Dear Reader,
Currently, my boys are in the background debating if you can destroy a black hole with the largest thermonuclear weapon known to humanity and speculating what will happen to the galaxy when the world will be swallowed by the sun. They are just distracting me from what I want to write with their discussions. It's been that way for months. Not because they're incredibly loud but because they're very enthusiastic about it and keep throwing out questions that catch my ear and make me go "Wait, what?" Latest question, "What do you think would happen if Jupiter replaced our moon?"
Almost all of my creative energy since March has been sucked into fielding those questions, trying to come up activities to keep the kids from getting bored, and doing my best to keep them engaged with their distance learning. Now that school has been in session for a week, you'd think that I'd have recovered some of my mojo and was ready to get back into the saddle. The problem is I'm tired. I've been on high alert since March and doing everything in my power to keep the kids distracted enough from the fact that we can't go to the park to play while at the same time trying to decide if I have to sterilize everything that comes from the store.
My anxiety has been a roller coaster. As such, my focus has been garbage. I'm tired. I'm so very tired of the anxious thought that any person I come into contact with outside of the house could be a carrier of Covid-19. It's kept me functionally housebound and miserable for these last months. I'm exhausted from trying to stay on top of the kids academic work and provide the various academic supports they need (before I had kids, I worked in special education providing support for kids like the boys). The rapid switching from one child's needs to the other child's needs makes my head spin. I try to find some solace that they are at school now (with all the safety precautions and protocols being followed) but I worry that something's going to go wrong and we're going to go back to distance learning again in the near future.
My writing time during the day is getting eaten up by chores that I'm attempting to catch up on that I had fallen way behind on when the kids were home 24/7. You don't want to see the laundry situation. It's all clean thanks to Beloved's hard work, but ... well, let me put it this way, if the pile had a bit more structure to it and clothes were a little less floppy it would easily come up to my shoulder. It's exhausting to do. My exercise routine that I was beginning to get into back in March got destroyed when the governor shut down schools and the park closed. I was starting to do walks over there while the kids were at school, but that couldn't happen and I couldn't bring the kids to the park with out them being allowed to play on the equipment (which was roped off).
I've been trying to get back into blogging but I am depressed and feeling like everything I post is pointless. I have my books for my research project here. I've read through them and just can't bring myself to start working on the notation for the project. I look at the draft of book 5 of the Umbrel Chronicles and my brain goes blank. I look at the running documents for the serial stories that I have going on here and my brain goes blank. I just want to cry sometimes because I just can't seem to tap into my creativity right now.
Unless it's in yarn. I've been making my anxiety washcloths again. I have a pile that's several inches high and I'm almost done with the cone of yarn that Beloved bought me about two weeks ago. I was working on a monstrous sized version of the wingspan shawl. Initially, I planned on doing it in the full spectrum of colors. I started out with a hook two sizes larger than was called for in the pattern. This has had unintended consequences. The exponential growth of the pattern has me at the point where I'm working on the color green (I started with red that was half a ball of yarn, orange was 1 ball, yellow was 2...) and there's no way I'm going to go beyond green. Green is 4 1lb balls of yarn. This thing is long enough to cover my couch and I'm not even finished with this section. Blue would be 8. Purple would be 16. I can't do it. I've learned my lesson, do the project in the recommended hook size or it will take over your home. To say the least, the weather got too hot for me to work on the wingspan project and I had to set it aside for about two months.
So, I started an embroidery project. I've been stalled on that because I feel guilty working on it when I have piles of laundry to put away and other household chores to work on. That feeling of guilt has been stopping me from writing too. I'm kinda flailing and doing about as well as a fish out of water. And, ontop of all this, I had to put down my fancy crowntail betta fish because he caught some kind of parasite. I'm a bit emotionally raw from that. And from some familial troubles dealing with my side of the family. I'm still sorting those emotions out and struggling to figure out what manner of productive thing I can do with them.
To say that I'm not doing well is a bit of an understatement. I'm going to do my best to get back into my posting on a daily basis. I can't promise immediate success. My schedule is a mess. My brain is not exactly in the best state becasue I'm depressed and the seasonal affective disorder is starting to kick my butt. But I will try. And I'll post pictures of the monstrosity when I get the green triangle done and of the embroidery project as I get more of it filled in. The embroidery project is a quote from Dune. It's the only good thing to have come out of that series of books. Frank Hubert was a mysogynistic prick. He may have had talent as a writer but he was about as kind to women in his works as H.P. Lovecraft was to people of color. This quote came into my life during a particularly rough period when I was a kid. On the tapestry I am embroidering, I dropped part of the quote, but it has enough of it to get the point across. Here's the Dune Litany Against Fear:
I will not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
It is the little death that brings oblivion.
I shall face my fear and allow it to pass over and through me.
And when I turn my inner eye along the path it has gone,
Only I shall remain.
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