Let's take a little break

Here is something I have learned:

When your brain is fuzzy 

[due to countless hours of pulling it apart], 

take a break.

Do something else.

Make a pot of delicious popcorn.

Transfer your laundry to the dryer.

Sit on the deck in the sunshine and close your eyes.

Stand on your head.

[Ok, I can't do that.  But, I could see it helping.]

Or, even better,

plan a blog in your head.

And then, write it.

Today's break will reflect on the interactions of Ernest Hemingway and I around my dining room table.

A few days ago, 

I collected a variety of books together and carted them upstairs.  

I placed them on the table, and looked at them.  

I sighed.

"I'm tired" I whined to myself.

"Will this ever be over?" I said to the wall.

"Where is distraction when you need it?" I questioned the breeze blowing gently through the swaying curtains.

The curtains reached out and loved me, 

but they offered me no solution.

"Fine" I muttered, and settled myself down...

...when soon and somehow and inexplicably, I discovered:

I. LOVE. THIS.

I love sitting in my quiet house with sunshine and breeze, 

thinking my thoughts, in my pajamas.

I love seeking out the thoughts of others, 

love collecting their insights,

love wrapping them up in my own.  

I love crafting sentences, 

weaving paragraphs, 

funneling truth as I see it 

into form and place.

I love it, love it, love it.

Until.

"I'M TIRED, WHEN WILL THIS BE OVER, 

WHERE OH WHERE IS DISTRACTION?!?!"

[I just want to scream.]

And that is when I see Ernest, 

floating in the chair across from me 

and in the fogginess of my vision; 

when I hear him say what he is purported to have said, 

in sympathetic encouragement to me

and out of the richness of his own experience:

"There is nothing to writing. 

All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

Yes, Ernest.  Yes.

[To be truthful, I also feel inclined to tell him that in these postmodern days, dumping coffee on your computer out of sheer delirium is apparently also an option.]

But, yes.

I let it sink in.  

I allow the breeze to whisper to my soul, 

the popcorn to my strength, 

the reality of being a part of this greatly swarming breed of humanity to my desire to be a part of it.

And then?

I dive back in,

to the mess of productivity.

Because really--

If there's no blood, it's probably not worth very much.

Not to mention, I can't justify nearly as much popcorn in my life if I'm not sitting at this table all day.

And, I really do love this.
[Don't let me forget.]