It has to be the time change.
I hate to blame November, the month that is like the porcupine of the calendar: misunderstood because it is slow and prickly but really it has a soft underbelly and it just wants to be friends even if it hurts. But I’m so sluggish, in brain and body, so edgy and itchy, and sleeping so damn lightly, it must be an effect of the time change.
For the months of September and October, I was wrapped up in creating my presentation for the provincial Alzheimer conference, on top of doing all my regular writing for the newspaper. You must remember: I might be sitting in a chair for hours with only my fingers moving but, man, my brain is spinning like a garden whirl-i-gig in a Maritime breeze. It's hard on my eyes, too, staring at a screen for hours. Writing is hard work no matter how many walks the dog gets through the fields while I’m trying to produce a column. (Sometimes the butt-in-chair must bow to the get-your-butt-outside rule)
I was looking forward to November. There was nothing much on the calendar, just a church service at the end of the month. November was anticipated as the month when I could slow down, breathe and relax, and let the creativity flow. I wanted to release those creative voices inside my head but all I hear is that horrible screechy sound my brakes make when I haven’t driven the car for a couple of days.
I’ve been so busy, it’s like I’m stuck in October. I’m just as busy. It’s not the creativity that’s been released but all those important-to-me projects that were put on hold while I focused on the conference. And it’s not a breeze but a gale that’s keeping my brain spinning spinning spinning. For creative types, this is a spooky feeling. When the flow is blocked, when the work is a grind, when the incredible lightness of being creative is not experienced. We know what it feels like and when we can’t tap into it, well, we get a little twitchy.
But November is doing its best to help me slow down, breathe and relax.
On Sunday morning, we were surrounded by fog so there was nothing else to do but lie in bed and read. And I did that.
And this morning when my alarm went off as usual at 5:15, instead of hitting the snooze button to wake up in bed instead of on the yoga mat, the no-longer-full moon was shining high in the sky, turning the trees and the lawn silver and shadowy so I had to get out of bed and stand at the big window in our bedroom soaking it all in. I woke up through my eyes this morning.
There are ten days left in November. Ten days until - *gasp* - the lights and garlands and gifts and food of December invades my house. Ten days to hold onto the moonlight, breathe through my eyes and change my time.