dreams and distractions

October 08, 2008 Candace Morris 0 Comments

the dream of my writing space, as seen in this month's edition of ElleDecor .

this is actually hugh hefner's old desk. gross.
-i would thoroughly scrub the residual hefner skanky-stank from the paint
-i would extract the zebra prints in favor of something a bit more rich and soulful
-i would cut out the wall to make a huge window overlooking the moors
(a question for the cosmos: does being good at expressing oneself in writing make for a good writer? is self-expression really an art? )


As I was perusing the Powell's bookstore enews letter, I happened upon the new book by Kathleen Norris (yes, it is as you feared. i am one of those people bored enough to actually read email newsletter updates from bookstores). I was originally introduced to Norris via Amanda - and love her work because of its fascination with monastic living and Thomas Merton.

I was reading the review of this book and one sentence grabbed me.
" 'When life becomes too challenging and engagement with others too demanding, acedia offers a kind of spiritual morphine: you know the pain is there, yet can't rouse yourself to give a damn,' writes Norris." I was then directed to discover the real meaning of the word Acedia - and stumbled upon an essay Norris herself writes about the subject. I appreciate most her endeavour to delineate depression from acedia - and am ready to spend the day reading this.


I am eternally frustrated with my earring organization, and now that I have several pair worth taking care of (thanks to mz. plume), I need a better way to keep them. I found this on etsy quite a while ago, and keep thinking of it. time to snatch it up, I say. using this, I foresee hanging each bauble daintily in the regal crevices of the structure.


noticing some new lovely pillows from the busy bee i call umberdove.


  • mouth raw from eating sour patch kids in bed
  • never felt more gratitude towards a movie and book than last night
  • horrible hangnail on right thumb i cannot stop picking
  • looking forward to the symphony this weekend
  • trying not to obsessively check my bank-balance
  • feeling my acute melancholy and uncomfortable, yet self-inflicted, isolation
  • hungry
  • 75% completed with my application to the University of Glasgow
  • thirsty for a manhatten
  • spiritually wrought
  • on the brink of transition

the angst is so acute that i feel a bit suffocated and unsafe
and have no real compartments in which to place the pain
so as to make myself acceptable, polite, easy-going, charming.

i am cresting a barren, dry hill with no sight of its peak
desperately wanting to ask for help, full well knowing i can do it myself,
but more afraid to be too much for you;
thereby tainting your journey with more black than you
signed up for.
wanting your 'i love you' more than breath.
clinging to one simple word.



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