I should have blogged in the early morning, when I had the energy and the time and the right ideas. But the day was full, and the time was short, and the drive to get stuff done was pushing hard, relentlessly. It was a good day -- no, really it was a great day. How many get to sit around and dream big dreams for a living and have the great fun of chasing those dreams? But it didn't feel like a good day while I was in the thick of it all. Too many masters, just one slave.
I'm thankful for the evening, for the cessation of conscious striving. Dinner was a blessing, communion with my beloved housemates. Tonight we met a prospective housemate, a rare treat. Later this evening, the newspaper lay open for evening contemplation as we talked about our days. I said I wanted to blog, to write something before I slept tonight. But what would that be?
In her book,”The Artist’s Way,” Julia Cameron recommends getting up an hour or so earlier, to write what she calls “Morning Pages,” and thereby find yourself able to record the feelings or thoughts or concerns that are apt to be in your awareness in that hypnopompic [semi-awake, transitional] state. Although I have almost no “robin genes,” I did that for awhile and sensed its authenticity. But it’s hard to do; I read somewhere that a lot of Americans go around most of the time sleep-deprived anyway.