Seems I always make this whole-hearted vow to be a diligent blogger.....but then a few months later, I'm apologizing again for falling off the wagon. I honestly don't know how some manage to be so good at it. It's not that I don't enjoy writing per se......I just have a really hard time finding/making the time when I work so many hours most days and try to take care of everything else in my life, AND be *on* for always thinking of new brainstorms. I guess I tend to think how mundane my life would sound if documented over & over. And yet I take huge comfort in the mundane predictability of my life - the *knowing* how things likely will be tomorrow, and the next day. I love routine and ritual; what I'm expected to do, by others and myself, and the discipline to do it.
And then because so many ARE so good at blogging, I think "What do *I* have to say or share that could possibly stand out in the sea of blogs any person(s) want to read?" To be honest, I find so many blogs so me-me-me in focus.....I feel really self-conscious about writing in a manner that sounds that way myself.....try to avoid it. Here we are witnessing the hugest disaster ever - Japan - and to me, it seems so ridiculously miniscule to talk about the details of my daily goings on when there are such pressing needs for attention & focus elsewhere, so much bigger than anything I could possibly talk about. The disaster puts everything into harsh perspective.
Yet....I know, life goes on. You can only do what you can do to help others (contributions, etc.) and then keep moving forward in your own circle...... For me, work is my therapy for all things. To feel normal, or push-through disasters, to find some creative, positive kernel even in a storm of others' suffering....... Maybe I feel too sharply, worry too deeply and need to get over it. The ability to create somehow makes me feel alive and my senses heightened by the ability to still do so...... I dare say *creating* is an elixir to soothe all ills.......
Today I'm cutting, trimming and labeling a couple hundred soap bars to ship. A repetitve boring activity, to be sure......yet there's a soothing comfort in it as well, for each bar must be perfect and a representation of
*me* and my craft. And when I'm done I'll have some afternoon left to work more on a painting in-progress. The simple thrill of these predictable routines keeps me whole, keeps me sane - isn't that ......simple?
Yet it's enough for me.