I’m in a major block right now. Goals that I set months ago have been stared at, walked around and left behind in a heap of undone-ness. In their wake is insecurity, hopelessness, and the feeling of outright failure. I’m sure all writers go through this, so I shouldn’t beat myself up, but honestly, even this blog hasn’t been tended to as it should have. I love to say that life keeps getting in the way, which is absolutely true, but there is also a huge sense of fear. Fear that if I do write, things may change … fear that if I don’t write, things won’t change at all.
I was working on the laundry, what you all know by now is my favorite chore. It is still, however a chore, and I get frustrated and overwhelmed just as much as the next guy. But, when I was “doing the transfer” – you know, from washer to dryer – I realized I had something like 7-8 pairs of jeans and two heavy beach towels. That was never gonna get dry. Ever. So, I hung up my trusty clothesline and proceeded to pin out the load.
It looks like a laundry ad, from one of those sleek washers that promises to wash up to twelve or fifteen pairs of jeans in one load. Until you look at the small print and read “of differing sizes.”
Anyway, as I’m pinning these heavy clothes out, it’s like a trip down memory lane. There’s a pair of jeans that Lizzie (#5) wears now that I got on sale years ago at The Gap that I originally bought for Lucy (#1). There’s a a pair of Mollie’s (#4) that is definitely ready to be made into shorts for the summer, and there’s a pair of Mary’s that aren’t supposed to be “skimmers” but are because her legs are so long compared to the waist size.
It’s a gorgeous day, sunny, breezy … blissful. I am hopeful. I am, if not restored, then at least not quite as self-deprecating as I was yesterday. The clothes will dry, the writing block will pass (eventually). I really am very lucky, when one stops to think.