It’s late and I have to get up in six hours. It’s been weeks and weeks and weeks since I’ve written regularly though, and I’m determined to prove to myself that typing a few words is not pushing a boulder up a mountain. I wrote two whole posts last week and had internet problems so I didn’t post them, and when I re-read them later they felt forced and inadequate. Blah. I’m sticking my tongue out at my inner critic right now.
I’m just going to say a nighttime prayer (I wish that word wasn’t so associated with churches and bibles) to this infinitely supplied universe, full of things that are healing and nurturing and fulfilling. Heirloom tomato pizza, suprise path crossings with old friends, singing(!), Ani DiFranco’s new album, the nighttime that is serenading me with crickets.
For the majority of you with whom I’ve lagged in contact, here’s an update in five minutes or less:
- I’ve moved 12 times since July.
- I’m luxuriously perched atop a Big Sur ridge in one place for a whole month, as of Saturday.
- I went to Colorado for 10 days and saw changing Aspens and old friends. I love Colorado, changing Aspens and old friends. I saw my cat and three ex’s.
- I’m teaching myself how to play guitar with “Guitar for Dummies”. I know 16 chords and am very, very proud of myself.
- I’m single for the first time in 10 years.
- I’m taking a three month Zen class with Cheri Huber remotely, using conference calls and e-mails. My assignment: do something that a) nourishes my heart and spirit and b) will earn me $500 in three months. I think this is scary and implausable and fantastic.
- The neighborhood skunk just waddled by the open door and gratefully decided against coming in for another cat food feast and four hour nap under my bed.