Matt and I stayed over at mom's this weekend to help Stephan clean the loft above the garage. We didn't really do that much work on it and - to be honest - I think he only wanted us to help since he is scared of spiders. The arachnophobe gene in our family must have just skipped me, as it seems I am the only one who isn't bothered by them whatsoever.
Hopefully I'll be going down again next weekend, as a Druid priest is coming to visit and mom has asked if I'd like to meet him. The last time I met a priest of this particular variety was a fairly surreal moment to say the least, so it goes without saying that I am quite looking forward to this encounter.
Thank god for my mom reminding me that interesting people are out there and are accesible. Sometimes it seems as though I will be stuck in The Town Of Clones
forever. I'm so glad I have a mother who is not a frustrated old housewife, stuck at home and taking her own annoyances out on those around her. There are far too many of them about and - frankly - they are boring as hell. Nobody forces you to stay at home once your children have grown up, so there is really no excuse for it. Blah.
I think I need to start writing more. Today, mom described me to someone as a "poetess" and I instantly felt quite guilty and undeserving of such a title. I haven't even thought
about writing anything in ages, never mind actually constructing a halfway decent poem. Perhaps it is writer's block... or perhaps laziness. More likely the latter - isn't it always? I need to get back into it because I do worry that a lack of formal education is going to make my brain stagnate. So I need to write write write. But... what? I know that if I put a pen in my hand and sit down then no inspiration will come to me, so why bother? Or am I being defeatist again?
Ms. Violet, 9:48 PM