remedy of the quotidian

Man, I could use more weekends like that.

I did not leave the house.  I LOVE weekends where I don't leave the house.  The door closes behind me on Friday night and doesn't open again until I leave for work on Monday morning.  I slept for eleven hours every night.  I stayed in my pajamas all day.

It was WONDERFUL.

And, happily, I did, as I'd planned, get lots of writing done (10 more pages of my new work of fiction; if I can average 10 pages a week, I can produce a 400-page novel in under a year, which would be spectacular).  Normally with fiction I have a difficult time sticking to the linear unfolding of a plot; my brain keeps skipping to the more exciting scenes I'd rather write, and the narrative gets bogged down and peters out altogether.  This time, though, I'm finding that I prefer the unfolding, because I adore my characters.  They are SO MUCH FUN to write, and so much fun to get to know, which I can really only do by following them through the story and seeing how they develop (there's a life lesson in here somewhere, harumph).  And I love how a little incidental detail that pops out in the tale-telling winds up bearing enormous character-defining significance later on.

Writing fiction is discovery as much as creativity.  I've always known that, of course; it's just been so long since I've experienced it that it's practically a fresh and new lesson.

And this is the first time I've written something that I really enjoy.  I've taken a lot of pride in past fictive ventures, but this is the first time I've had fun with it.  (What is even happening to me.)

And I did, as I'd planned, get started on the library.  Part of what has held me back, in addition to sheer existential exhaustion, is a space problem that has persistently defied resolution.  The dimensions of the room present something of a challenge to accommodating a number of bookshelves, a pair of overstuffed chairs, and a writing table.  So I've let the problem sit for several months -- another lesson I'm learning in my thirties: Sometimes the best way to solve a problem is to sit with it for awhile and let it solve itself -- and when I stepped into the room on Saturday to survey the space, threading my precarious way through haphazard towers of boxes in various stages of collapse, and trying on several different visualizations, the solution suddenly came clear.  Yesterday I performed the necessary rearrangements, with the result that I managed to fit two more bookcases into the room and still make it look more open and inviting.  (Ah, the blissful buzz of the successfully problem-solving brain.) 

The unpacking of the books will take some time yet, but I put all the shelves in place, and I can SEE what it will look like when I've finished, which provides just enough motivation to keep me going for the "sooner" rather than the "later." 

So in short, a quiet, productive weekend. 

I need a few more like it.

I love how the ordinary takes on an almost spiritual quality when all is well with the world.  The bane of existence in depression becomes the balm of existence in health.  With a demanding job, an outside world gone to chaos and a lot of recuperation ahead of me yet from the last three years, taking refuge in the quiet of the mundane at home restores a lot of peace. 

I just wish the weekends were half again as long.  I never feel quite ready for Monday.