At least it's Monday here, on my half of the world.
I wound the grandfather clock this morning, because it had stopped. I checked for the correct time on the internet, and there was a map there that showed where it was light and where it was nighttime all over the world. At noon here, the sun was about to go down in England and about to come up in Australia. What a merry-go-round we are all on together!
Somehow, dirty dishes have multiplied on my kitchen counter, newspapers have sprouted like mushrooms on the floors and scribbled in journals lie scattered here and there near every contemplative zone in my house. Weekend detritus. I must clear this stuff up, else how else will I begin this week?
I'm slowly making out a grocery list, getting ready for an errand blitzkrieg tomorrow.
The details mount up so quickly in modern life. I've seen what happens when you let them get the better of you. Soon there is no place to think a clear thought. And I feel the need most urgently these days to think clear thoughts.
I am about to launch into more re-writing on my novel. I have it on good authority from a very trusted reader, whom I swore to brutal honesty, that I should continue with the work. I came to the place with it, that I could not see the forest for the trees. I didn't know if it stank or not. But being assured that it doesn't completely stink, I now am obligated to get busy. (Okay, is THAT the right place to use whom, Oh wise and wonderful Pragmatist?) . . . Will I EVER get it right? Or will I continue to humiliate myself displaying my shaky spelling and grammar?
I think I'm hanging out in the Gloomy Place. Was it Eeyore who lived there? I'm trying to be thankful and full of optimism, but for some reason today, the hormones pull in the other direction. They can't hold out forever though. I have figured that much out.
After all, there are 99 other acres in the 100 Acre Wood. They can't ALL be gloomy now can they?