Open, that’s what the sign says. For four days Bar Ristretto was closed and that was my Easter. Don’t get me wrong – I appreciate that Easter is a key period for many and I never begrudge them that. It’s also true that any community/country needs public holidays ripe with historical significance, if only so that the community can relax to refresh. But for me, of course I begrudged the loss of regular workdays. Back into it, now, back into it!
Don’t get me wrong. If I’m forever bewildered, I’m also glimpsing a year of such magical promise.
Life doesn’t lend itself to simplification. This year is meant to be daily attention to writing interruption-free (1,000 Big Year), generating steady energy through physicality and some dietary changes (Freshness Big Year), finding peace through minimal meditation (Stillness Big Year), and keeping an eye on the big picture by researching self publication (Tractor Big Year). An organic whole, that’s the idea for 2018. This was not to be a year of adventures or adventurousness, not really.
So went the theory. The reality is a pendulum between immense pleasure at seeing the book power onwards and despondency when the year’s tapestry of strictures fails. I’ve realized that this year will be a special challenge, one played out in my mind rather than in the wider world. So be it.
Yesterday I agonized over a plotting issue: where I finished one rough draft of events jarred with where I next took up subsequent events. I tried hard to solve the issue but to no avail. So this morning I blew up the text into a big typeface and printed out a couple of dozen pages. Out come the scissors. On a large desk I’ll snip and reassemble. Hope it works . . . (if it doesn’t there is something even more terribly wrong) . . .
Cloudless blue sky outside. Cars zoom. A Monty Python refrain: “my brain hurts.” I know I am fortunate with this windmill to tilt at, but I also need to be kind to myself, to build shields against excessive strain.
Meaning? Hit the day hard, never ever cease!
Two crap days, then two days that set the spirit soaring.
By the name of
. . . which by definition means the day is ruined. My choices abound, most of them depressing. So I cycle a bare minimum and head to a local café. If I can’t get in a full day, let me aim for a half day. I block out Facebook. I work. Work gets done. I smile.
Drafting 1,000 words is hard enough but some days I hit a barrier that requires going back into the research books. Today I wrote:
Everyone talks about “containment” protecting reactors. The term sounds simple: protective overpants preventing radioactive spillage if a disaster strikes.
But what does it REALLY mean? Why isn’t it obvious to me which of the world’s reactors have containment or not? Is “containment” a fuzzy term that hides more than it shows?