Thursday, November 20, 2008

Not the good kind of funk

The last couple of days have been the first hard ones of this blogging everyday endeavor. I'm in a bit of a funk (an unexplained funk! the worst kind!) and kind of bored with myself, which makes it difficult and not so interesting to, you know, publicly write about myself and my doings.

In the spirit of cheering myself up though, here are some things that are good:

1. I have a big pile of great books waiting to be read. I've been daydreaming about heading off to a cabin in the woods with a bag full of books and hunkering down for a week or two, which is likely not going to happen anytime soon, but I do have a couch and a great hot chocolate recipe and I am not afraid to use them.

2. The ripple blanket is proceeding apace and I continue to love it so much that I'm afraid it will be the crowning achievement of my life and I will neglect my future children in favor of gazing at it lovingly. ("I'm glad that you're learning to walk, young Mycroft, but Mama wants to look at her blanket right now.")

3. Earlier today, a gentleman of my acquaintance emailed me this poem:

This Morning
Raymond Carver

This morning was something. A little snow
lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear
blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green,
as far as the eye could see.
Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I dressed and went
for a walk -- determined not to return
until I took in what Nature had to offer.
I passed close to some old, bent-over trees.
Crossed a field strewn with rocks
where snow had drifted. Kept going
until I reached the bluff.
Where I gazed at the sea, and the sky, and
the gulls wheeling over the white beach
far below. All lovely. All bathed in a pure
cold light. But, as usual, my thoughts
began to wander. I had to will
myself to see what I was seeing
and nothing else. I had to tell myself this is what
mattered, not the other. (And I did see it,
for a minute or two!) For a minute or two
it crowded out the usual musings on
what was right, and what was wrong -- duty,
tender memories, thoughts of death, how I should treat
with my former wife. All the things
I hoped would go away this morning.
The stuff I live with every day. What
I've trampled on in order to stay alive.
But for a minute or two I did forget
myself and everything else. I know I did.
For when I turned back I didn't know
where I was. Until some birds rose up
from the gnarled trees. And flew
in the direction I needed to be going.


Carolyn said...

maybe you need to take a week off in december to come to chicago. my apartment is very warm. kinda like a log cabin. i'll leave you alone all day with your bag o' books and then come home at night and cook you soup. :)

Gina said...

You need a quiet, long weekend away. Get to the woods or the mountains and do some reading. Sometimes the funk just needs to be felt wide and deep while buried in nature. I hope the sun peeks out for you very soon.