Shadow Puppet Storyteller

My notes, like his...

Trying to write again; at least journal. I had a whole day to myself yesterday, and I did end it with a bit of reflective writing. I had to take to pen and journal, as the apartment still just feels so uncomfortable to me. I have no sitting space. I have no computer place. Because my flexibility is even less than I used to have, sitting on the futon (as bed) feels more like the place I am stuck than the escape of a writing desk. That small entry made last night was mere recording of my enjoying a familiar movie, Kate & Leopold. I had forgotten a little bit in it where it refers to Breakfast at Tiffany's. Would be interesting to make a list of movies that reference older movies as a thematic/plot device.

And so, I sit here now at a desktop computer, before my commute home, writing about making a list. Wow, fabulous stuff. I sure know how to make the writer's life just shine as I document. I am writing, or trying to write again regularly, to become invested again in my writing projects. I let myself be discouraged by my knowledge that I do not zip out content as quickly as others are capable of. Although, built within that complaint to no one but myself is a stalling tactic, a way of not doing anything instead of something. That perfectionist in me that still can dominate my use of time. Death around me has been a depressive catalyst, yet also a motivator -- I really would like to be discovered and remembered, but unless I have some finished books, articles or art in the world before I pass from it, my legacy does not seem likely. Even Leonardo daVinci had completed work as well as the beloved notebooks of all his scattered genius.