Wednesday, April 1, 2009

I Need A Routine

Being a creative person, it is a bit of an oxymoron that I can not create when everything is up in the air. Messy desks don’t bother me, using sloppy ink and paper have never stunted my prose, but not living some semblance of a routine just drives me batty. Over the past month, I have lost any routine I have tried to grasp leaving me feeling empty when it comes to all that creative-mind mumbo jumbo. Babysitting puppies, Finn becoming ill, having friends stay with me, Finn getting surgery and recovering, having my laundry room broken, going off the Weight Watcher’s wagon, the article I have been working on changed at the last minute, and parties, parties, parties.

April will be the month of reflection and getting back to basics. Finn will be all puppyish again. He and Polly can keep each other company so Mommy can have some time for herself. I can read again. Cook good meals again. Take care of myself again. And go back to writing, again.
But it was fun. Babysitting Fiona and Angus was a blast and it was the spark that triggered Finn to start reveal his illness. With my back yard finally fenced in, I had piece of mind to let the dogs run and be free in the confines of my own personal jungle. Plus, now I can be outside and in peace without the neighbor interrupting me to share tales about things I couldn’t care less about. (In fact, when I was walking Polly a few days ago he commented on my new fence saying that it gives him such a nice view. What a rude bastard. I could have gone off, but I have more couth than he could ever hope for --- I wonder if that is a West Coast thing.)

It also gives me the perfect spot to entertain as I did when Paul, Heidi and Connor came to visit. It was great seeing them and sharing my home with them. They brought one of their puppies, Zoe, along for the ride and also Maridell (Nana). We hung out in the back yard and I cooked for days; ribs one night with coleslaw and paella another night to satiate the cocktail party crowd of Michelle and Guy. I drank too much, ate too much and felt very loved with all my friends around.
Then came work struggles, a stitched up hound and things falling apart at home. On top of that was a birthday bash (I made the cake), friends from NYC and the annual kite party. All great fun, great friends, great food and lots of dancing, singing and drinking.

This month has quite a few things going on, but I think I can think again. A couple of puppy parties (I had no idea that having dogs was such a social thing), a few days off after the rush of this season, maybe even spend time with the family to catch up. But mainly I want to work on my lovely yard, watch LOST and get back to living, take care of my hair, nails, body and such (otherwise I will have to be a single mom forever) and just be for a while.

According to the MBTI, I am an INFJ, the rarest of personality types; a mixture of the spastic artist with the quiet scientist. That explains my discomfort about the past month. I don’t do change or absence of routine well. I like to schedule my creativity and have tasks that show a beginning and an end. My flighty nature of wanting to learn anything new and not allowing myself to get bored is paired with lists, schedules and numbers. Odd, but me.

So now I can create. The dishes are done, my menu is planned, the puppies have been walked and the start of my first rough draft is on its way. I can now find the inspiration to pen a few notes, play with a few pictures and daydream again.

Heavy sigh.

As a new beginning to being on my own again, I am taking on a new project: Writer’s Digest’s Poem A Day Challenge
Here is day one, apropos that it is about origins and I am starting over, yet once again. (Hey it’s better than cutting my wrists.)

Heart break to heart wake
From being dumped to bumped
Up to a more appropriate position,
Above it all.

Regrets and tears to rebirth
Both painful like a sloppy surgeon
But getting the job done,
A cry to begin breathing again.

The agony and the ecstasy
Badminton back and forth
A volley of pain and hope,
Striving to come alive.

Alone, broken and damaged
With smiles, dreams and friends
Love for me is nonsense,
Yet I know it does exist.

This is the origin of my species
Woman with a fortune cocktail
Twisted with tears and sorrow,
I pray to live again.

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