The Holding Pattern

This morning, I had a strange sensation that it was a gallery morning. I shoved the feeling aside because, of course, it wasn’t. I only work at the gallery on Saturdays. And so I made a to-do list and had a surge of glee at finally focusing on projects to get me by until I find my ultimate life purpose. In my imagination, I ticked each item off and foresaw the success of a good day. As it turned out, it was a gallery day, and the sensation wasn’t strange at all, but was, instead, a remnant of memory seeping through my usual routine. I was to open the gallery on a Wednesday because I had traded work days with my parents. Unfortunately, I opened the gallery nearly an hour late.

My projects fell into the abyss, even though I could have accomplished some of them here. In typical fashion, my brain refracted into a kaleidoscope of shattered focus. Now I don’t know what to do with myself. All summer I’ve been in a holding pattern, circling and circling, but with no clearance for landing. Aside from the emptiness here–nobody is ready to purchase fine art on a stormy Wednesday, it seems–I have nothing to keep me in the air. Empty spaces generally fuel me, but not today. I can’t keep circling. If air traffic control doesn’t give me clearance soon, I’m going to crash.

I’m lost. Well, technically, if I’m circling above a landing strip, I’m not lost. I simply can’t land. Last night, I decided to throw myself into a hardcore workout regimen so I could control something in my life, and after dreaming that I’d been labeled as Miss Piggy in a fitness program, my dream world moved on to life behind the gates of a university. An army outside the gates was threatening to attack me, so the headmistress marched out and raised the gates higher so the soldiers couldn’t climb over. Their bullets could still whiz through the gaps; however, I was somehow impervious to the bullets.

Good God above, why do I think anybody cares about all of this? Well, I was going to write something a little more literary here on my blog today. That was one of my projects that fell into the abyss, even though I could have easily accomplished it right here at the gallery. So view this as a place holder, if you’d like. I hope to post a better something or other tomorrow if I have time in between my new hardcore workout regimen that will turn me into a rock-hard muscular chica rather than the sort of willowy person I’ve forever been. Willows blow in the breeze, and I don’t want to bend at all.

Just as a last thought, would you like to know what I hate about the writing life and why I gave it up for a mechanical engineering degree I can’t afford to pay for? I have a complete inability to control it. Technically, I can’t control anything, though. Maybe I could try sky-writing while I’m circling up here. Maybe I’ll get the attention of air traffic control. I want to land! Please, let me land!



    1. Interesting that you should say that. My best stats are for my coffee girl memoirs. They have a rather large readership of people who either don’t comment, or comment on facebook. This sort of post has random appeal (sometimes people like it, other times not). This is based on stats and the annoying reality that most of my comments are on facebook.

  1. Interesting. I like it I think because it feels natural and has a lot of body to use a wine-drinking term. It has a lot of short sentences, too. Your coffee girl memoirs are a little too meditative for me personally but I can see why people like them

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