a dry, warm foot

This morning, like a lot of mornings, Eastre's little meow piping up is what woke me up. We are trying to train her out of that, because once she gets started meowing in the morning she does it incessantly, with NO break in between, and it's awwwfulllll! - so, I got up right away to pick up the offending bundle of fur and place her outside. I blundered through the bedroom, and then, when my dry, warm foot touched the smooth wood in the hall, it completely failed the make purchase in a spectacular way, and I went -WOOP- head over heels, crashing into the opposite wall. "OW!" two of my toes crunched against the wall. Now Shawn was blundering groggily out of bed to see what happened to me. "No don't get up I'm ok!" I tried to say frantically, but Shawn in the morning is a groggy force to be reckoned with. It takes words twice as long to sink in, and I usually have to repeat myself 3 or 4 times before the words make any sense to him. Not to mention the fact that surfing in the freezing ocean has recently resulted in over-plugged ears (he had to go to the doctor's), and he is quite deaf. Anyway, that was the hectic way we woke up today.

I have the internet for a short while 'cause our neighbour shared his password. We have very neighbourly neighbours. This guy who shared his password lives alone next to us. He's Polish and I often hear the radio or something playing in Polish from over there. He has twice brought over food for me and Shawn. Little savoury pastries that he made himself with sour cream and lots of garlic. Our neighbours on the other side, Emily and Jared are quite friendly as well. Emily is french-canadian and works at the coffee shop me and Shawn often go to. We live in a good place.

This winter, being my third winter in Tofino, has been difficult. I've been in a big-time rut. The other week, I brought out some paintings, hoping to inspire myself into getting to work again making a portfolio. I tried painting for two days off and on, but instead of making any encouraging progress, I was simply discouraged with what I couldn't do and didn't know. I felt hopeless and trapped, with nothing I could use to pull myself out of my rut. How could I turn to painting if I didn't even enjoy myself while I painted? As always when I find myself at some sort of rock bottom, I found myself praying. When I'm alone, I give myself the luxury of praying out loud. Like I am talking to my best friend about what hurts. I don't mince words - I say exactly what's on my mind. Which that night, basically, was "how am I supposed to change my life, if I can't get motivated by anything - if even the things I'm supposed to love doing I don't enjoy anymore?" Anyway, after a good session of that, where I released some fiery tears of repression and boredom and hopelessness, I found myself sitting in front of the computer, and without thinking too much, I started to write. I decided that I just wouldn't stop, even if I felt stuck, like those writing exercises you do to clear your creativity. And, lo and behold, I started to get intrigued with what I was writing. I started enjoying myself. In fact, I couldn't get myself to stop. Then, the NEXT day, I all of a sudden felt inspired about the paintings I was working on, so I got out my supplies and went at 'er. And I had so much fun, and I couldn't even believe what was being produced under my paintbrush. It was just what I wanted to paint like. I felt as though I moved forward in a huge leap, and all these things clicked. So - happy ending!