Thinking about thinking about thinking.

I did say thank you for something the other day, and I wouldn't put my inability to remember down to a lack of care over a lack of memory cells. I do this sometimes. Something amazing just fits and feels right and I tip my head up and thank nothing and no-one but just want to show grace. I admit it feels a bit weird, like the Church tapping on my shoulder in a white robe, but I do immediately ignore any non-secular inklings. I'm thanking myself almost, or a cyclical something which reverts back to me. I think it was in the toilet at work. It was probably some crush that came in who I happened to serve with a sparkling moment. Suddenly I feel grossed out at myself.

A person who remembers to be grateful is more aware of the role of gifts and luck.

I fully decided last night that Alan at lindy hop is most definitely not Alain. There were striking resemblances, but he developed into a softer version of himself, able to project his mistakes as cute nuances. It was weird last night. I hadn't been at work so the trawl to Marble Arch was a slight mission, and once there, I didn't have the right mentality. I didn't have any anger to burn off, shake the day from my body with a kind of war-ethic this-is-the-shit-that-matters-in-amongst-all-the-atrocity. I know that theory is overarched but you get the feeling.

So I spent a lot of time watching, being just peaceful really. I did a bit of dancing and some sharp spins but part of me was too quiet, wanting to be at home, nesting for art. I had a bizarre day yesterday. I set up an Art Desk courtesy of Diane from Freecycle, and really enjoyed thinking about things in a literally different space. A mere 180 turn on the non-swivel chair takes me from Admin to Art, and my are those different places. The desk is a bit higher, longer and too narrow for two. It feels like a train table until someone wants to share and there's not enough room for a broadsheet.

I spent time at the desk going through some thoughts, trying to tap them out of this hard place. Some have been in there dormant for a few years. It's hard to know if old things are still any good, like sorting out your wardrobe to find dodgy jeans, that with a cuff roll soon turn into these compliment-attracting things the designer could never have imagined. But some things you find, and they're stuck, they can't change, they can't become new, they just look old and wrong, and however attached I am to them, well let's face it, I'm never going to wear them again. You can't be too cautious though. Some things only develop their worth over time.

Anyway, I got up late today. I slept for ten hours, which is indulgent, but I do have a full day ahead. Some times I wish a day would fold out into two, so I could fit in both a day of languorous thinking and writing, and do the one I have planned to begin at 2pm. I wanted to get some writing done before this, which I guess I am here, but I think I meant more of the brain digging stuff. The problem I have, is that I want to delve down into that sacred area, but I know I'm working at 7am the next two days, and any chance of spark will become dull and heavy in the light of reality. I think part of me knows things are going to change with the way I spend my time earning money. I need to just hold out for the change.

Until then, I am creating this new space where ideas can happen, where outputs change, the blog might splinter, I might make new ways of making. But to even begin these openings is an amazing starting point. It would be nice to think that I can just rustle something up again, cook(!) up a big pot of things going on, post them out to places that make sense. Thinking about thinking about thinking. It's not going to be easy but to start, well, that's kind of a triumph.