I feel today in the dimness of my living room (the days are bright and then they are not) that I am in a state of limbo. Like I am trying to walk up these pipes, and cannot go any faster than I am going, and will have to grow patience. Patience, like a thick skin, is something I’ve never really had.
Currently, D and I are flat hunting. This requires much patience. Waiting for real estate agents to return emails. Scrolling through hundreds of descriptions of ‘lovely’ or ‘must-see’ properties. Every room becomes a variation on the other when you pass through them endlessly. You begin to focus on the smaller details. That desk looks sturdy. The yellowing walls of a kitchen. I wonder if that rug skirts the line between ‘old and shabby’ and into ‘vintage’, or if they wouldn’t mind chucking it out. A sofa plunging in the middle, grey, decomposing. Perhaps that slant of golden light allows us to forgive the tiny dimensions of the bedroom.
But I feel positive, want to be positive here, with so little to share. I’m working furiously on Dear Friends and Gentle Hearts and the alterations I’m making feel like my best work – which is all anyone writing can hope for. I am even tempted to post more, to add another mark of progress. But the work is all integrated. I can’t chop one paragraph out, and never want to post too much. Caution and fear of harming my future self with a record for her eyes of less-than-perfect work.
So for now, little to share except my hopes. They never manage to get too trampled, not with so much to do. Next week, I should have another book review up, perhaps more news (patience, holding the wire steady) and if not, I will go on another journey. Roam the city for property or hidden insights. Await books to challenge me and invigorate my brain. Try my hardest to keep inching up that pipe.
What are you waiting for?