On being creative

I like to papercraft and like most crafters I like to collect tools and supplies (I mean I really like to do this.) I've been away from crafting for about two months now and I'm trying desperately to get back to it and am having a rather difficult time. I get a design in my mind, sketch it out, proceed to begin the work and suddenly fear grips me and I allow myself to stop. I'll start believing that my idea is not going to translate to the page/paper and that I should go back to the drawing board. Right now I am trying to work on a puzzle piece that a very sweet on-line friend passed to me and I'm about to drive myself batty.

I painted the puzzle piece today and am not happy with something as simple as that. The foam brush left all these visible lines on the piece and I wanted a smooth finish. It really just went downhill from there. I have thought of four different design ideas for this piece and yet the piece remains unfinished.

At times I find myself so caught up in finishing something that I don't enjoy it ... I just want to get it completed so I can move on to the next thing. In the end the cycle of "just get it done" repeats again and again. It's a cycle that I must break ... I want to enjoy being creative and not paralyzed by fear that I will do something wrong or better yet create something that others will find laughable or ugly.

The coin in my pocket.

It's Sunday about 5:49PM EST. and it's a good day. Nothing special or spectacular has occurred, just an ordinary weekend day. However, I feel good. I can see the sun feel the warmth (behind air conditioned windows) and know that I have much to be thankful for.

I would like to take this feeling of contentment with the world and put it in my pocket ... a forever coin that I could bring out and rub with my thumb when it's needed. Make a memory of this feeling to be used when times get a bit dark, that's what my former therapist would say.

It's a good day and I'm glad to be alive.

Fridays past & present

Friday, the weekend is here. Remember when the weekend used to mean so much? Promises of a wild Friday night, time with friends on Saturday recovering then doing it all again on Saturday night. Memories from 20 years or more for me.

These days Friday means Target, the pet store and the ever titillating grocery store. If I'm lucky I'll get wild and buy something not on my Target list ... so middle America. Saturday is spent at home avoiding the crowds and all the cars. Sunday is pretty much more of the same.

I guess this sounds ungrateful for the life that my partner and I have made together. But I'm not ungrateful I'm just bored. So very bored. I fully realize that my life is my choices. Change is scary ... difficult to say the least. Why is it so easier to believe that forward movement is next to impossible? Why do I allow myself to believe that my pool of energy is far to shallow to dip into for more than the mundane moments of life, i.e., getting out of bed, eating and going through the motions of a housebound individual.

In my minds eye I see through a gauzy curtain -- a life that I once participated in. My life was holding down a job, contributing to society, relationships with family and friends. The gauze of that curtain gets a little thicker as time marches on. As the days turns into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years the ability to see any other version of the disabled Ben becomes less believable.