Tbone Time

For the last few months, I’ve been scurrying along at a frenzied pace, wondering when or if things would ever calm down enough for me to carve out and practice at least some semblance of a routine for myself. And finally—oh, at long last—things have calmed down and I have been able to repeat virtually the same schedule every day for the last two weeks. And. It. Is. Heaven. I am a true creature of habit, with a few added neuroses, which means that I really enjoy being able to go to bed and wake at the same time every day. Hell, my mild OCD even dictates that I leave the house at precisely the same time (8:11) every morning.

 Don’t get me wrong—I’ve loved all the recent activity: the friends visiting, the trips to Whidbey and Portland, the frequent date nights and literary events. But lord, am I tired. For the last week or so I’ve been able to make it home straight after work, get out for a run, cook myself an actual dinner, watch TV, putz around the house, and even—yes, it’s true—work on a little bit of writing here and there. What’s even more exciting is the (relative) improved amount of sleep I’ve been able to get. I’m up to almost five hours each night now! Huzzah!


 Anyone who knows me well understands how important self-sufficiency is to me. I care more fiercely for my friends and my family than a rabid badger, but at the same time, I value my ability to get by on my own. Sometimes it’s easy to be self-sufficient, and sometimes it isn’t. But for the most part, I’m damn content with being alone, being the only one who is responsible for my health, security, happiness, and well-being. Not having anyone else to carry the load—whatever that load may be—is sometimes simultaneously both a burden and a relief. I’m proud to do it all myself; knowing that I have the confidence and tools I need to handle whatever comes my way is very comforting. I know how to ask for help when I need it, but I enjoy needing to ask with less and less frequency.

 Right now, I can’t imagine life being much better. I love my job, am financially secure, have tons of amazing friends, and a satisfying creative life. Best of all, I have my house all to myself every night—except for Mona, of course—and I’ve spent my free time doing exactly what I want to, when I want to. I’ve have loved living alone for a long time, but these days it feels especially delicious. The truth is that I have a lot of fun on my own; I almost never get lonely and boredom is not a concept with which I am familiar—there’s always plenty to keep me busy.

 What happens when I’ve had a few quiet, regular days under my belt is that I start to get antsy. And what comes next is usually some kind of monumental craft project, house-cleaning extravaganza or—best of all—a writing surge. Though I can control neither the force nor the direction of such surges, I have at least over the years learned to give in whole-heartedly to such outpourings of creative energy.

 Maybe it’s the winter-like weather we’re experiencing here in Seattle, or maybe it’s my brain needing to expel some creative juice in a familiar landscape, but I’ve written a poem for each of the last eight nights—and not just garbage, either; these might actually turn out to be usable, publishable pieces of writing.

 So, while I wish that this creative surge was aimed at the novel I am desperately trying to make headway on, I can’t say that I am entirely unhappy with the amount of new poems I’ve been cranking out of late. It always feels good to return to my poetry roots and remember how natural that process feels, like coming home for Thanksgiving to find that my room looks exactly as it did when I left.

 I know that at some point, my life will get busy and chaotic again, but for now, I sure am enjoying the feeling of watching the pieces all settle into place around me.

3 thoughts on “Tbone Time

  1. Pingback: Tweets that mention Tbone Time « Tanya Chernov -- Topsy.com

  2. funny that i am not going to be able to comment on this as i would a facebook profile or myspace page (as though i am such an avid commenter on either of those networks); but i s’pose after reading something so tastefully written it encourages (deserves?) something thoughtful in return… perhaps in the same way cheap beer provokes a headache or gangster rap taunts machismo?

    funnier still is that i feel that i have to comment.

    let it be said that i have only one twitter aquaintance; i merely joined because recently i applied to a job which involved performing all social-networking and new-media duties for a television station and felt concerned that if they were to do any background checking and see me absent of a twiiter account it would not be in my favor. though in retrospect, one friend might be worse than none in this case.

    no offense. i’m glad to be kept up to date with goings-on (“going-ons”?). i actually appreciate that i don’t have to sort through 20 people’s anecdotes on how “crazy my weekend was” or why “i hate lasagna”. one is easy–especially when the material is substantial.

    which brings me to my reason for commenting.

    i realize that the topic and tone of this (blog? big surprise i din’t get that job; i don’t even know what constitutes a blog) is one of auspiciousness and contenment, and would be done fine justice being read above the sounds of a jovial shins song or the opening song to the mary tyler moore show. but for the last 45 minutes (yes really) my wii has been waiting for me to use it (NOT a euphamism) and therefore (here comes my point) everything i’ve been doing for the last 45 minutes–enjoying your (blog?) is no exception–has been to the theme music of the wii start menu.

    if you are unfamiliar with this “music”, it is actually less of a song and perhaps more fittingly described as the wii’s playfully-drowsy rendition of the melody of bamboo chimes on the breeze. if that description did not help illustrate for those out-of-the-know, think “out-of-focus, back-in-focus camera work of non-distinct body parts of two people laying in tall grass in late summer down south. louisiana maybe. no; arkansas.”

    oh, the grass, of course, is bending slightly in the wind, too.

    THERFORE (yes, again), the mood of this (blog?) happens to assume the personality of a creature slightly less hopeful, and slightly more uncertain. not unhappy, just less undeniably exuberant. words like “comforting”, “quiet”, and “alone” seem to have been contorted be the “playfully-drowsy-yadda-yadda” so that they appear light blue. greenish-blue, maybe.

    i would recommend experiencing this. it’s not like pink floyd on shrooms, but it’s subtly surreal. i suppose. for alliteration.

    anyway. after all that i am going to play this fucking game. or it will play me. like the song played your story to me.

    ’til later.

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