I sit in the cafe, the tools of my trade spread all about me. It's nice to be here. Peaceful, bright, social. I like the solitude in the midst of others, the calm of my own thoughts when I'm not in conversation with anyone else.
Today, I am in conflict.
Part of me wants to get right back into my work. I yearn to be productive; I want to earn the money we will badly need in a few weeks. I want to gain recognition and support for my clients, sweet organizations with good missions. Really, I couldn't work too much.
But part of me feels dreamy. Part of me wants to write whatever I want, stories that I like. Silly things and serious things and ... A R T. You know.
I feel like I have been caring for sick children and caring for my sick self and arranging financial and repair matters around the house, oh, and teaching yoga almost every day so much for the last week or so that I feel like it has been ages since I have been in touch with this part of myself. This quietness. This creativity. This creation that ties the timeline of past and future together with silver strands of story. You know. That.