A couple of days ago, I cracked an egg into pan with two yolks, which depending on where you look and who you talk to, can be a good omen of impending luck, or conversely, imminent death or pregnancy in your immediate family. (While I'd prefer the former in the absence of an alternative, neither is a good thing.) If it's good luck, then let'd hope it means things will get better, or at least that things will stay stable. I'm suspicious of omens in general. I did find the king cake baby on Mardi Gras before the quarantine after all, and while I thought it might signal good news for the NEA application I'd submitted earlier that day, what followed in the immediate weeks after was a little troubling (the jury is still out on the NEA.) I've had a weird mix of good luck and bad luck this past year (and sometimes really good luck disguised as bad luck) so I never quite know what is happening in the fortune cards.
So, another Monday where I mostly want to nap, but worked yesterday on rewriting a segment of the dark country manuscript that needs work, and will maybe give it a another run-through before the week is out. I am trying to be patient with my supreme lack of enthusiasm when it comes to certain areas--poetry in general and all things po-bizness is chief at the top. Probably visual art too. I have these moments where I am just horribly hopeless and apathetic, which is not like me at all. I feel like I want to abandon the only thing that might save me I won't and know this is only temporary, but still, it's an unfamiliar feeling. Instead, I clean and organize a lot. I painted my bedroom vanity with what was labeled gold, but came out more of a pewter color, which I am not hating. I wash dishes and make food. I watch more disaster movies while at the same time trying not to spend so much time scrolling facebook waiting for the latest grim prospect. I feel lucky that I actually like this time at home, but that I should be doing more productive things with it instead of squandering.
