My little desk, that's always cluttered, with an ever growing list of things to do, things to pay, things to manage and thing's to write. It never seems to lesson, or the space I clean up never seems to stay clean long enough to actually do wondrous writing on it. Or, any writing at all. For the past months, I can't seem to get past, everything I write is crap phase and it's not making my other wise dim any brighter.
One thing I do miss from living on my own is my abundant own space and writing space specifically as everything stood the way I left them, without an extra pair of eyes curious, wondering over my lists, things. I feel so violated sometimes that I just want to hide everything. And the daily needed use of check books, post it, index cards, pens and pencils and being easily accessible in our bedroom sometimes makes me the guilty part.
But, writing for me has always been a solitary act in which I've engaged in extreme privacy.
I continually need a space in which I can call my own, well lit, well organized and cleaned, without the treacherous, dirty hands of others to go through my sacred space. Everyone is different. I am not one of those grand people who can write anywhere, anytime, with anyone around. I need my mind to have been comfortable, my body to be well adjusted and my heart in it, having embraced where I am in order to write.
I like the door to be closed, rain drops hitting against the window and the soft voice of Melody Gardot to write efficiently, wholeheartedly and productively. I dream of the day where we have two bedroom apartment where I can have all of my books, notebooks with me, in the same room, and a door to close and lock from lecherous hands and lustful, dirty gazes.
One thing I do miss from living on my own is my abundant own space and writing space specifically as everything stood the way I left them, without an extra pair of eyes curious, wondering over my lists, things. I feel so violated sometimes that I just want to hide everything. And the daily needed use of check books, post it, index cards, pens and pencils and being easily accessible in our bedroom sometimes makes me the guilty part.
But, writing for me has always been a solitary act in which I've engaged in extreme privacy.
I continually need a space in which I can call my own, well lit, well organized and cleaned, without the treacherous, dirty hands of others to go through my sacred space. Everyone is different. I am not one of those grand people who can write anywhere, anytime, with anyone around. I need my mind to have been comfortable, my body to be well adjusted and my heart in it, having embraced where I am in order to write.
I like the door to be closed, rain drops hitting against the window and the soft voice of Melody Gardot to write efficiently, wholeheartedly and productively. I dream of the day where we have two bedroom apartment where I can have all of my books, notebooks with me, in the same room, and a door to close and lock from lecherous hands and lustful, dirty gazes.
No comments:
Post a Comment