how's it going, ficus? and other thoughts on use

March 15, 2009 Candace Morris 5 Comments

with my little mason jar full of a bright 2007 Viognier and my feline scatting about le chateau in cat-nip paradise, i sit surrounded by joel's oversized hoodie to give account for a lovely and much too short weekend.

"but wait, candace. aren't all your empty days like the weekend?"

"oh sadly, no." she says.

the weekend means absolutely no pressure to get anything done. since most people aren't working, i don't feel strange not working. also, the saint is home so i get to enjoy his fine company and sleepy mornings. the weekdays are a continual ploy to keep myself feeling a combination of busy, entertained, calm, and useful. in conclusion, candace loves the weekend.



Friday night we had the up and coming Umberdove's second Seattle art show (this girl has only lived here 2 years, that's how ON it she is). A great many of us (including some of our favorite local wine-shop owners from Vino Verite) donned our fancies and headed down to posh Belltown for free wine and gorgeous art.

the layers of <span class=
the layers of mz. bell (an excerpt from sacred space)

the venue
the venue

Afterward, a few of the stragglers and the very artist herself were seen at what may be their favorite cocktail joint on the hill, Chez Gaudy. Afterwards, we happily stumbled back to my apartment and had some snacks and laughs until we all lazily left or dozed off.

Saturday brought to the saint and I the blessed sacrament of sleep. We slept for TWELVE hours that night and then also took a nap later that day. It was glorious. After all that sleeping, I convinced joelio to take me on some errands. Coffee, Ikea, Kitty Food, and Groceries...after which we decided to take ourselves on a date for a good steak. It was the ideal Saturday...complete lazy rest mixed with fresh air and dimly lighted restaurants.

And Sunday.
Today was the busiest day of my week with a early hair-do appointment, a couple of tutees and hanging with the family. Our benevolent mother saw fit to feed us a traditional Irish meal, and we lazed in glorious fireside contentment afterward with full bellies and hot tea.

Even on the wave of such an ideal weekend, as each ticking second brings me closer to my week, I feel myself falling deeper into a pensive state. I feel overwhelmed with the emptiness of space, the availability of too many and too little options. Shall I paint? What's the point. Shall I read, I don't know. Should I exercise - oh there's plenty of time to do that. Sigh.

I hearken back to the demanding cosmic whimper...
"GIVE ME A USE."

And yet I wonder if I am not going about it all wrong.

Perhaps there is a hidden truth in the pursuit of uselessness. Perhaps, when I am in such mood, instead of frantically looking for my writing pad to start mapping out my week, I instead allow myself to sit and feel the fear, wallow in the boredom, be pressed down by the rest.

Because truly, at the end of all this thought, I know I am not useless. I know I have a purpose. But I really must teach myself that these things are not in what I do or what vocation I peruse or how I spend my time...

What if instead my use is:
  • Being a tender, capable, and adoring mate.
  • Tending to all things that need help growing - like my little ficus.
  • Listening to the quiet prodding of my soul.
  • Facing my faults with courage and accepting my virtue with admiration.
  • Staring at the clouds.
  • Offering myself authentically to relationships.
  • Petting my kitty girl.
  • Comforting those in mourning.
  • Taking a photograph.
  • Staying up late and greeting the inspiration.
  • Writing a letter.
If so, I have use.
And these things are not insurmountable.

in determined pursuit of the unturned rock,
candace ruth


p.s.
i would like to offer my thanks to god almighty for his benevolence in granting me some successful big hair. alleluia.

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