On the writing front, it was an…interesting day. After realizing how much easier it is to work on this newest strand of my novel since it’s self-contained, my brain said wait, why don’t we separate out ALL the strands? 

So that’s what I did.

Along the way, at some point I received a message from someone sorting my youngest sister’s things who said she can’t find any of my sister’s artwork. (My sister passed away unexpectedly in October.)

All I have now then is the screenshots from her Facebook account…When I said before that she drew tattoo art, that’s literally what she did, and she found great satisfaction in it. (Maybe I could find people who have her tattoos on their bodies? That would be cool. If you have one of her designs, I’d love to see it. Message me. Truly. Although IDK if anyone does.) 

She also created a mural for our parents’ hallway once, and there are pictures of that.

But where is her art? 

Did she get rid of it all?

Did she leave her notebook at a friend’s house? 

Also I was told she had not only poems (which I knew about) but possibly short stories? 

I half read the screen notification of the message during one of my and Barry’s timed writing sessions, but told myself I’d read the whole thing on my next break, so I waited.

I read it, and thought “Oh, that’s too bad. That sucks, but I’m okay.”

Reader, I was not okay.

Her art, all gone? It was like someone (or she) had discarded pieces of her. 

Suddenly I noticed that the trees out the window of the writing sunroom looked dead, riddled with woodpecker holes, standing stumps, not merely the winter-bare trees I thought them. The sun was hiding. There was no color out there. The lone yellow flower (a lily?) in the sunroom was half brown, and now I didn’t like it. At all. 

Everything looked dead and colorless.

Let’s just say I could not write for a spell. A long one.

I eventually got myself back together and wrote another hour while listening to Father John Misty. I haven’t “had” to listen to him for a while now. And we’re back to him today. Sigh. 

(Or, should I say, I sorted out the novel’s threads; I didn’t write new material. Not that I revised them yet. That starts tomorrow and I expect it will take some time beyond this retreat.)

All in all, I was emotionally exhausted. 

Gradually the sun nudged at the clouds. The ducks returned to what seems to be a favorite spot in the river. Not one, not two, but THREE deer appeared and I could swear they stared right at me. (Wishful thinking.) 

I came back to the room and ate lunch (didn’t want to go out for lunch) and then I tried reading. The book was engrossing, but my eyes were tired, of course. 

So I took a break from it and prepared to watch some videos when I received a phone call with some bad family news. (Not health news, but not good, Nan. Not good.) 

I decided I would go down to the gym and burn off my adrenaline. When I got there, the exercise bike was too tall and wouldn’t adjust to lower, the treadmill was acting hinky, and I just didn’t want to use the elliptical. Because hip. 

In the middle of all of that, I received a phone call saying I needed to send money.

Except.

Except I almost got scammed a while back, so we started asking questions that this person I didn’t know couldn’t answer. Thank goodness I’m a skeptical questioner. 

Yeah, no. I hung up without sending a dime. 

So it’s been a day.

I ended up doing yoga in the room just to try to calm down. 

I’m hoping to do some reading tonight. I’d like to say I’m going to write or submit poetry, but honestly, I’m not sure I’m up to it.

Sometimes your day hits you with a grief stick and everything else piles on. 

But Word Raccoon is laughing and flinging poetry back.

“It’s all material,” WR says. 

Well said, my friend. 

Well said. 

Still and all, I’m considering sleeping in tomorrow.