I try to research formal studies on writers’ brains but all my searches either lead to links about “writer’s brain” from over-focusing or articles about obsessive compulsive disorder. I consider this momentarily (it’s a running joke in the family, after all – Katey, the OCD artist), then move on. Search. Re-search. Try new words, new orders, etc. No luck.
Next, I tackle dresses online. I’ve been asked to officiate a dear friend’s wedding on August 1st in Washington. I must know what I will wear before I can write the ceremony, because in order to write the ceremony I have to be able to envision myself delivering it. That includes what I will be wearing, unless of course naked officiates are permitted.
Finally, there is the task of upgrading my computer software. I’m dogsitting (again) and thus have high speed internet. During the course of an iTunes and QuickTime upgrade my computer crashes two times. The best (worst) part is when it starts to display messages in nine different languages, some of them sideways. But alas, the computer restarts both times taking me straightaway to my Obama HOPE desktop image—fitting, after a MacOSX freakout. (Have I mentioned that my computer is six years old?)
All of this—the high speed, the searching and researching, the baking and eating of pizza during said activities—are some sort of drug of distraction. And they work…mostly. My friend emails: “You have a life outside the vortex. It’s there, waiting for you. Maybe, even, including a future partner.” She’s right. Like on the mountain is a vortex and life via the craft school is a vortex. But when is it not? Sure, there’s relative truth. But ultimately, life is what I think it is, no matter the time, place, or circumstance.
Tonight, life feels as fleeting as the flash of a firefly. It is beautiful and then gone. I’m trying desperately not to waist mine on filament after filament of false hope. Reviewing the past and guessing the future are as fruitless as rolling blank dice. And so it is.