This Mortal Quill

A Fresh Page

The blank page is sometimes the scariest of propositions. A blank journal or notebook filled with that horrid, expansive whiteness, that winding sheet herald of possibilities that dares this mortal quill to marr it. Any mark that sullies it snuffs out forever the other choices, the other words and thoughts of the now. It's the world in miniature, our path before us--unknown--but soon to be chosen. Like footprints through a field of snow, words fill the page, sometimes haphazard, sometimes orderly, and always, always irrevocable--until the snow melts, that is.

So here I am, starting anew. Termination dust is on the mountains. Winter is fast approaching here. I've been remiss in doing something that brings me a lot of pleasure. I worry about others, I worry about their expectations, and in my worry I forget that I'm really doing it for me and no one else. Livejournal will be allowed to die peacefully, I think, with only the odd revival for the occasional checkup on old friends.

Patrick and I celebrated our six month anniversary this week. I was out of sorts and cross for parts of the two days we spent together, but he's learning quite well to present a calm and solid front against my torrential emotions. It soothes me beyond belief, and knowing he'll be there during and after the storm allows me to move that much faster towards my center.

I'm desperately wanting a new job. Mine is stifling, and even though I really like my duties, I don't believe in the company, and I don't like the way we're treated. Also, I writhe with embarrassment whenever I have to tell anyone where I work. For all the downfalls, I have gained a lot from this job, and I am thankful for it.

I'm a Zuma addict. It's not so bad, but if Zuma were a drug, I'd definitely be a regular user. Fortunately it seems to be self regulating, as my eyes can only handle so much. I wonder what makes it so appealing, for all it's simplicity. It gives such satisfaction. It's visually stimulating with colors and movements and bold designs. It's audibly rewarding and appropriate, with distinctive music and sound effects that aren't overwhelming or distracting. The point system is fun and practical. The different modes are played with a different set of skills, and the courses also challenge in different ways. I play best in a very loosely trancelike state, where I'm just aware of colors and form. It's like meditation. Very Zen.

Money, ah, money. Duties, the real world in general. Pah. Leave it all behind. Oh, wouldn't it be nice to never worry about things like that? I'm trying to pay off the car, and Shar is nowhere to be seen. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. I hate it when people say "we need to talk" and then walk away. Just tell me already! I also need to get my taxes done. Gosh, did you know I've paid nearly 1500 in taxes so far? Ludicrous!

The to do list is neverending. I really do need to address some important things, but I'm getting there, slowly and steadily. Okay, I lied. Fits and spurts, fits and spurts.

I had a good conversation with an old friend. Hiro showed up again tonight. I haven't seen him, let alone talked to him in years. It's amazing how he's changed in the time away from me. Of course, being an imaginary friend, it's my changes he's reflecting. And perhaps he's coming back at just the right time. It's much better to be in good company than to be alone, and his presence did make the walk feel not only more safe, but shorter too. And you know what spurred his appearance? Worries about moose!

I've been thinking a lot about the farm. Or should it be The Farm. Whatever it is, it's close. It's here, I'm moving in ways that ripple just so to bring it closer and closer. Books, thoughts, visits, tables, plans, practice. I can see it here in this countryside. Fitting, somehow.

For 45 cents, I picked up some dried hyacinth blossoms at New Sagaya's. I boiled them in water and added some sugar and have been since enjoying my Hyacinth blossom syrup. It's vaguely reminiscent of the blackberry syrup I made in Northern California. It's very fragrant, and delightfully tart, which means you can use very little for a big punch. I'm quite pleased.

Pat and I finally figured out how to get to that yarn shop. I saw a wonderful pattern for a sweater with leaves and things, and I bought a very nice knitting book. It's heartening to know that there seem to be no providers of angora bunny yarn. Means a possible cornering of the market. They also sell loose fiber there. I can practice the different ways to do whatever it is I might want to be doing. How fun!

I also bought a book tonight called Inkheart. It's a translation of a german book, and looks to be pretty interesting. I *finally* got into Moonheart by Charles de Lint. I've owned the book for nearly a decade, and just couldn't bring myself to start. I'm ever so glad I did, though.

See, the words, they flow, and they're mine.

posted by Quill @ 11:25 PM