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A clouded evening

Sometimes things do not turned out as planned. Instead of the hot, light-filled summer afternoon I expected to find outside of my haven, the sky is gray, the wind is whipping, and the sight makes me feel chill even though I'm sure it is still warm outside.

I am drinking from my dwindling supply of PG Tips and reading Victoria, and writing in my journal. I am writing about the elements that compose my creative world and reflecting on how they have expanded.

Some things I would like to do this summer are to make a flowered Baroque dress for myself, and sew modern but romantic clothes for my dolls. I wish I could see more soap operas from the 1970's. I also wish that I could hear the early soap operas broadcasted from radio.

The new Victoria has begun to increase its material on personal, intimate spaces, and has included at least two articles of writers' habits. While I am a crafting a creative world, writing is no longer the main ingredient. It is as with Jan Karon's words, life must be lived. Life is big, and short. I long to be "a writer" and I fear to release that dream now with the fear of surrendering my meaning for living, but I have questioned lately if that meaning is in writing, or experiencing that blissful state in myself, whether or not I transmit it to others. Writing down these visions is often a means of experiencing them, but there are other ways now, and I have grown tired of being "a writer." I find I have no ambition to be published or even recognized by others, only to improve myself with each attempt.

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