Late night

Daily word count: 971.

It’s nearly 3am, so I’m debating – does this count for Friday or Saturday? But I think Friday, since I haven’t gone to bed yet.

So, 971. It took me a bit of a while to climb to that. I’m a slow reader in everyday life, and I’m beginning to think that I’m also probably a bit of a slow writer. But maybe I just need more time to practice and learn.

I’ve been coming up to this part cautiously, as it’s a big moment in my story, and I feel like it’s a lot of pressure to write. What if I don’t write it right? What if it’s terrible? Also, I’m not sure what’s coming after, so what if I just trickle down and lose momentum after hitting this point? All these little thoughts slowing me down.

But I got about halfway through this big moment tonight. I’m going to sleep on it tonight before (hopefully) finishing it up tomorrow, but then I’ll be past this part.

I would have guessed that these climactic parts of my story would be the easiest parts to write; that they would fly by because I would be so engaged in telling them. But actually, it’s the little things that have been easiest. The world-building, the dialogue – the smaller things, because they don’t matter as much to me. I realize they are equally as important, if not more so (and also that they’re not really ‘small’ things), they just don’t seem as big in my head. But this scene I’m cautiously stepping around, that I’ve been avoiding writing – it’s a moment I’ve tried playing so many different ways in my head, now. So putting it down into words is a bit intimidating.

I will admit, building a relationship between two of the characters has been fun. I hate romance in general, and have been trying my hardest to avoid any sort of gaggy love stuff in this story. But without even meaning to, two of my characters are starting to inject this weird chemistry I didn’t intend to be there.

Random daily notes:

– I had a box of used hypodermic needles fall on top of me yesterday, and one pricked me in the leg. So I have been mildly concerned that I hopefully don’t get like, monkey flu or otter glaucoma now (they were needles used on exotic animals, though I couldn’t tell you specifically which animal needle pricked me in the leg so…great). I’m trying not to think about that movie Outbreak that traumatized me when I watched half of it years ago.

The director reassured me that it ‘should be totally fine,’ so, you know. No need to worry, right? Hakuna matata?

– I’m dogsitting right now for this dog that is making me crazy. He barks at every little thing. My own dog keeps staring at him like, ‘dude, what’s your problem?’

– I was working outdoors in around 95 degrees heat yesterday and came across an adorable little mouse who was napping in a small patch of shade. There was a tiny little hollowed-out nook in the hard dirt, and he had curled up there and was sleeping. Every once in a while he would get up and turn around to reposition himself and get more comfortable, or would scratch himself and then stick his paw in his mouth.

It took every ounce of my willpower not to scoop him up and snuggle him. I must have watched him for close to ten minutes. I took a picture of him that I have probably looked at about fifty times by now. I was surrounded by all these exotic animals, and instead I was transfixed by this tiny, sleeping mouse, his little belly rising and falling as he panted in the heat.


The World Is Too Much With Us

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. –Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

 – William Wordsworth

The other day I was driving down the freeway, flanked by generic stucco buildings on either side of me, surrounded with billboards and advertisements and chain link fences until it was all I could breathe in, and the opening line of this poem suddenly came to me.

The world is too much with us.

I feel this, often. It’s so hard to get away from everything, even when you want to. I crave a quiet space in the middle of the woods, the air thick with the scent of damp earth. I crave a place where I could turn in a circle and only see trees and ferns and moss, view uninterrupted by buildings or manmade debris. Not forever, just for a little while – a place to breathe and recollect. Sometimes the craving is so strong I can almost feel it, a phantom pain inside me.