Quieting quarrels

“Get up now, so you can get the gym in time for that sculpting class.”

“This bed is too comfortable. You’ll never take me alive.”

“If you get up now you can still make it to the yoga class you intended to go to after that sculpting class, which you were too lazy to attend. Did I mention you’re lazy?”

“Yoga smoga. I want cereal.”

Two hours pass. Email is checked, Twitter is monitored, Facebook is glanced at, breakfast is served.

When I finally made that long, much resisted journey into the shower (which, fun fact, is where I do my best thinking, for whatever reason) I realized that I was using up all of my momentum by allowing these strange arguments to continue in my head. To be so berating and so escapist at once was literally exhausting me. If I simply go and do the thing I am resisting, my energy is diverted and the quarrels must quiet.

I’m sure this strikes a note with a few people in this season of resolutions (of which I have plenty, thank you). And as I was appreciating this matter-over-mind approach I began to feel frustrated that my notion of “productivity” was tied to things visual and material. I’ve always been the sort to spend long holidays up in the solitary confines of my own mind. And, for better or worse, I’ve been to that deserted island more than I ever imagined possible this past year. I’ve gotten a lot done up there, sorted things through, really. Yet it’s much easier to feel at ease if the dishes are clean at the end of the day. That’s the proof that I’ve actually “accomplished” something.

My first inclination is to make this a gender issue… which probably just stems from the dishes comment. My experience with males tells me that they are often (though not always) much more defined by “doing” than “being” as we ladies often are. So if I feel the need to clean the kitchen in order to prove to my husband that I’ve done something, it’s probably due to the fact that that I’ve realized that’s his perception, rather than any sort of subjection on his part (poor man, to be married to a modern woman and accused of such things.) 😉

In the practical sense, I will silence the battle in my mind through, and in order to, get something done. And while I do, I will continue to pursue those things unmeasurable up in that dusty little attic of my mind.

Winter at my window.

It’s been a lovely, blue-sky, technicolor fall. Cold-air scents more frequently trigger my memory. I’m in so many places and times when I walk down the sidewalk, leaves crunching beneath my feet.

But today is not a sunny day. Today it looks almost like winter out my window, which puts a little icy fear into my heart. You understand… there’s something hopeless about winter. Something empty.

I have several lines cast. The act of casting is joyous. There my sturdy line goes, connected to my overflowing heart and my ever-whirring mind. I wake up the next morning, no tugs. I get tangled in my lines and curl up, confused.

My heart is resilient, but my mind whirls all the harder… trying to make sense out of it, realizing it can’t, and then my heart pangs at its counterpart. They are both dizzy now.

I look inside myself at these things happening. I take my glasses off to look at myself, you know.

They tell me I’m actually short-sighted.