Stepping into the box
I close the cardboard door
calling it prison.
Putting weights on top
I dragged to-dos inside
until there was no room to breathe.
When I heard no new box would come
I saw the disarray of my prison box.
The to-dos were holding the weights at bay.
There was no escape.
Then I saw my heart cracking,
Then I knew I had to slumber,
Then in the morning’s light I saw
I had put the weight on myself.
I could release the to-dos.
I found my breath and joy
watching my troubles prance away.
The past two or three weeks have been pretty stressful for me. I couldn’t figure out how to balance my day job, commute, and creative life. I just could not do it. I realized this week with a little help from a friend that I needed to step back and breathe. I needed to reset to see my projects as projects not stressers.
Taking a step back meant that I focused this week on resetting my brain and relaxing. I needed some rest, because I work 40 hours a week at my day job and then 20 hours (on a ‘good’ week) at my creative life. Most Saturdays now are focused solely on creative stuff. Sundays I force myself to not be creative. I basically burnt myself out and tried to keep going, until this week.
This week I took a break from everything. That is why I only posted one thing this week. I only worked on my creative life on Monday. The rest of the week was focused on helping friends, hanging out with them and not worrying.
I also took yesterday off of work to do errands and adult stuff that I never have time to do, so that is a load off my shoulders. I was going to be creative for most of the day, but adult stuff takes time and a friend was able to do lunch while my car was getting its oil change. Hanging out with my friend seemed like a good plan, especially since this weekend will be heavily focused on creative stuff. Today a friend and I are getting together for Caffeinated Creative Capers, which is basically us sitting in a coffee shop working on our projects together for 5 hours. Than on tomorrow I will be painting with another friend. We will be painting faces and on canvas, so I am looking forward to that.
Hopefully this packed weekend of creativity will complete the resetting of my brain and push me towards my goals and dreams quicker or at least help me get there. I know stress, worry, and a clouded head is the worst thing to have when trying to be creative. I just need to remember to make sure I clear away the cobwebs of everyday living regularly, I guess.
Now, I am going to prepare for being creative and leave you with the one thing I did this week.
Weekly Writing Prompt (#33)
Today I got dressed up. I felt like I needed to look good. I wanted to take extra time for myself, so in the morning I woke up early. I put on my new cream cheese spread and wore heels. I even did my make-up. I was looking amazing if I do say so myself.
I started my car and went to work. I was on the highway when it started to rain and then I got a flat tire. I pulled over to change the tire. As soon as my car was safely on the side of the highway the clouds fully opened up. Have you ever seen a bagel in high heels changing a tire when it was raining buckets? I am sure I was amusing the drivers with all four tires intact that drove by. I just know it was not fun changing that tire and I was almost instantly soggy. After a few nice people did stop to help I finally had my tire changed to the spare.
I stopped, soaking wet, at a tire store. They changed the spare out for a new regular tire and I was off to work, again. The only real different was that I was no longer fancy or looking amazing. I was simply a soggy bagel in heels.
Will my eyes fall
before my mind fades?
Will poetic words escape,
running faster than sleep?
They are there,
right behind my pen,
pushing and struggling to be freed.
Too many push
Too many are jammed into the passage way.
The ink cannot be spread fast enough,
they are clogged and stuck.
My eyes are falling
as my mind fades.
My poetry lost the race;
Speckled with colors
and pink dyed hands,
I came to write
about what I saw in this land.
Words escaped me
my mind drew blank
as I push a story aside
to focus on how to create.
Yet, here I sit
speckled with colors
and pink dyed hands
only thinking lost thoughts
waiting for words to write.
Do not let the picture above fool you. Otis is not an ordinary cat. He is a fierce feline focused on protecting the one who feeds him. He bravely takes on this role every night. What is this hero of a cat protecting me from? Well, I am actually not entirely sure, but it may be from falling off my bed, or it could be the window. Whatever the danger he protects me from it every single night.
Let me explain how he protects me. His heroism primarily entails walking the perimeter of my bed, making sure that the only exit from the loft bed is still the ladder. He then makes sure that I am safe by sniffing my face. Finally he is ready to buckle down in his post. He stretches out as he lies down right at the opening for the ladder. He will bravely stay at his post keeping watch, unless he falls asleep, until my morning alarm goes off. Most days he will even stay pass the alarm going off and it will take me nearly throwing him down the ladder for him to move.
Now, since I am the one being protected I cannot be the first one out of the bed. He cannot and will not simply move aside. He needs to clear the area or at least the ladder. He makes his safety check by climbing down part way, stopping at the window for a moment, and then going out the window onto the roof.
His reward for being brave and protecting me all night is his breakfast that I pour him usually while I am still asleep.
At least, that is what I am telling myself. In all honesty he most likely is just being a butt and blocking the ladder, because he knows it annoys me. I will keep trying to convince myself that he is protecting me, because murdering a cat is frowned upon.
My mind is a box, lately, that I am trapped inside. My optimism says there must be a door, a window, or a hidden way out. I don’t see one. All I see are wall entrapping myself in my mind causing me to be unable to do much of anything I would consider being me.
To the left is the security of my day job, creating a thick time-consuming wall. To the right is my obligations and my bills stacked as high as my job with no holes to escape from. Behind me is my past failures, current fears, and reminders that the future can not be known. There is a reason my back is towards that wall, by focusing on that wall I would sit down, stop fighting and accept the box I’m in. Above me, on the ceiling of this box are all the people, careers, and talents that I compare myself to. I place them above me, although I am the only me. Below me are all my ideas trapped under glass in a cloudy stew of tar and mire. Still I know they’re there, just like a mother knows her baby. In front of me are painting of could-be’s, maybe’s, and the future if I only live my current life . I know there are keys to unlock each painting, except for the immanent future, that one does not need a key. The keys to my dream futures are unknown, lost or far from me. I do not believe they are in this box. All I can do is stand and look at the pretty pictures hoping and looking for at least one key.
Perhaps breaking the glass under my feet will lead to a key.
I want to boldly tell you; I am an artist. I’m sure you already knew that or at least suspected. I mean how can anyone really hide their creativity? I know I’ve tried to hide or ignore my creative side, wanting to be normal. I yearned for a quiet mind that could simply observes the world and did not have a need to share its beauty.
Yes, there was a time I wanted to be normal, but not any more. An ordinary life in no life for me and if it seems like my life is just like yours ask me what I’m thinking about. For you see I have worlds and universes living in my head. My mind is filled with lands of poetry, worlds of paintings, and many stories in many different universes. They are all just waiting to be created.
When I am at my day job tapping the keys of my computer part of my mind may be trapping dragons to get to the keys of a prison to rescue some royalty. While I’m driving home I am most likely also involved in an elaborate love affair that will tragically end when I park my car. If I am watching the sunset I am also memorizing the colors in hopes that I could paint it one day.
You see my mind is not a quiet place most of the time, which now I love. It makes my life extraordinary in an ordinary world. This is why I must boldly tell you; I am an artist. I’m sure you already knew that or at least suspected.
Can art go on art;
Laying on it like a lover?
One inspiring the other,
but no romance to handle?
Would the art be part of the other art;
like one piece of the whole is the heart?
It would supply life,
living as section,
being whole by being only a part.
This is just a fast little poem, but I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think.