In her book Traveling Mercies Anne Lamott writes that when a lot of little things start going wrong all at once it’s because something big and beautiful is trying to get itself born, and the world needs you to be as distracted as possible in order that it be born perfectly.
If you measure my life by that theory I’m about to win the lottery.
And it’s not so much that lots of things are going wrong as much as it is that things are going hard. All the projects are taking 15 more steps than I want them to take. The box has no instructions enclosed. The glue bottle has a seizure and pours out all over the table. The screw holding the critical bits together doesn’t just fall on the floor, it rolls into the abyss under the stove. Everything warrants cleaning, fixing, starting over.
Worst of all, I haven’t really been able to work at a normal level. Creativity is one of those things that shows up of it’s own accord, with no rhyme or reason, and departs just as easily. So of course just because I have time and energy the creativity is off and gone, flirting with someone else. I’ve tried maps and webs and charts to kick-start it, but so far no luck (even when I use the fruit-scented Mr. Sketch markers). Claire says she wants to see me paint again. “And by paint,” she clarifies, “I don’t mean paint the scratches in the furniture back to the right wood tone. I mean PAINT.”
I shrug. Alas the best I can do seems to be holding still and trying not to break anything while I wait for the inspiration to return.