7:22PM The dream of the country overtook us the last few days. Started compulsively hunting for properties. This compulsive need once a plan is decided on, to have it all settled is a character flaw. It leads to bad decisions, missteps. As usual, paradox abounds, it’s this same (manic) steadfastness which has lead to some of my greatest achievements, marriage, family, the slush-pile of first drafts. Too bad I can’t lock in on finishing a book…
I warned Britney as we talked about it late one night. If we decide to do this, it’s going to happen fast. You know how I am. The plan, sell nice city house for five acres and a shack in the middle of nowhere. What do you think?
Frankly, my heart is still there, but this morning, woke up with a dark cloud swirling around those parts. It wasn’t about the plan. It was a mixture of morning, routine, and domestic requirements. Now you might think that this would have provoked even more of a frenzy towards New Deal, but the opposite was true. And it wasn’t out of some woe-is-me, I can’t have it my way, but rather from that space of mature self reflection, that it was me, my mind-set which was the problem here. It’s a sobering thought. You are responsible for your state of mind. Not the place, not the agenda, not the dreams, not the failures, just you. Whatever you want to do with it you can.
I bucked up. Took my kids for a drive and a walk through the sculpture garden, before it got ridiculously hot. I say ridiculously because it was already plenty hot, and muggy. Been weird rains lately, bandit rains that sneak in the night. Ground was a lukewarm sponge. Don’t know who exactly picked the pieces for the sculpture garden. All of them are sort of morbid and weird. I like it though. A spider, a gurthy, stubby phallus, a demented thinking-man posed bunny, a White Ghost child. My favorite is a woman, stepping into a tub. The most overtly positive piece is iconic (read easily recognizable) work from Keith Haring, and he tragically died of AIDS (I highly recommend this documentary about him, The Universe of Keith Haring).
Came home, kept house. Made bean salad, brown rice and Tilapia for dinner. Stoked, picky eater Kein actually ate the fish and rice, after making Mom and Dad pick out all the diced carrots. Still a victory. So now I sit, 7:59PM in the lab, after cleaning up, dishes. Can hear family upstairs, going through night time processing, showers, pick up, sibling bickering. Been a lot of that lately between five and three year old. I could write it off as Brother stuff, but that’s the easy way out. Order of arrival in the world means a lot. First child gets total attention, second child a little less, third child a little less. Makes first the boss, second the follower, and third often left behind. Got to focus on team building, human building. That’s why the country dream gets slowed down, paused. We got to play the hand we got, not the one we think we want…
I need to finish these goddamn books. Artists friends, what are your dreams? How are you pursuing them? If not, why? Is everything okay? Would you rather have five acres and a shack or a lovely house in the city? Ever been up to your wrists in dirt? Or eaten a dirty carrot straight from the ground?
P.S. Also wanted to note. Possible source of sour mood, no new words. Tried to focus in on the editing over weekend, but led to existential abyss, wandering, malaise. I am addicted to writing new shit, what do you do with that?