I've lost my voice, and I've lost the T.
The double bereavement has left me utterly disjoint. It's not something I've ever experienced before, and I hate it.
Things have happened. Things have been happening.
I completed my thesis, and submitted it, and had complimentary remarks made about my design even though I'd neglected to draw elevations of my buildings.
I joined a Spanish class that's conducted on the weekends. I like the class. I'm a fabulous student, and the teacher's good at explaining things. I am, however, slowly growing unable to stomach her continuous slurs on Indians as students of language. I predict some unpleasantness.
I've been talking to people about freelance jobs ranging from the construction of the upper storey of a residence to writing articles for a magazine to the interior design of a restaurant to the possibility of working for a place that provides newsletter services for companies. This should make me happy, yes? Multiple possibilities! Sigh.
I've added a morning walk to my daily schedule, and I've had some wonderful pre-dawn strolls in the last few days that had me wish I were still writing. All I have now are some random disjoint memories of the thoughts I had on my walk (in the undead twilight with all the whites white and the snake hole snake hole snake-hole and the smell of dawn over grass) and a disinclination to do anything about it.
Perhaps I should try letting go for a while. ("for a while")
Hopefully I will be able to get myself to miss the writing by not trying to do it at all...
watch this space?
The double bereavement has left me utterly disjoint. It's not something I've ever experienced before, and I hate it.
Things have happened. Things have been happening.
I completed my thesis, and submitted it, and had complimentary remarks made about my design even though I'd neglected to draw elevations of my buildings.
I joined a Spanish class that's conducted on the weekends. I like the class. I'm a fabulous student, and the teacher's good at explaining things. I am, however, slowly growing unable to stomach her continuous slurs on Indians as students of language. I predict some unpleasantness.
I've been talking to people about freelance jobs ranging from the construction of the upper storey of a residence to writing articles for a magazine to the interior design of a restaurant to the possibility of working for a place that provides newsletter services for companies. This should make me happy, yes? Multiple possibilities! Sigh.
I've added a morning walk to my daily schedule, and I've had some wonderful pre-dawn strolls in the last few days that had me wish I were still writing. All I have now are some random disjoint memories of the thoughts I had on my walk (in the undead twilight with all the whites white and the snake hole snake hole snake-hole and the smell of dawn over grass) and a disinclination to do anything about it.
Perhaps I should try letting go for a while. ("for a while")
Hopefully I will be able to get myself to miss the writing by not trying to do it at all...
watch this space?
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