So, all this "stuff" that keeps popping up in my life. I removed "uninvited" as the adjective for said "stuff", because since I'm asking for things from my life, and I believe only in benevolence, I have to expect what's being given to me is on the way to what I've asked for. If that doesn't make sense, don't worry about it. It will if it's supposed to, prepositional placement not withstanding, because ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will put, even if Winston Churchill wouldn't.
By "stuff" I mean the easel that won't go away and when it does, it's called out from the bowels of a maddeningly cluttered closet ( post fodder alert!) to be assembled so that it can sit in the small living room like godzillla until I can't stand it and put it back in the organized closet of the future. "Stuff" is also the large plastic storage bin sitting where I don't want it to sit. It was one of my husband's gifts to me, a solution to the messy business of cleaning oil paints off paint brushes without killing the poor plants on the patio, because the patio is also where I paint. This is where, once again, it dawns on me that all this painting stuff that's all up in m'face messin' with my happy means I should paint. I am a genius of the obvious, so obviously, I vow to paint, again, as I obviously should. ( Bastardized Japanese proverb: fall down seven times. get up eight. you win. )
By "stuff" I mean the easel that won't go away and when it does, it's called out from the bowels of a maddeningly cluttered closet ( post fodder alert!) to be assembled so that it can sit in the small living room like godzillla until I can't stand it and put it back in the organized closet of the future. "Stuff" is also the large plastic storage bin sitting where I don't want it to sit. It was one of my husband's gifts to me, a solution to the messy business of cleaning oil paints off paint brushes without killing the poor plants on the patio, because the patio is also where I paint. This is where, once again, it dawns on me that all this painting stuff that's all up in m'face messin' with my happy means I should paint. I am a genius of the obvious, so obviously, I vow to paint, again, as I obviously should. ( Bastardized Japanese proverb: fall down seven times. get up eight. you win. )
Dang.. one second, my ego just woke up and it's really excited..
"We're going to paint?! That is so cool! What are we going to paint? I mean.. you want it to be good, right? Wait, what about your book? You told everyone you were going to write this book. Speaking of which, how's that going?"
Ego. Egads. Bad things this way come. Or they begin heading in this direction but I get the "mother" look on my face and tell my ego,
"No, I don't, in fact, want it to be good. I want it to be fun. And I know what I'm doing. Watch and learn or sit down and shut up." Sometimes telling yourself to shut up is a sign of sanity, no matter how it looks to other people.
"Good" has stress built into it and defining "good" is not my business. Following joy, this is my business and trust me, this is a business with the same time requirements of any other startup. I'm still relatively new to this joy stuff. I am also slightly suspicious of its intentions and effect on my life. (gimme a break, I'm working on it.)
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| "Kitchen Sink Drama" oh what a sense of humor there is... |
And as for the honorable mention, Agatha Christie has been quoted as having said, "The best time to plan a book is while you're doing the dishes." The Dame has the "write" idea ( I'm SORRY. I had to...) but I'm going to use paper plates, because if I have to wash something, it'll be paint brushes, not pots and pans.
Post post synopsis: Stop fighting what's in front of you and figure out why it's in front of you.
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