This will be short, otherwise it'll turn into a procrastination tool.
I graduated on Sunday, Mother's Day. It was a great weekend, though my new shoes blistered my feet and my new dress was hidden beneath my rental gown. I didn't even cry.
I've rested the past few days. Did a little reorganizing, washed some laundry, caught up on sleep and television. The feeling is strange, really -- I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, because I have no homework and no job. But after a little while, I get restless. What if I get a job tomorrow? And I go to work 40 hours a week without getting the chance to rearrange my office or color-code my closet? (Save your snickers for later, color coordination is very efficient.) But then after I start working on these things, I figure they're not that important. After all, there's always tomorrow.
So, today, despite the nagging anxiety that tells me I should be cleaning something, I wrote. It's not a lot, not yet. 305 words of action and description. But I haven't written since Daddy's funeral four months ago.
It feels kind of good now, but the first few words were painful. Physically. The anxiety that crept up was overwhelming. The blank page in front of me wasn't full of endless possibilities, but rather the absence of working out my creative side for so long. Like getting back to running after an injury, I had to stretch, and it hurt at first. But I've pushed through for 305 words and it feels a little better. This is just the first few steps, though. In between reorganizing the garage (which really does need to be done) and vacuuming the whole house, I think I can manage to run a few sprints, metaphorically.
Hopefully I can keep the energy up to finish the race, because I need that satisfied feeling to keep the anxiety at bay. I love writing, and I missed it. I hope I don't have to again.
