hahaha. Maybe I just started out on the wrong foot... making flower bouquets for the funerals in Red Lake. I spent my morning with sweetgrass and cedar and wild flowers sent from somewhere warmer than this still snow-covered climate. It felt good to do something, to create a little bit of beauty for the grieving. But every time I answered the phone to take another order, the person on the other end of the line was crying. They each told their story. It was their sister, their aunt, their god-daughter, their nephew. I kept my voice strong and steady and told them that my heart went out to them, but what they couldn't see were my eyes brimming with tears each time I hung up the phone, then turning back to the work table, taking another drink of coffee, another trip to the cooler, and making yet another bouquet. I left hungry and depressed. Then went to my studio to write, to do homework. But instead I hung out in the gallery with Nina, Tori, and Teresa and talked about art. When I finally sat down alone, I did nothing except look at books and cover a pink canvas yellow.
Nothing done. Just a headache to remind me how far behind I am.
And if I could just muster up the energy I would try to accomplish all the homework that has piled up from Cont. Writers and Theory. But papers and Virginia Woolf and planning class are nagging at me. My energy is spent. If I only had the kind of mind that is able to do one thing at a time, to set everything else aside, the type of mind that has the ability to focus, single-mindedly. Then would I get something done?