One client presentation today. Two document tasks due tomorrow. Lots of reviewing research studies and preparing fieldwork documents for next week. Dayjob duties. Been itching to sit down and claim a large chunk of time to finish hand-painted tokens for friends across the seas. There is also the painting I want to make to gift to a Japanese couple who have only ever shown me kindness and consideration when I was still practising kendo.
On the other hand, I enjoyed an out-of-town slumber "party" with a kindred spirit on Monday (the party mainly consisting of a movie marathon with a lot of Daniel Henney in it), and I am looking forward to a long overdue lunch with a dear friend tomorrow (which will include some calligraphy tip-sharing). There was also a Christmas "party" yesterday afternoon with a friend and mentor, during which I was told I am about to "seek my destiny" in 2017, and I received a book of collected quotes on LOVE by Paulo Coehlo.
I am not fully feeling the so-called holiday spirit. What I am feeling instead is like being on a boat tossed about by a sea that is about to shift tides. The sky overhead is a map of dark grey clouds pierced through by swords of sunlight. There is a scent of lightning and a scent of rain, and of course the scent of the sea. The wind flirts with the water, and I am cold.
I am not sad, nor am I happy in the sense that one is supposed to be during these times. I am in suspense. I am in the middle of a daydream. I imagine : sitting amidst trees, a poetry book in hand, reading aloud in response to the rustling leaves. Or walking along a blank beach that is the opposite of tropical and sunny, just water and sand and only pale blues, beiges, and greys, and I am the spot of colour in my bright floral dress that jolts the scene like a first love. Or I am in a coffee shop in a foreign country surrounded by quiet strangers, and I am painting in my sketchbook, and I am writing poems. Or I am in a second-hand book shop in yet another foreign country, and the books are all written in a language I cannot fully understand, but I love the paper and the scent of ink and years, and my fingers trail on the spines and come away trailing ghosts, and the ghosts will whisper to the people I come across as I walk on the street until one of them hears, listens, and looks.
Right now I am feeling sleepy. This morning I woke up and fell asleep. I dreamed I was running in the rain. Then I dreamed I was a flower rising up from a crack in the pavement, opening into the sky, and I was thirsty.