For Maman: An Update, of Sorts

While it has been for some time on my daily to-do list to compose a new post for this blog (as if finishing any of the twenty-odd pieces already begun for it were not enough), the task has clearly not been accomplished, most likely in part due to some misguided sense of self preservation, which runs to the extent of being at a loss as to just how to go about placing my thoughts with discretion upon a page for other eyes to see when I am so hard pressed to keep any presentable for semi-public viewing the first place. * Of course, some of it also has to do with negligence on my part, in not actually sitting down to execute the task until already rendered half-incoherent by a late hour; and then, at last, I did not start writing on a page at all but in an OpenOffice document, and that has made a great deal of difference. Odd how, while I used to swear by compiling first drafts digitally, it seems nothing is ever accomplished now unless I begin on paper and work my way up from there.

It is odd too, though I suppose also somewhat inevitable, that the more time I spend avoiding the laptop the less I want to be perpetually near it. Necessity demands still that I keep company with it often, as online classes, kanji, and socialisation with friends and family are based almost entirely upon internet resources; however, despite that unavoidable (and enjoyable, might I add) time spent with my electronic companion, I find myself experiencing greater yearning for the perceived freedom of the world beyond house walls, for the sky and its attendant breezes, for the attention given to the fleeting detail of sunset and silhouetted tree and the moon. There are even some nascent longings for my fingers in the soil—what is this? The high heat of August and a borrowed yard are hardly conducive to daydreaming about gardening. 

This week's responsibilities are crowding quick and close: there is music theory homework to be finished and turned in by Tuesday; birthday gifts to be made; another day to be spent at the library; packing to be done—my grandmother's birthday fast approaches, and once again I am venturing northward to spend time with her; doors to be taken down from their hinges and painted and then reattached to their jams... There is no dearth of activity to be had. I shall be engaged in it, in the midst of it, even, merely because I dare not face the consequences of acting the laggard and ignoring these tasks listed neatly at the beginnings of my week (yes, I keep a planner now—what of it? Planners are cool.)**

Amidst the satisfaction of well-paced activity, I foresee returning again and again to my small touchstones of sanity: fingers curling around a mug made hot by coffee, a odd half hour spent with a book in the play set loft, pen on paper, a dozen forays to the security of the piano keyboard. Some small personal necessities must be obtained at the store before this coming Sunday's departure for lands abroad—an over-dramatisation indeed, but not wholly ridiculous in light of the sense of disorientation that comes inevitably from departing what serves as home base—and a day invested in wrapping up some threads of investigation at the public library would be well spent, but other than that there is a near-entire week of productivity planned ahead of me. I will do well not to waste it.

Care to share what's on your week's agenda, and what you are looking forward to with anticipation in the days immediately ahead of us?



* Yes, all eyes but my own, all minds but my own, qualify as some form of "public" where my inner workings are concerned. Such is introversion.

** It is to be pointed out that some admirably organised Australian women keep planners as well, only they call them diaries, which is a friendlier, more homely way of referring to them as opposed to using some creased-and-pressed business-suited term like Daytimer to reference one's book of daily appointments with oneself. Australians are also cool.