Things got slow around here since I celebrated a birthday, tended to pressing errands, then caught a nasty cold last week.
After fighting the cold and resulting low energy (on top of other things these past few days) it’s become clear that I won’t be able to post the twenty-first installment of Entanglement today either. Achieving this goal was on my mind last night as I tried to sleep, eventually drifting off with the characters dominating the time before dreams set in — some vaguely familiar male presence opening the back wall of my bedroom to bring something inside (?) and me watching in awe, even while pleading for him to close it before some wild thing got in. I fell into a deeper sleep after a racoon and a squirrel ran in past my bed and I threw the scant covers over my head in fear of sharp teeth. The deeper sleep that followed lasted three, maybe four, hours and I woke groggy and cold in Chicago’s sudden wintery snap. I’m barely awake now in late afternoon.
I have to walk to the grocery store for a few things. When I return, I have to throw the heavy comforter into the wash so I can wake in the mornings without shivering; then after I feed myself tonight, I may be able to work on the story if it’s not too late. With my cold, and the cold in my house, I’ve decided it’s a very bad idea to stay up all night to write anymore. I may be lucky enough to get an idea for a hundred word story tonight and get that up out of desperation, but tomorrow after a warm sleep, I plan to finish the next installment of Entanglement first, then get to work clearing out some clutter so I can do further work in a cleaner, clearer, more inviting space. That might just be another dream, but I’m determined to try.
The beginning of cold weather has always been my season to clean the house, the way others say spring cleaning feels to them, like a rebirth and a chance to feel somehow new. But I don’t look forward to the heavy work of it. I’ve rarely felt that this was my house, so I don’t feel the good points of a heavy cleaning and clearing until it’s done and I stare in wonder at rooms I almost like, listening to the echo that follows me like an old friend, and vowing not to let my surroundings get so bad again. Now the need for the work comes during an early freeze and a physical weariness, sickness, that can’t be brushed off. I still have to try because my eyes are as weary as my body and my mind. It feels like the wrong time, but it is time.
Does anyone else out there do more cleaning in autumn than in spring?