Clowning Glory + Creating
I have got a major ham on my hands. The lenscase did not leave his mouth for twenty minutes as he jumped about on the bed like a bucking pony wearing a bit and reins. This is the most fun part about parenting. I'm amazed that I get to watch a little baby turn into a BOY in front of my eyes as he discovers his sense of humor, fits puzzles together, has serious temperamental moments about things he decides he does and doesn't like, and exhibits the ability to climb on and off of a trikeybike thingy like someone out of The Wild Bunch. Fun. Unfathomable fun. He is becoming every minute of the day. I am nightowling it here again. I just can't seem to go to sleep at a decent hour lately. I've been journalling as if I'm going for a world record and my eyes are hot in my head under my glasses. I've done little this year save for packing and talking about packing. My creative cycle is coming back around. It's pecking at the pet door while I sleep, flashing colors across my eyelids fear-and-loathing-like and threatening to do something if I don't start expressing on a surface. Creativity is so fickle, like the best and worst lovers I've ever had. So pushy! It is only slightly satisfied with a colorful sketch, a bit more full when I fill page after page, running the ink out of pens, elated when I spread out all of the art supplies and magazine cuttings, and over the moon for elaborate plans detailing my next big idea. During this dengue of a full moon holiday, a day without some form of creation is worse than not eating all day. It has a mind of its own. I had cold cereal for dinner if that tells you anything.