So you see the imagination needs moodling--long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering. These people who are always briskly doing something and as busy as waltzing mice, they have little, sharp, stacatto ideas, such as: "I see where I can make an annual cut of $3.47 in my meat budget." But they have no slow, big ideas. And the fewer consoling, noble, shining, free, jovial, magnanimous ideas that come, the more nervously and desperately they rush and run from office to office and up and downstairs, thinking by action at last to make life have some warmth and meaning.
--If You Want to Write by Brenda Uelan
The whole post is from a blog author new to me, but her words feel kindred. And the room in the picture she has published in the post is the exact incarnation of my perfect bedroom. I like the way slanted attic walls hug you when you need it.
I've spent the past four days hugged by Sassy's room. I spend some time each morning doing things that need to be done, while it's early with the hope of a new day. By noontime, I'm spent from the energy of doing and I retreat to Sassy's room, where I read or post or wander. Some evenings bring a second wind, some not.
I like it. It feels right. For now.
I realized that I only have one little bit of control over things right now. I can talk about only what I want to talk about. I can keep it all a secret. I can keep most of it a secret. I can tell only one or two people and keep others completely in the dark. As if to them, those outside my circle of knowledge, it isn't even real. I like that too.
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