I've been having a bit of a struggle lately, as one does. The old refrain of "what's the point" rubs up against a seemingly pervasive ideology that subjects everything to "market forces", defining success in terms of money-making, so that anything that doesn't make money (RIGHT NOW! THIS MINUTE! VIA THE KINDLE!) is not worth doing... Sometimes (this being one of those times) it feels like I have to constantly resist that mentality. You'd think I'd have a bout of it once, like the chicken pox, or a really bad flu, and then be immune to re-infection. But it doesn't seem to work that way.
At the same time I'm clinging to every minute of writing time, as I count down the days to moving house. It's kind of like being in a cartoon, like being the Coyote, and this crack in the desert floor is heading right toward me. And I have to let it hit me because ...well... I have to move house and there's nothing I can do about it. Despair has set in. If the Stages of Grief are denial, anger, depression, acceptance, then the Stages of Moving are something like denial, denial, list-making, despair, boxes. Movers are more expensive than I remembered. People have started wishing me "bon courage".... Never a good sign.
The highlight of my week was the other day, out of the blue, when I received an email from an acquaintance who said she'd seen my two poems in the latest Mslexia and enjoyed them. How wonderful is that? How kind was that, that she took the time.... to send me just a few words of encouragement. Frankly those words, that email, could not have come at a better time. Thank you C!