It’s 3:40, I’m all caught up with work, Chickling is at the Elder Birds for a couple of nights, and so it’s time to start my homework. The dishes can wait. I’m allowed to start my homework. I’m “actively allowing” myself to draw—how very cool and strangely distorted is that? But it’s something I go through every time I sit down to do this. Scourge of the worker-mother, I guess.
Oooooooh, I love homework—even when it’s torturing me*—and I love the fact that I have to do it. Especially this week. I have to pull out all the stops and produce something with high levels of awesome this week. I have to. It’s the last class, and our final projects are due on the crit wall 6:30pm Wednesday.
*I’m not as far along as I’d like to be in the design process. My ideas for my piece are not as advanced as I’d hoped. I was a little concerned about that before class, but when I got it up there on the crit wall it was quite clear to me. I didn’t feel it, what I'd produced, and I certainly didn’t feel that others would feel it, at least not in the way I intended it. And though I accept that as part of the creative process, I felt flat...just a little bit. I was on the way to that quiet, thoughtful place that comes before starting over.
You know that place.
...when you know it’s all there in your mind, and you’re just waiting to coax it out—in a way that it works, this time. The mug of tea is steeping, and you're adjusting the music on your iTunes. You’re on the verge of revising. It's going to be challenging, but you’re about to have a wild blast. And it feels amazing.