A few things to note: My apartment is small. Yeah, yeah. I live in New York. Of course it's small. But, seriously...like really small. As in, I could probably brush my teeth, wash the dishes and cook an omelet all at the same time (Well, you know...if I had a few extra arms. But I would totally be able to reach everything.). And we don't have a TV (Yay for Hulu and Netflix!). And it rained almost all day today. Also, and perhaps most importantly, I have not sat still for this long since I was laid up after a surgery a few years ago. That was three weeks. Of nothing. I think the Twin Peaks box set saved my life.
You know how you get so busy, and the whole time you're swamped, you're praying, wishing, hoping for a day off? And you always say, "When I finally get a day off, I'm going to...." And you come up with this huge list until you've scheduled away that time off before you even see it. And then, that glorious day off finally arrives, and what you actually want to do is nothing at all. So the list goes untended, and you start the whole process over again.
Well, I've done that enough times now that my list is a mile long. Probably longer. In fact, it might be long enough to wrap around the globe at least once. And I think maybe I've accomplished one thing on that list since being idle this weekend. One. Maybe.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think my apartment has ever been cleaner. I've scrubbed and swept and wiped and dusted every visible surface. And re-arranged the kitchen table. Twice. And cleaned out my dresser. I even gave Mrs. Gabby the Pug a bath and a freakin' pedicure (She loved that. I know. Because she pissed on the floor.). Thank god my husband and some of my friends have sent me some interesting links to read, otherwise, I may have given poor Mrs. Gabby a perm.
But what I've actually spent the better part of my time doing is making shit. Well, sorta. I screwed around on the piano trying to finish a song I started composing years ago. I played my flute for a couple of hours and realized just how bad my fingering had gotten. So I put it down and started a new oil pastel drawing, which at first seemed like, SUPER creative and "edgy" but ended up looking like it should be in a cartoon shop in the East Village. So I took a bunch of charcoal and blacked it out. I tried writing a lot, but all that seemed to come out was about my damn foot, so I stopped that, too.
Essentially, I think I've spent a whole lot of hours playing preschool - creating, then destroying; making a pretty picture to give to Mom, then having a tantrum and ripping it up. It's been that point in the day when I've realized I probably need some adult company and I've taken my wander for dinner, drinks, and anything-but-this-fucking-god-awful-apartment.
So now it's story time - I have a bunch of reading to catch up on, and if I don't find a way to distract myself, I might start making balloon animals or paper snowflakes. As it is, I'm starting to look more and more like that self-portrait I did many years ago (below). Don't anyone let me dye my hair this week.
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