When I write that, I remember writing last year about how it seemed like I was "hardly writing" A Rational Arrangement. And yet I did finish the draft. In less than a year. A little bit at a time. It doesn't have to be a lot. I just have to keep moving.
I titled this entry after one of my demons. Lil Moore, for "just a little more". The one who tells me to keep going just a little longer: a little more drawing, a little more writing, a little more exercise. A little more, and then you can rest.
I like her better than her counterpart. Ennie, for "Never Enough". But they are only different expressions of the same concept.
I have been coloring in one of haikujaguar's coloring books --
Not In Need of Quests -- the last few days. It is a meditative process. I remember doing this as a kid for fun. And now I am doing it again, for fun, but with a little more skill than five year-old me. Micah tweeted about how real media sometimes doesn't seem worth it, when digital is easier and people like it better. I like my markers because I can't fix all my mistakes. Because eventually there's color on everything and there's nothing else I can do, and I have to say: it's done.
Sometimes it's good to surrender.
I am working the day after Thanksgiving, just as I have worked every Friday after Thanksgiving since 1997. But in my department we can work late the rest of the week in order to leave early every third Friday, and this week is my turn. So I worked late all this week, and I'll only work a half day today. That's almost the same as four-day weekend, right?
I have been working at the same bank (for a given value of 'same' that includes two purchases by other banks) for 17 years now. Who does that any more?
In a week and a half, I am going to Europe with a friend of mine, telnar. He travels so much that this is pretty routine for him. I have never been to Europe before. We're spending a day in London, and several in Venice, then I'm going home by way of Toronto. I'll spend a few days there visiting koogrr. I leave on the 5th and get back on the 17th.
I am vaguely terrified, not so much by the travel as by the idea of being away from my routine for 12 days. All my normal things! I won't be able to do them! How will I know I'm still me?
I condensed those last two paragraphs into two tweets earlier this week. I am not good at tweeting, but I try now and again anyway. The character limit perplexes me. All of the sections in this post are short, and yet somehow they don't make good tweets.
One of my local friends called yesterday to wish me a happy Thanksgiving. When I called him back, he asked what I'd been up to. "Writing," I said, and hesitated. There is nothing interesting to share about the process of writing; it is not an adventure or a funny story, generally speaking. Then I elaborated anyway, spending twenty minutes telling him about the process and my doubts and difficulties and decisions, while he listened patiently.
There is nothing interesting to share about it, but I am desperate to share it anyway.
Most of my life is internal.
But I am going to Europe for a week in December. That'll make a good story, right?