Tundra Time

icebike

Yes, we are February all the way; Chicago is frozen tundra, ice solidly crusted over all the piled-up dirty grey snow, rutted frozen tire tracks to negotiate at each end of every block I walk on the way to the el, the parts of the streets where the people stopped clearing the sidewalks, and the snowplows didn’t reach; and cold, cold, cold.  My part of the planet is in total hibernation, and I feel for whoever owns this bike.  It’s locked in to the winter like the rest of us.

I’ve begun writing some tales from the past, and have quickly discovered that doing that involves Writing A Story, which is infinitely slower than shooting off my keyboard in a blog, writing my streams-of-alleged-consciousness from the now.  If I don’t get so impatient at my own pace that I lose interest, I’ll publish the first finished one, assuming that happens.  But, really, winter or not, to stay sane during all that’s going on, I need activities away from the keyboard.  This is especially true now that the semester’s in full, ludicrous swing and the daily amount of e-mail and other written work is stupendous.

And so,  I’ve actually been smart.  I got enough concentrated work done during break that I can and have been working on the final copies of SEdition in tiny increments every day.  Even if it’s just a half-hour; it’s a half-hour that’s productive and peaceful and mine.  And, after having my “studio day” eaten up last week, as it was all last semester, I am now determined that will not happen again. Studio day is now and forevermore sacrosanct, inviolable. I own it.  With that to center me, and the next one to look forward to, I can survive any amount of insanity, and believe me, insanity and frozen tundra is pretty much what’s out there right now.

lastosedition