Tired

I feel tired, and not physically. I suppose I am energetic enough to take on everything I need to do on any given day. I am just mentally exhausted because there is too much to think about. I used to be able to function without lists and now I can't; if I don't want stuff falling through the cracks. There's too much to remember, too many things demanding attention and competing for time. And to top it all there are the 4 hours that are lost everyday with nothing to show for them.

It's a strange place to be because there is nothing on the list that can go away! I have a list full of things which need equal attention and care, no hierarchy of priorities, no ranking, all sharing equal space on the front tier.

The only person getting lost in this maze is me...the extraordinary machine.

So where have I been?

...and has anyone missed me? Oh well, always curious about being missed, kind of like "Mr Cellophane" in Chicago.

I was around but was unable to write a single word. I didn't even miss writing, I was so completely taken over with the "nesting" impulse even though there was no reason to nest.

It's amazing to see the difference that freshly painted walls can make to the way a home feels. I love sitting and staring at the "bouquet rose" shades of the family room and the dining room, the "hint of mauve" in the living room and the kitchen, and the "amethyst dream" in my bedroom. I was lost in colors, in contrasts, in the shades the wall art, the covers, the curtains and the cushions that would complement the shades I had chosen for the walls and would reflect the unique personalities of the inhabitants within these walls.

I have spent so many years addicted to my computer, to rarely logging out, to chatting around the clock, that I've even felt cranky on vacations when the Internet connection has been less than perfect. But ever since my focus turned toward my house I didn't miss being online even a little bit. I didn't miss my virtual friends, my Facebook, my Twitter. I was as obsessed with adding whimsical little twists and touches to every corner of my home as I had been with my online activities.

I had a new addiction. I woke up with a crick in my neck and a throbbing headache one morning because I had been awake for most of the night, browsing various online shops for vanities, dressers and mirrors for my room, desperately trying to find something that matched. I remember dreaming up dresser and mirror combinations even when I closed my eyes for a couple of hours! I am dreaming of floor to ceiling bookshelf units and wall art; they cross the orange celluloid of my closed eyelids even when I am snoozing on my bus.

This obsessive interest in every project is probably an unhealthy trait. It was the same way when I was working on creating the S&C network homepage (despite all the help I had), when I set up our family tree in cyberspace and scanned over 500 pictures in, when I practice my music...every project that appeals to me borders on extreme obsession while the fever lasts.

And when it fades, the resulting ennui is almost as intense.

Well..."darling I don't know why I go to extremes, too high or too low, there ain't no in betweens..."

I need to stop by here more...

Ever since I got bitten by the redecorating bug I forgot all about stopping by here. Somewhere in the back of my mind I kept thinking about my neglected blog and my inability to write anything. I want to write about old houses and the stories told by the walls.

I think about homes, homes that were full of life once. I have in mind an impressive home where an aunt with a very strong personality once dwelt, an aunt who was the center of the universe for her large family when she was alive, a home that was drained clean of vitality once she passed.

I don't pride myself on perception. I was oblivious to most subtleties as a child. And yet, that house, without my aunt was a stark, lifeless and bloodless shell of a place. Despite being inhabited with her widowed husband and her children. The difference was palpable. It could have been the messy rooms, the paint on the walls losing their luster, the overgrown garden, the worn out furniture...it certainly could have been all those things that never would have been neglected when she was alive...but it was something more that was lost, something intangible yet intense. It was just never the same.

I love this little corner of cyberspace where I can be myself. Even when I have nothing to say, like today, it is comforting to fill these blank spaces with words. I don't want it to be a neglected space. I don't want to leave this space behind like my aunt's spirit missing from her lively home.