop work is the translation of the heart work into the boons that can be shared with the world -- the crucial significant step after every mythical journey, the closing of the circle into new ones. Shop work is more tiring and tedious because it deals with the messes and brokenness of real life and the world. Shop work is weighed down by rules. Shop work is about tangibles. It is the tricky dance with gravity and the senses. The other side of creation is meaning. Meaning-making is harder when the language you speak contains too many strange words.
But it is good if what worries me now is being able to keep up with demand. It means people are looking. People are curious. Hearts are stirred. Hearts want.
There is an unnamed Thing tugging at me and I can't stop moving even though my mind constantly sends me a barrage of reasons to stop even for just a while. Maybe I'm just being superstitious. Maybe it's pre-birthday blues or some kind of remnant of an old reflex of an old self kicking up at this time of the year.
I am tired. I can't stop saying it because I am. But last night I wrote this:
I’m filling all the empty spaces