Current books =Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg Alas, Babylon by Pat Frank
June 7, 1998
It's somewhere after 3 am - do you know where your consciousness is?
A cow moans its mournful wail and the whip o' wills call as they travel up and down the woods. Underneath it all is the constant percussion of the crickets' song. The sky fades to translucent sapphire as the Moon carries Herself through the night and the stars are dark in homage to Her.
I'm here at the computer instead of bed because the Sea of Felinity threatened to overrun me again. Kitt is getting upset because I won't lie down, shut up and be still like a good pillow and Lilith is loudly demanding even more food. I suppose she's living up to both her names - Lilith Hollowtail (that must be where she stores it because she never gets fat). Aullie decided to take up about 1/3 of the bed tonight while VampireKitty and one of the wee kittens decided to try for the pillows. I still swear that Kitt and VampireKitty must have taken out an insurance policy or something on me because they take turns trying to smother me. So I came downstairs - I know a losing battle when I see one.
Went to see The Truman Show last night...I don't think I'll be looking at the moon, stars or even streetlights in the same way for a while. Right now I don't even have the words for it. Perhaps in a couple of days.
The day was actually an altogether good day - for the first time in a (seemingly) long while, I felt...well, like I truly belonged. Sometimes, it's easy to get discouraged when you're an artist, trying to listen to your muse and be true to yourself when the rest of the world is telling you to stop being so indulgent and silly and just work toward that white picket fence and the 2.3 kids (isn't that a gruesome thought - a 1/3 of a kid?) and be generally miserable like everyone else. At least, that's how it feels.
This day, though, I didn't have to wear any masks or walk on eggshells during the conversation. It was thoroughly refreshing. I was entirely free to be myself, the artist. Even my ideas for painting the house with the mural on the side of it met with approval! Now if I could only decide which idea to go with...
Looking back on what I just wrote, I wonder how strange it must be to read that. Is it strange at all? I get so used to feeling like an outcast, being the only artist in my family, that I have no idea how it sounds to anyone else. It would be interesting to know, just out of curiosity.
Good morning, y'all...and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening and good night.