I was speaking with a friend of mine the other day about the notion of 'love'. Hollywood has glamorized and romanticized 'love' to such an extent that it's just completely unrealistic. It's unattainable in our human lives to live out the life of a Hollywood romantic comedy. I'm not a cynic, just a realist. Realistically, love takes work. It can be fantastic, and wonderful, and even hearts and flowers and fluffy bunnies. But, at some point, there will be fights, tears, overflowing toilets and dirty laundry!
What about time, though? Why does time seem to be this thing that is so highly romanticized in my brain, yet never used? I have been legitimately pretty busy the past few months...but every day, in the far off recesses of my 40+ hour work week (with 2 jobs), a voice calls to me. It's a voice from a big comfy, cushy, plush chair - I think it's a deep wine color, maybe mustard - in the middle of a wooded area.
I'm not talking deep woods here, people. I'm talking dreamy, Savannah-type, woods.
Plop a big comfy chair in a patch of emerald green grass, covered with drops of morning dew. Add in the glory, comfort, and beauty of the twisted branches and hanging canopy of these trees. Cue the sun to stay frozen in the perfect spot, lighting the surroundings in an elegant glow of amber colors. Offering the light of a breathtaking sunset that is struggling to cast it's rays through the trees....and that, my friends, is where I want to write.
Needless to say, I don't have any of that. In the off chance that I have a chunk of time to spare these days, I'm absolutely worn out. Sometimes I just feel so completely drained from my work day that it seems as if I have nothing to give. Oh to have the life and the means to actually *do* what I'd enjoy doing - or dare I even say, LOVE doing?
I am just an average Mid-western girl living a life of complex simplicity. New journals, fresh pens/sharpies, a blanket and a big ol’ comfy chair in crisp Autumn air, those are the think that make my heart thump. My hair is usually a mess and I rarely wear makeup. I play in the rain, squeal with glee at the feeling of mud squishing between my toes, and enjoy pretty much anything that takes place outdoors. I’m a woman working in a man’s world. Writing-wise, I'm a member of SCBWI but basically put all my children’s book writing on hold (temporarily) to pursue publishing more to my peer level. I've completed writing 4 books (all of which need major editing before they ever see the light of day!) and dream of being a published author one day. I love the smell of fresh air and clean laundry; cement just after the first drops of rain, and babies. I dress like a tomboy because I like being comfortable, but truth be told I would love more than anything to wear dresses and aprons all the time, like Donna Reed.
The cat who actuallylikes to wear clothes. He is fuzzy and has a huge fluffy tail. He's ornery at certain times and absolutey adorable at other times. He's known for giving kisses, playing fetch, and sitting when asked to do so; usually for treats. Like a job foreman he surveys everything and tends to perch on high shelves at angles where he can see what everyone in the house is up to. He's 13 pounds of man meat and I love him to bits.
Ivy Jane is my rescue kitten. She was part of an entire litter that was abandoned by it's owners and then rescued by a fellow blogger who cared for her until she won her way into my heart an home. Ivy is a chunky monkey with a big round belly and a million things to talk about. She's the one who runs in front of me and trips me on a daily basis, would eat non-stop if I let her, talks incessantly, purrs all the time, cuddles with me when I'm cold (or when just watching tv) and who licks my face to wake me up each morning. Ivy makes it impossible not to be smitten with her.