Day One Hundred Seventy-Three


I woke up this morning feeling weak. I thought it was just a few days but I was told that it's at least a few weeks that I had been in a weird mood. I wanted to stay quiet and work alone. I went to the beach. I read. I made things in clay. I kept my journal in my notebook every morning. Somehow writing on paper with a pencil feels different from typing. 

My shoulder is still not perfect and sometimes my fingers feel numb in the morning. I seem to have a compression of nerve between my collar bone and my first rib from what I read. I came across an article that it is common to experience a psychological change in people with this condition. I have not decided that I'm one of them but having a possible reason to help explain the weird mood can be comforting.

So I started the morning feeling no strength in my core. But I saw photos my friend sent me from his show in my inbox and this lifted me up. I have to get up and get to work. This is not a joke.

A bit more than a week ago I saw a stack of large boxes ready to be picked up on the loading dock as I was leaving the building. From the size and the number of boxes with a red fragile label I assumed those were his work going out to his show. Then I felt depressed. There shouldn't be anything to be sad about. But somehow when works are complete and are going out I don't feel cheerful. They are gone and gone from the studio where all works were done. A release. But works are supposed to go out the door, to the world out there. I can't connect the thought but I'm thinking about the Little Prince's sheep in the box.