No stream-of-conciousness writing today. Well, maybe not as streamy as usual.
My brother left the day before yesterday – it’s weird, when he was here, it was like he’d never been away and now that he’s gone, it’s hard to believe he’d actually come. There’s a word I’ve been looking for to describe how time feels, something along the lines of being insubstantial, fragile, fleeting and then some, but I can’t quite get my tongue around its shape. It’s highly irritating.
I’ve just realised I have to get a serious dent into the second novel and I still haven’t decided which half-fleshed out plot to go with. The joys of writing, eh? I have to try real hard to remember them right now.
For some reason, I feel tired. Not physically – I’m better than most years in that sense (I guess waking up early really does do some good :P) I feel a little drained, not much, just enough to make me take notice of it. Maybe it’s the downer after the high. Or maybe it’s just the various things that I’ve given up trying to understand or figure out or control (What did she mean? Why didn’t he write? Why don’t they understand?)
Putting up your feet and watching life pass by suddenly seems like a very appealing notion.
My brother mentioned something interesting before he left. He said the reason why we find something as volatile as a raging river peaceful and calming to watch is because:
a) the river flows to its destination with a determination that cannot be stemmed. It flows over, under and – given enough time – through all obstacles. It has a certitude that it will reach where it is headed and nothing can convince it otherwise.
b) the river doesn’t want to be doing anything else…
If we could just get those two aspects into our own lives, we’d all probably be a lot less lost.
Certitude and contentment. That’s where I’m setting my sights from now on.