But damn, every year it hurts to have to return to the day-to-day discipline and give up having my life revolve around my writing and my whims. Giving up those magic moments when my time is my own.
All week I felt the time ticking away.
I spent a lot of time writing. Far too much time wasting time. I worked on The Ectophiles' Guide to Good Music. I scrubbed the bathtub, the stove grills and top, got almost all the old stains of our kitchen counter, sent out another batch of poetry CDs, worked on so many things in my study that now it's an utter pigsty.
We've been picking blueberries and tomatoes and apples and pears from our yard. Oh, and I finally harvested two bags of lavender, which are drying in the kitchen and living room and at first smelled too strong, but it's calming down now.
We also finally bought a new mattress. Which meant we had to go shopping. Which is why it took us about a year to finally talk about having to do it enough to get ourselves into a store. And now we can hardly wait for it to be delivered. We kept our old set way beyond its useful lifetime--we bought it back in 1988 when we moved to Ontario. It has moved with us five times. I'm hoping the new mattress will help us sleep better. Make us younger. All that.
Everyone should read this great feminist essay: This terrible bargain we have reluctantly struck. Reading it I kept thinking how true it is, and how just slightly reconfigured it could also be talking about race. Or ablism. Or GLBT issues. Or classism. But I read this and kept thinking yes. Oh, yes.
And now, to celebrate my last night, I am about to Stay Up Late And Party (meaning, go eat some chocolate and read a novel). And tomorrow I will Sleep In! in other words, eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow night it's get to bed in time to get up for work time again.
For my listening, reading, and writing news, see Les Semaines.