contemplative

I've caught myself staring off into space a lot lately. Since it never happens in front of a mirror, I have no idea what the expression on my face is when this happens. I can only hope it looks sage and wise, like I'm crafting zen verses, and not dull or perplexed as I fear the reality of this "look" might be.

I haven't been writing much often, and that leaves me feeling bloated and pent-up. Metaphorically that is. I'm afraid some of these starry-eyed spaced out moments often lead me to daydream about a room of my own. A place where I can leave the current and zap to where I need to go to mull things over, make sense of enigmatic dreams or thoughts that pop unbidden into my head. To hone my writing skills by practicing "shitty first drafts". Most of which only happen in my head and are lost with the phone shoulder-held to my ear listening to a voicemail while throwing together PBJ's and trying to negotiate a compromise between battling siblings. To pray for people or situations that are on my heart and mind, so they won't keep sitting there piling up subconscious weight of care that gives me shoulder-aches and audible sighs throughout my day. To sit down and write hand-written letters rather than the impersonal and probably-misconstrued e-mails that time constraints seduce me to instead.It's always sunny and quiet, and there's a squishy sink-into-me chair for reading and repose and a solid, sturdy table with ample surface area for work and creativity. Oh, and the sewing machine is there too so I can sew lace onto socks--because little girls must have lacy socks.