Zen and mornings and work

So, I'm reading about Zen -- I don't know, don't ask, it's a thing. I have come to the conclusion, though, at least from what I've read, that this entire philosophy is basically antithetical to how I function. I mean, my world comes from that busy-mind place. Books, ideas, characters -- I need the constant inflow to support the outflow.

I was up and about this morning, doing my cleaning of the kitchen thing, and I was thinking about how the work I do is, in effect, endless. One load of dishes leads to another load of laundry leads to another dog walk leads to another book leads to another meal to cook. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. Life is, in effect, one little thing after another after another and I embrace that. I think most of a woman's life is mired in that (I don't know about men's lives. I've rarely met one as busy as I am, so I can't say.)

It's funny, though. People don't want to know that, really, writing for a living is a lot like doing dishes. If you're lucky, you have someone to help do them so you don't have to get every load, or you eat out a lot, or you buy paper plates (or have someone buying you paper plates) so you only have to do dishes when the mood takes you. But mostly, if you're a working writer, you do dishes so that someone can get the sink dirty again.

Because everybody's got to eat. ;-)

Mothering

I keep wanting to talk about this word and I keep... not.

Maybe I'm not ready.

I hate people some days

Really.

I need to find my center again.

Like right now.

I'm tired of winter

My head hurts and I'm stressed and grumpy and on the rag and and and...

*kicks something*

Hard.

Artwork

I have been thinking about that word a lot lately -- artwork. Not artwork as a *thing*, but art as work. I don't want to get into a long discourse about writing as a job -- this is something I know and I do and that is good. I love my job. I love romance, writing, the process, but that's not what I'm thinking about.

I'm not thinking about work as money-making. I'm thinking about internal work, spiritual work, heart work.  Love work.

It's funny, when you say it out loud, the words are trite and self-help and weird, somehow a blurb for something that I can't stop working through, working on, working with.

I am starting a few experiments to explore the world of art as heart work -- things that I'm reluctant to say out loud yet, in case the speaking of them, the giving these ideas words pins them down into a world they're too new to exist in yet. These are quiet things, private magics that need blessings and breath and love.

Mothering.

Which is a word that deserves a space all its own, a practice that I am trying to redefine and recapture and reinvent and own again.

*kicks something*

You know how I hate getting blindsided with things in the morning? Today it happened again. It wasn't anything major, but it was incredibly painful and now I just want to kick something.

Hard.

Maybe June will have me kicking things at training this morning. At least then I'll have shoes on.

:(

New sewing machine

I finally bought myself a new machine -- it does embroidery and quilting and I'm a little intimidated, but I think today is my evening to go and commune with it. ;-)

I made the neatest doll yesterday -- I can forsee a lot more doll making in my future and I think I'll try a dragon, too.

Maybe a series of them to decorate Larry's office...