rivervox

Got out early in the sun to walk Jamaica Pond. I heard a good story from Levar, Killer of Kings by Anjali Sachdeva. It has a passage on writing that really spoke to me "Sometimes, John thinks he has always known this poem, that it has underlain his life like the seeds of a field waiting for the ray of sun that will call it forth into the world...It withered in his hands like a plucked flower, and so he learned to leave it alone. To let it grow in silence, until the silence consumed it. Until the words fell asleep again, beneath his skin. Now he wonders if he will ever find them."

I also read a profile of the extraordinary Molly Burhans in the New Yorker. A dancer turned map making genius on a mission from G-d. Her description of the mapping software made me wonder if she sees the world the way I do, in glorious crow-cam 3D. It made me consider what my NYer profile would look like. Might be fun to write to get a sense of the shape of my life. To write. I would like a private place to write. Not online, but not on this hard drive that doesn't belong to me. I don't really want to write longhand in notebooks either. What is the solution? My own laptop?

We watched The Nevers last night. I enjoyed it but DH did not. I want to just move in and set up a room of my own there. Beautiful production, wonderful actors. The mention of Stoker made me ache for my beloved Penny Dreadful. The preoccupation with violence and sex work is regrettable. Sigh. I believe in Jane Espenson and Penny Red.

Today's the day for the Contract. I've been dreading it. Letting go of one trapeze, grabbing on to another.

Le weekend. Sun on me.