What was a muse on time…
I have spent the past twenty minutes crafting a piece on time. I discussed the lack of it, it’s whimsical nature and how there is never enough of it. In my over wordy blog, I wondered at the connection between those moments of procrastination and living that can inevitably provide both solace and inspiration for creativity.
I went on to explore my nocturnal habits, of writing between the sheets or tilted back on an armchair made by the upholster to the Queen, romanticising the moonlight flicker on fresh paper and bemoaning the comparatively early bed time of my inner editor, who inevitably wakes up fresh and early to chew out the pathetic zombie left after indulging in such lunacy.
I was then going to write something about the gaps of disengagement and disenchantment over months or sometimes years and wondering if the end result was stagnancy or perhaps percolation? But then my iPhone crashed and I lost the lot, then during this rewrite my dog fell down the stairs. Well, the first three anyway. She’s alright, it seems, but wishes she could still make the steep climb to the top of our Victorian terrace. We stopped her coming up and sleeping at the foot of our bed a few months back, after a few two many stumbles on the way up and the increasingly uncontrolled speed of her descent. We had a gate fitted at the bottom to put her off, but we managed to break it somehow, ripping chunks of plaster out of the wall. Keisha seemed to have resigned herself to sleeping downstairs, but had clearly been plotting and training all along, waiting for the perfect moment. I checked her over and let her out the back for a bit and when she’d done her business sat and stroked her for a while, enjoying the moment. I’ve now go a chair at the bottom of my stairs and an embarrassed looking German shepherd in my front room. I wonder if they do stair lifts for animals?
Anyway, times gone, I ain’t been staying up writing as late recently, but have been getting far more done through getting on with it. Hope someone lets me out when I fall down the stairs, don’t think I’ve quite given up on all my silly romantic ideals just yet.