There are more truths in 24 hours of a [person's] life than in all the philosophies. - Raoul Vaneigem
This struck a chord in me when I read it today. After a quick Googling and Wiki-read of Raoul, I'm not sure I would agree with him on much else, but on this we agree...what a difference 24 hours can make!
Yesterday morning, I felt...off...out of sync...faded. I had slipped out of myself and couldn't figure out why, or how to climb back in.
By yesterday evening, I felt better, but there were still a few bits of me that weren't quite into place.
This morning, I knew as soon as I opened my eyes that all my pieces had clicked back together. I knew it when I saw the dawn glowing red through the library window, when I noticed the brilliant blue of the sky above me on our walk. Yesterday there were no colors.
What happened in those 24 hours?
First, I faced the demons head-on...turned a light on them so they couldn't hide inside, wallowing around and getting bigger than they really were. I wrote about it (which always helps me sort things out and see them from a different perspective) and let others know about it. That way their prayers joined my own. Their good wishes helped move all the pieces of me back together again. They expressed concern, offered help, gave encouragement.
I tried to identify the nasty worries that had burrowed into my head resulting in a bad case of emotional vertigo. One by one I evicted those that I could do nothing about (beyond praying) and acted upon those that I could. It turned out finishing the library was a big hairy worry, so I skipped my workout and writing and got busy in there. It's not quite finished, but it's way beyond the halfway mark. After several trips up and down the stairs carrying armloads of books, I have the shelves filled with books about Texas, the Civil War and American history...the books I need for MY book. I have my maps pinned to the wall - the one of Texas in 1870 and the birds-eye view of Austin in 1900. I moved the Windberg print of an old Texas barn at dawn to the wall above the computer, to look at while I write the murder scene. And even though they have nothing to do with the book, I finally hung my Great-Uncle Howard's art on the wall above the desk - amazingly detailed miniature storefronts. They were displaced by a bookshelf in the livingroom over a year ago and have just been sitting on the windowsill, neglected...a burr under my skin every time I looked at them.
But before I tackled the library, the sunset caught my eye. I headed outside and watched it from the porch swing, where I could talk to Max, Charly and Frankie. (Tom has jury duty this week, so he doesn't get home until after dark.) Charly glanced up at me a couple of times then, sighing, climbed out of his comfortable bed and over to me so I could pet him. Dogs just know, don't they?
I scratched his ears a little bit, then grabbed the brush from the windowsill and gently brushed his bony body. I was afraid it would hurt him, but he loved it. Finally he drifted off to get a drink and I brushed Max (he was still curled up on his bed.) I hit all the right spots - his leg was going good. Charly wandered back and I brushed him some more.
They say the best way to forget your blues is to do something for someone else, and it's true. Just brushing those puppies was a salve on my psyche...I think after all the prayer and good wishes, it was the final push that clicked me back together. I brushed them again tonight - it's my new evening routine.
Knowing I am blessed, and with so much tragedy in the world, so many people with real cause to be walking in the shadows, it's very annoying to find myself there, with no grounds to be sad. Thanks to everyone who sent me a note, whispered a prayer or in some other way helped me get back in the sunshine. I like it much better here.
Welcome to my 'library' ...Uncle Howard's amazing art...my books...a birds-eye view of Austin in 1900...
