Yesterday was quite good. I finally got around to fixing the tiny balcony again. It’s not yet done but it’s fixed enough for me to be able to sit and have coffee and stare at the sky and the trees.
It’s the first time since my real-life garden died (due to Covid invading the household and a start-up business that went south in the hardest way possible) that I am able to really restart it again. I began with the tough survivors — a lot of oregano, two pots of dragonfruit, a curry plant, an insulin plant, and the avocados. I’ll try to grow from seeds again but I have to secure some space with enough sun and good energies.
This morning I had my coffee in the balcony, but had to get back into the room earlier than planned because the construction machinery across the street has begun its too-loud racket.
Thankfully there are no Zoom meetings today for the dayjob sidelines but there are a few tasks I need to get out of the way. To be honest I am not in the mood for any of it. The Forest wants today, as it had a rather nice start yesterday (I started a wip on an A3 size piece and finished a set of 4 5R pieces.)
I may need to run an errand to the grocery store but I have to carefully plan the to-buy list first. Funds are running low, as always.
I have a couple of paychecks owed to me but the lockdown is making it difficult to collect. (This country does not do checks in the mail, nor has it become fully versed in the practice of direct deposits through online banking inspite of more than a year of work-from-home and Zoom.)
On a more positive note, the recent room rearrangement is proving to be most conducive to the things I want to get done, particularly in the area of art-making. Movement and energy flows are much, much better. Less obstructions and stumbles. Less disruptions and destructive breaks in the process.
As I am writing this I wonder, how do I come across as a person and as an artist? I know that I am not a cheerful, bursting-with-energy-and-happy-vibes sort. Do my entries just sound like the self-absorbed ramblings of a mundane, generally uninteresting individual trying so hard to be meaningful? Do I come across as too whiny and ungrateful? And then I also wonder, do I care? And I shouldn’t. I am writing this all for me, first and foreMost. Because there are stories I want to hear and read that I can really relate to and it’s hard to find them. I want to write what I want to read more of. I want to edit and censor myself less. If I will care about what people think and feel then my only concern is whether any of my words or art have added a grain of joy or hope or optimism in a life even for just a moment.
It’s cloudy outside. Looks like some rain is on its way.