Monday July Seventh

I was reminded by a sister that this day last year was a popular day for those seeking long and successful marriages. All those sevens were seen as potential lucky symbols. I, of course, urged her to buy a lottery ticket with next month's confluence of eights, probably a lucky series for her.

I saw a short outtake from the beginning of Iris Murdoch's autobiography this morning. When she retired from a mind-numbing job to write full time, she was unable to write at all. It took her some time to find a routine and enough monotony to begin to find thoughts to write. She spent time working her way into a routine that would allow her to write. Add to that a short bit about a teacher dealing with an student with Asperger Syndrome, and I feel lucky to not have either problem. Though the non-productive part of my early summer may be similar to hers, I had too many ideas, and needed to push the silly, repetitive ones aside. Like in meditation practices, which I believe some of my writing activities emulate, monkey mind is prevalent. I find the only way to deal with this is to let the monkey speak and then move on. It is easier to edit out the little blurps than to try to stifle the primate. Stifle him, and I stifle my creativity.

I am off to school again this morning. Spend the day there writing and slogging away at things. Well, maybe not the day, but at least a few hours.

We had a nice rain yesterday evening. Hopefully we can get more this week, we sure do need it.

Summer is great here, gorgeous. I love it.