Well, it's December. The month I declared I would write a bit each day. Instead (and I don't think this is avoidance), I've been seized by.... something.
A sense of well-being. A je ne sais quoi. A que sera sera, as Franny might say in Countdown. I'm following my nose, my gut, my sensibilities as life presents itself. I'm going with it, slip-sliding in the stream of well-being, listening to what it tells me. These times in my life have been rare, and this feeling is perhaps fleeting; I don't want to dictate to it.
I want to listen.
I wanted a project to complete over the Thanksgiving weekend. I decided to finally paint the family room walls molasses. That's the color; molasses. I ignored my feeling of well-being that said I could do anything I wanted. I told it to stand back! I had work to do that weekend, for I was preparing to write a bit every day in December and wouldn't have time for this painting then, and I've been wanting to do this for months and months. The chalkboard wall gave me the audacity to do it.
It did not turn out well.
We tried to love it. We sat there without speaking but knowing each other's thoughts. Finally, Jim said, "I feel like I'm sitting inside a UPS truck." ha! I did, too.
So the very next day I Kilzed it.
Better. I don't know what color we'll end up painting the room (which now has a name: Libby (Irene was lonely)), but at least we're not sitting inside a UPS truck awaiting delivery.
And the split pea soup is good.