I’ll write up my weekend when I get home and can actually get all the pictures off my camera. 

I am trying to take more pictures, do more writing.  I am trying to get back in touch with the part of me that is nothing if not an artist.  A little scatterbrained, flexible and fluid, more discriminating. 

Most of my problem is that I want to learn how to do too many things.  I want to throw pottery, sculpt, design and make jewelry, oil paint, drip watercolours, build, restore and reupholster furniture, bind and cover books, weave and spin and dye fabrics and yarn, write novels and poetry and historical fiction and screenplays and stage plays and essays on things that matter, learn to sketch well, fill books upon books of meticulously detailed dress designs and have time to make and wear them all, learn to play the cello and the bassoon and the guitar and relearn how to play the piano, write my own music.  I want to travel all around the world, learn to sail, to scuba dive, see the Amazon, see the Northern Lights, run along the Great Wall, go on safari, hike on every continent, spend Christmas in the Southern Hemisphere.  I want to learn to garden, have a backyard scattered with wildflowers, have an old brick house overgrown with ivy, grow tomatoes, zucchini, basil, cilantro and many kinds of mint, have climbing roses and daffodils and iris, oh and sunflowers!, honeysuckle and freesia, tulips and tigerlillies, the shade of an old tree to read under, get my hands dirty putting in a koi pond or maybe waterlillies.  I get home at night and think of my long list of things that I am desperate to do and I am paralyzed with indecision.  How can I decide between so many things?  I don’t want to have to decide!  That’s where I sit myself down and tell myself to stop being such a child, to deal with the fact that we don’t get everything we want out of life. 

(I tell myself that but I don’t really understand it.  I certainly don’t want to believe it.)

I want to surround myself with beauty and create it as well.  I want every detail of my life to be perfectly orchestrated and composed.  I want it to look and sound like a movie, every element in the right place with tiny hidden messages if you just know where to look. 

I just don’t know — this seems so right but so incredibly greedy at the same time.  But I can’t imagine that anything that feels so right could be wrong.