I spent hours writing an end of year post yesterday, hours. Then after midnight, when I was finally finished, Typepad crashed and everything was erased. Pity, because it was a staggering work of heartbreaking genius.
Never mind.
The collage remains; I made it after trawling through my photo archives looking for some ineffable something. They were all photos that reminded me of something I enjoy most about being in the world, something that the current hamster-wheel busyness of my life has crowded out (again, I know, and there's no idiot to blame but myself). Looking at them helps me get my emotional bearings, helps me understand what kind of things I most need to include in my life to feel less like a hurtling crazy-train of randomness and more like a grown human woman with actual choices and value.
I've been looking at why and how I keep derailing my best creative intentions, and I won't kill you with the boredom of my incessant navel gazing, that would not be kind or healthy, except to say I think I get it now, and I think I get what to do about it. At least I get it better, and have an idea on what to do next.
Desperation is the mother of change...
I bought an office as the first next step. I have no working or creative space of my own, never have had, just a series of ad hoc kitchen tables and couches and counters on which to lug around any current project. No wonder I lose my will to live motivation halfway through a project. I earned a scholarship through the university over this summer, and I had it earmarked for buying my office gear, but most of it had to be spent on emergency crisis number 912,923,399 instead. Then Warren's work gave him a bit of extra cash on his last day of the year as a small thank you for working All the Hours All Year, and I asked him for half of it. Because when he works All the Hours All Year, I have to work much harder too, and no-one ever pays me for that, or even much says thank you. It's just Expected. I wanted recognition too. Didn't want to take anything away from how hard he works, or how much he deserves that thank you, wasn't even really fussed about the money, truth be told. I just wanted recognition too.
I thought about all the things I could spend my half on (expensive children and decaying house, mostly) but decided to spend it on a place to write and study and create instead (even now, I feel a desperate need to justify spending money on my own working tools, oy vey...). There's no real space in my tiny home for an office, other than at the end of my weirdly long Master bedroom, so that is where it is going. I even drew out a floor plan, a list of what I would be doing in said office space, and what tools I would need to make it all work. I still need one more bookcase for art supplies, and I want a rug and artwork to help it look all Pretty and Proper, but that can wait. I have a desk, people. And an ergonomic chair to sit kneel comfortably on and not trigger those painful brachial nerves, and shelves for things. My things! Only my things!
A brand new, planned and bought especially for Megan, working space.
That's how I know things will be different now. Because I'm choosing to mark out and take up actual real demarcated space for the first time in my ever-loving life.
Better late than never.
