I spent this weekend working on my woodpile.
Chopping wood, gathering it from the forest behind my house. It was therapeutic. There is nothing better than a day spent wandering in the woods, collecting dead fall and chopping it up for one’s wood stove.
In other news, fall is here! And it has gotten cold.
I suppose at some point I will have to change my work wardrobe and wear something warmer than skirts and blouses, but just at this moment, it sounds like a lot of trouble to even try. So, I’m wearing a coat.
Besides, it’s not that cold yet. Only in the mornings. When I leave for work. And in the evenings. When I come back. It’ll be fine!
I badly needed this weekend. I needed time to inhale and breathe and fill up creatively after a week that did its level best to punch me in the face. Sick days, creative tasks that felt completely out of my depth and skill set, and so, so many people needing my attention turned it into a survival week.
I don’t like survival weeks. I like to thrive. I like to come home and write on my own projects, instead of coming home just to sleep, eat, and possibly interact with a few humans.
So, this Sunday, I took some time for myself. To inhale. I wandered through the woods, read an actual physical book, finished said physical book, and started another. I painted my toenails, used a sparkly green face mask, and generally did everything that I knew how to do to recharge creatively.
It was lovely.
The best part was making time to read an actual physical book. I am ashamed to admit this, but reading the books from my shelves has been a once a week kind of enjoyment lately. If that. I’ve read 88 books this year, and most of them have been audiobooks I borrowed from the library. A few more have been work-related, which still count, and a very, very small percentage have been the ones from my shelves. That I spent money on. And keep next to my bed, so that I’ll read them.
Isn’t that sad?
Ah well. The life of an adult human with responsibilities is a sad one.
Not really, but I do miss my books.
This weekend, I finished reading The BFG by Roald Dahl. It was lovely. Full of impossibilities and magic and fantastic imaginings. Just the sort of book I needed when I was finding it hard to imagine anything other than my bed. When I finished it, I started Anne of Green Gables. Because it is the first week of fall. And there is nothing better for a good fall read than Anne of Green Gables.
I dearly love that book.
In fact, since it is fall, I will be ferreting out several of my fall reads to enjoy in the next few months. The Wind in the Willows, for one. Also, A Wrinkle in Time. And quite possibly Sherlock Holmes.
Something cozy, that needs a good rainstorm or nippy day to get you in the right mood for it.
What do you do to inhale when you’re creatively spent? Tell me about it in the comments!