In My Mind It Was Supposed To Be Sunny Today

But it's not, it's dreary. At least it's not raining. We have a funeral to go to this morning, then I plan to either knit or sew the rest of the day away. Just because. Because I don't have anything pressing that needs to be done and because I want to. I want to have endless days stretching before me without any responsibilities so that I can somehow rediscover the writing spark that, basically, left when I quit smoking. That really frosts my cookies because doing something good for myself shouldn't take something good away when the bad habit stops. I'm going to do NaNoWriMo (if you don't want to hit the link, it's a challenge to write a complete 50,000 word manuscript in 30 days, no editing, no rewriting, just crank it out, no prizes, no awards, just satisfaction that you did it) again this November to see if 30 days of concentrated writing effort reignites my pilot light. It darned well better or I'll be angry--even more frustrated and angry than I already am. On a happy note my careful eating and working out this week paid off this morning when the scale didn't go up quite as high as it had last week. I'm trying not to be hung up on the weight numbers, concentrating more on eating right and being active, but it's hard not to use that as a benchmark. Fit and healthy, that's my motto.

September 23--Egyptian, Portrait of a Young Woman. She has curly hair. I always wanted curly hair. I hate her. Gina stood at the foot of the stairs glaring at the painting hung there. Her fingers itched to reach up and sink her nails into the thick paint. She imagined how satisfying it would feel to draw the curls of paint down, to watch four furrows trace their way from forehead to chin on that smug face. Grant was so proud of her, as if he'd painted her or even, she shuddered at the thought, given birth to her himself. He'd never looked at Gina with that intensity, not even when they were in the first flush of love and lust. He had been restrained and controlled, ardent enough when they were alone to convince her that he loved her. He had begged her to marry him after all, but he had never once looked at her with the same dewy-eyed passion that he lavished on that ancient Egyptian hussy hanging there where Gina had to see her every day.

Make the most of your Saturday, people. Do something out of the ordinary. Pick raspberries.
--Barbara