Delays and progress
M's flight home tonight was delayed...delayed...delayed...canceled.
He's on an earlybird tomorrow and should arrive sometime around 9:30. Fingers crossed.
To ward off missing him, and to get rid of the paper monkey and feeling of doom that occurs every time I walk down the hallway, I used my alone-time tonight in a productive manner. The darkroom is finally clean. I feel like I can breathe again. I feel like my life is not chaotic, and that I'm no longer missing/forgetting anything. It's a good feeling.
My best friend in college used to say that as long as her bed was made, she felt okay. I remember coming into her room once as she was just putting the finishing touches on her bed, sighing contentedly. The rest of the room was sheer chaos. Textbooks, papers, clothes and shoes were scattered everywhere. It was a disaster. She didn't care, though, once that bed was made.
I'm like that with the darkroom. It's gotta be clean. The rest of the house can fall apart, but the creative space has to be clean. Well, and I can't stand dirty windows. Those are the two things: the darkroom and the windows. And the kitchen counter, which unfortunately strives to be a daily crap magnet. So the darkroom, windows, and kitchen counter. That's what's important. (and maybe the shoes by the garage door, and the car, and my nightstand. but that's it. really.)
In an effort to get more sleep this week, Zozer and I had a discussion about What To Do When We Wake Up In The Middle Of The Night. It worked. She didn't get up last night. Tonight, when she was going to bed, she asked, "What if I get thirsty?" I told her that she could use her cup in the bathroom to get a drink. She said, "Really? Without you?" Yep, big girl. You can do it all by yourself. There's a string of nightlights like gingerbread crumbs leading her there and back, so I told her she'd be fine. I doubted whether it would work.
It did. As I was typing the above, I heard her door open. I turned in my chair to see what she'd do. She walked past the darkroom, looking at me with squinty eyes (it's bright in here) and, without saying a word, kept going. Yes! Success! I went to the door, peeked around, and watched her go into the bathroom. The light clicked on, and I could practically hear her recoil from the brightness. Water on, water off, gulp gulp gulp, cup back in holder. She turned the light off and came back down the hallway.
That's when it hit me. I've effectively made myself irrelevant in this regard. I held back the tears, and followed her back into her room to tuck her in. I know I have to let her grow up, but why does it have to be so damn hard?
He's on an earlybird tomorrow and should arrive sometime around 9:30. Fingers crossed.
To ward off missing him, and to get rid of the paper monkey and feeling of doom that occurs every time I walk down the hallway, I used my alone-time tonight in a productive manner. The darkroom is finally clean. I feel like I can breathe again. I feel like my life is not chaotic, and that I'm no longer missing/forgetting anything. It's a good feeling.
My best friend in college used to say that as long as her bed was made, she felt okay. I remember coming into her room once as she was just putting the finishing touches on her bed, sighing contentedly. The rest of the room was sheer chaos. Textbooks, papers, clothes and shoes were scattered everywhere. It was a disaster. She didn't care, though, once that bed was made.
I'm like that with the darkroom. It's gotta be clean. The rest of the house can fall apart, but the creative space has to be clean. Well, and I can't stand dirty windows. Those are the two things: the darkroom and the windows. And the kitchen counter, which unfortunately strives to be a daily crap magnet. So the darkroom, windows, and kitchen counter. That's what's important. (and maybe the shoes by the garage door, and the car, and my nightstand. but that's it. really.)
In an effort to get more sleep this week, Zozer and I had a discussion about What To Do When We Wake Up In The Middle Of The Night. It worked. She didn't get up last night. Tonight, when she was going to bed, she asked, "What if I get thirsty?" I told her that she could use her cup in the bathroom to get a drink. She said, "Really? Without you?" Yep, big girl. You can do it all by yourself. There's a string of nightlights like gingerbread crumbs leading her there and back, so I told her she'd be fine. I doubted whether it would work.
It did. As I was typing the above, I heard her door open. I turned in my chair to see what she'd do. She walked past the darkroom, looking at me with squinty eyes (it's bright in here) and, without saying a word, kept going. Yes! Success! I went to the door, peeked around, and watched her go into the bathroom. The light clicked on, and I could practically hear her recoil from the brightness. Water on, water off, gulp gulp gulp, cup back in holder. She turned the light off and came back down the hallway.
That's when it hit me. I've effectively made myself irrelevant in this regard. I held back the tears, and followed her back into her room to tuck her in. I know I have to let her grow up, but why does it have to be so damn hard?
posted by Amy at 12:14 AM
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