waking at 5.30am, when I should be deep asleep
isn’t so bad afterall: because it made me aware of just how many dreams my head really is swimming with, the ones it’s easy to forget or overlook in our conscious, long days. For one, a dream to see my name on the glossy page of a magazine, writing profiles of important or artistic people. Letting my mind wander — is there any way to tiptoe towards that, writing about the film festival in Rome I’m going to next week. Describing the scene and experience to the best of my ability, even if in the end it’s just for myself? Pseudo-reporting. Upping the ante a little bit, even just symbolically. The tiny steps that feel, to a sleepy mind, like starting to chase the dream.
Continuing my fiction writing, finding a way to balance it all with my work, and being social, and keeping incredibly busy, but never too busy for pizza of course. Polishing things up and sending them off to literary publications, however presumptuously. All the places I want to visit, making plans little by little, putting away ideas and articles and tips — maybe the use for a little notebook my mom brought me when she came to visit last week, its cover a colorful map of the world. Becoming more like her in occupying my mind with real things, putting things into action, rather than the endless dreaming that I tend towards (because my sign is cancer, as my friend Danny, a fellow crab, would point out). I can see ways in which I’m becoming more like her already, and I see how I could end up working all the time like her. The fulfillment of it. There are worse things, when you find something you really love to do.
