"You are at this moment,
standing in the middle of your own 'acres of diamonds.'"
No, actually, I am not. I'm sitting in the dinette area, staring at my computer knowing there are several things I should be doing as the clock moves into the one o'clock hour. Let's see, there is emptying Dad's commode, starting a load of laundry, vacuuming up the birdseed that continues to fall like Icelandic volcanic ash, and re-write some stories for my writing group. In other words move a little.
Trouble is I feel weighted down with thoughts. Thoughts that are zinging through my mind like one of those little silver balls in a pin ball machine. Can you hear them whizzing by the bells .. cling, clang ... coming down into the homestretch only to be shot back up to bells and whistles by the little batty things (Dang, what are they called? the bells are getting to me!). As soon as one thought falls into the point-of-no-return-hole another is shot back into the fray.
Yesterday I took a Merry Me day. Actually it was a Merry Me half day. Getting away with no cares except my list of things to do for ME was thrilling. I started off at writing group. Just sitting at that table of creative wordsmiths makes me feel like I've got something more to say. No matter that I have not written a story, essay, creative non-fiction piece, or memoir since the beginning of the year. This blog is my creative outlet and usually enough of a stretch to keep my writing muscles needing an ice pack. Still, I'd like to have the discipline to re-write the stories I've already composed. And I'd like to write more.
Trouble is, writing is work. Writing takes time. Writing isn't going to get the refrigerator cleaned or the bills paid. Or is it? Members of my group are actually published authors with books on Amazon. Others have been published in on-line e-zines, printed anthologies and magazines. The group facilitator says each of us is good enough to be published and get paid for it. Okay, so my bills will far surpass my ability to turn out manuscripts, but the point is just having one story published would be cool. So what's the problem?
Maybe it has to do with Mercury and Pluto being in reverse. Or maybe it is my Dad's fault (these days it is pretty easy to blame most anything on my Dad). Or could it be that even though I get rave reviews/comments from my blog buddies and my Sweetie and my "cards" are full of the #3 which "is the number of youthful exuberance. It's highly radiant, creative, outgoing, and usually symbolizes positive opportunity for happiness " the negative energy of 7 of spades is getting in my way, causing me to self-sabotage and crave flight.
Flight from what? The things I want to do? Like to do? Need to do?
What is it about having the freedom and time to pick out a new pair of glasses, then strolling around the Walmart garden center because it was there and I wasn't on a schedule, that lifted my spirits? And what was it about crossing the threshold to the back door and turned me right back into uptight, why-wasn't-it-done-me-way or you-mean-you-got-along-just-fine-without-me self?
And why have I just spent an hour whining about one thing when I'm really just put out and embarrassed at how my Dad talked to the man (kid) at the garage. Why don't I just give myself a swift kick in the butt and get moving. If there are things to do, do them. If there are things to write, write them. If there are diamonds to find, find them. None of it is going to happen as long as I sit here covered in bird seed and whine.
Wishing for you acres of diamonds,
* Acres of Diamonds story go to http://rhenion.com/acres_of_diamonds.htm