it's like i'm on the last leg of a marathon. james keeps saying finish strong, but all i want to do is throw in the towel, walk to the nearest watering hole, and wash it all away. i tell him, exasperated, while we're driving home tonight: i've written all there is to write. i can't think of anything else to say. and again, he says with conviction: finish strong. looking back, you won't regret it. i know he's right. he usually is. so i will try. if not for me, for you.
you see, the problem is: there are so many distractions. there are the moments in life that beg to be lived...not in here, in the studio, nose to a painting, or on this machine, this illusory companion we call the computer, but out there. out there are the walks at dusk to places where feet seldom go, walks with good friends, walks through tall thickets, through gnarls of silver driftwood cemeteries, through swampy wetlands and bull thistle forests, all along that magical river. there, you can imagine and even sense the traces, natives fishing or coyote bedding down. there, the energy of the land pulses so hard you can feel it in your veins too. and you can imagine dropping everything, dropping it all just to lie in the sun dappled grass, between those trees, becoming feral, making a home, nestled in among the wilderness.
and then there's everything else that begs attention. there are the dinners yet to be cooked, full of fish yet to be caught and vegetables yet to be grown. there are the boxes yet to be sorted, and the home yet to be created. in my head, i've begun making my master list, the list of everything i might just have time for when my one-a-day is finished, in just nineteen days.
oh boy, is that list long.