I’ve had a great week, even if the weekend did get away from me. There wasn’t a lot of time for blogging but plenty of writing nevertheless.
It may not have been quite the writing I wanted to do but it was writing that I’ve needed to do.
I guess you could call it survival writing? Or, perhaps, utilitarian? Work-a-day?
More on that another time.
Perhaps. I’ll have to think about it…
What does stand out for me about this past week – and what I’ve been wanting to sit down and writing about all weekend – is the awareness of the pleasure there is in simple things.
Monday featured a lecture at uni and Voicebox in Freo. I’m not a fan of double-booking and I admit I was a shade late getting to Voicebox but it was worth making the effort to get to both events.
I slipped into that dim room just let the words flow over me.
Arriving late meant that I missed part of the opening set, presented by Siobhan Hodge. I would have liked to have caught it all. Carol Millner and Randall Stephens were both wonderful.
The memory of some poems are still with me. One of the open mic in particular stands out.
It was Annamaria Weldon’s ‘My Father’s Ikons’ was mesmerising. The room was hushed and still. The images that ran through the poem were just beautiful.
To be held in thrall by the spoken word is exquisite.
I can’t find the notes I made at the end of the evening. I expect I’ll come across them tomorrow. When I least expect it. In an unlikely place.
It is always the way.
The right place
My other joy for the week ties in with study.
It has been a week of making progress and I was just happy to be working through ideas and making plans.
I’m not sure whether I’ve shared previously about how good it feels to be on track with the project. After prevaricating for a bit after finishing my Masters last year I’ve been a tad nervous.
I figure that new actions and directions can be unsettling at first.
Settling back into a formal study routine has been tricky. I’m aware that I need to tweak my schedule. My environment is still not quite right.
All that taken into account, the ideas are starting to take shape and it is exciting.
I’ve asked my friends and family to remind me that I was this blissfully happy when I start to moan about how hard it all is and ‘no, I don’t want to talk about my thesis’.
I’m sure it will happen. It must be inevitable.
Friends seem at pain to regale me with horror stories about the process.
*But first I need to sleep. When did the clock tick past midnight?