Kvetching

Well . . . I seem to be getting back into a space that is functional after OryCon. Last week I felt tired, and then we had holiday obligations -- which were fun, but I didn't get much writing done. The best thing was probably seeing my Grandmother enjoy Thanksgiving; she was really present for the meal.

And then there was that CUUPs ritual I led Friday night. Boy, was that a time sink... I guess I'm glad that the ritual happened because there was some time to dance under the full moon light; but I spent about six or more hours making posters, sending out e-mail reminders, mixing pagan songs, and constructing props for a fourty-five minute dance ritual that was attended by three adults and two children. And I was the only male. At least I wasn't the only one present, which was what it looked like would happen about a minute before the ritual was supposed to start.

I'm at the point where I need to evaluate what kind of return I'm getting from my time investment. I mean... if I'm wanting ritual for numinous moments, meditating in the woods is more likely to do something for me than Raising the Cone of Power with a bunch of UU folks. And I can't seem to get into any really good theological discussions, either...

So, on to writing. Today I managed to go through two stories and they're at a point where I think if I work on them any more I'm going to start to break them. So it's off to my wise readers. I seem to be getting a lot done at the (big box) bookstore I've been travelling to, but I do find myself wishing that the store A) was closer to where I live, B) open until 11 PM instead of 10 PM, and C) less likely to be filled with students masquerading as refugees from Friends. Unfortunately, the local library, which is what I probably really want, closes at 8 PM. At least there's hot chocolate at the bookstore.

Mark has send, "Go write!" So this weekend it looks like I'm going to be writing by myself in near Redmond, Oregon. Time to get the writing mix tapes set up. I'll see if I can take hourly pictures of my progress. It should be in the mid-twenties (at least at night) so I shouldn't be too tempted to wander around being distracted by potential numinous moments near the Deschutes River. Perhaps I will have a theological discussion with a juniper, though.

Murial continues to be a loud irritant.