Well, Bernard the SG-3 is now gone (but never to be forgotten). To soften the blow a bit, rather than being sold, he was traded locally for an exceptionally clean little script SM3--the first SM3 *and* the first script machine I've ever used or owned. The only real downside aside from having to say goodbye to a favored machine is that it makes me wish I also had an SM3 or 4 in a more standard typeface. A very satisfying snap, that little thing has. Since I still need to pare down rather than adding any more to the stable, you will likely have to put up with many script typecasts as a compromise.
I haven't done much writing lately, even in my journal. All creative energy has been going into unpacking, decorating--and organizing. If the new little house has a fault, it is that it has a distinct lack of storage space. And I'm down one room. Somewhere in the midst of the move, I acquired (temporarily, at least) a live-in sister, so the office is an office no longer, and all my notebooks and papers and desk and typewriters and all are crammed into the bedroom instead. The paring down that began with the move is being forced to new levels.
I suppose Lent is an ideal time to reflect on what really matters, physically and spiritually. I've had to let go of a great deal in the last few weeks, starting with material things. I don't have that many valuable possessions, and therefore I have a tendency to think I'm not very attached to material things. Moving can be a wake-up call in that regard. My things may not be worth much, but that doesn't mean I'm good at letting go.
And then...bringing another person into the mix shows me how selfish I can be with my time, my space, my routines. It gives me new respect and admiration for those of you who work writing and other artistic hobbies around the needs and wants of spouses and children. I love my sister, and it's nice t have someone around to share experiences, to bounce ideas off, to turn to for opinions and affirmation...but there are moments when I feel at sea because I'm not alone, without anyone else affecting my schedule or offering distractions, intentional or no. Again, I suppose it's a time to consider what is truly important, and to (at least some of the time) be willing to put aside my own comfort zones and typical boundaries in order to assist and interact with others.
I'm a creature of habit, and there really isn't a habit that has been left in peace throughout this move. Everything is in transition, everything is in turmoil, there's nothing to grab onto quite yet. At times I'm so overwhelmed I feel like curling up in a corner with my back to the wall and crying. Change is awful hard. But the new little house is wonderful and bright, there are new flowers blooming outside and more on the way, the shelf above the washer and dryer will someday be up, and eventually all the items lost in transit will either turn up or be replaced. The new couch will be in place in a week or so, so I'll have a place to relax. The new route to work will become routine. The dog will calm down, as much as he ever does, and I'll stop worrying about what my previous landlord might or might not be thinking about me. Easter is just around the corner. And I can start riding my bike to work.
Found this poem as I was doing some of the shuffling of old notebooks. It was written during summer years ago when I was particularly depressed, and it's a bit...much. But I kind of like it. And there have definitely been some foggy moments these past few weeks....