It's been one of those what-the-hell-happened-here-kind-of-weeks. When I went to flip the page on my planner today, I realized just how off the last ten days have been. Usually the spaces are full of little notes and reminders and my daily to-do lists. Last week is completely empty. ONE solitary thing written on it. On THURSDAY.
Monday started off with Dave home, sort-of-sick, and sort of not-that-sick. So since he was not-really-that-sick, we decided it would be nice for me to Have The Day. Meaning that I would have the whole day free to do whatever I wanted and wasn't responsible for any childcare for Nettie or for any of my usual household chores. My mom and Dave split the day between them, taking care of Nettie, and I sat at the kitchen table most of the day, painting.
I didn't intend to spend the whole day painting. I thought I would work on some writing and other projects on my list. But I was enjoying it so much that the hours just kept slipping away and as the sun set, I was still there. The day had come and gone and I had done nary a thing I usually would. I suppose that's what affected the rest of the week. It's like my brain went off into this hazy world of painting and shapes and shadows and colors and I couldn't rein it back in.
So the following days went by, and instead of writing during naptime, or working on Nettie's birthday present and party invitations, I doodled and painted. (And read things written by other people. Good things. You might want to read them, too. There's a reading list below.) I didn't even come up with any painting project. I just painted random things for practice. Imagine that. The luxury of doing something just to hone your skill. Not to show to anyone or use for anything.
There has been some guilt floating around here, undoubtedly. I've half-heartedly attempted to pull myself together, but the trouble is, I'm feeling drawn in opposing directions. Because what I've really meant to do for a few weeks at least, is write about some of the political and social issues that are concerning me. I've started several times, but then I read something that seems to say everything I want to so well, that I wonder why I should bother. And maybe I don't need to bother. I mean, there ARE many, many people writing eloquently and passionately about immigration raids and the travel ban, transgender bathroom laws, cuts to the EPA, the repeal of the ACA, and half a dozen other alarming proposals. Anyone who feels as I do about those things is already reading exactly what I've been reading, or nearly enough. And anyone who doesn't feel as I do is happily NOT reading what I've been reading, and will thank me for not adding another voice to the chorus.
So. Let the record show that I acknowledge that crazy you-know-what is happening is this country. I am not ignoring it. I am staying informed and agitating where I can, but until muse or insight or experience give me something more to work with, to make my voice worth hearing, I'll be painting some pretty poor watercolors. And reading things by some woke folks.
Between the World and Me by Ta Nehisi Coates (Check it out at the library. I have a post started on this book, hopefully I'll share it soon.)