This year, I have been trying to be good to myself. A month has gone by and I’ve written just one drabble, which is a sign that it’s working.
But having one this month, is also a sign that it’s working. People talk a lot about filling their creative wells, about taking time away from work to recharge. I’ve been trying to do more of that, spending more time with books I love and less with work. Sometimes anxiety gets the best of me and I don’t succeed, and other times work becomes the fun thing, as it did when I covered Global Game Jam a couple weeks ago.
I’m trying to find balance. Some weeks are better than others—this one, so far, is going well. Last week went poorly. I’m sure I’ll fluctuate through the rest of the year as I experiment with things that work and many of them blow up in my face, but for now I feel good. Peaceful. Cared for.
Anyway, here’s a drabble.
(n.) from Latin Kairos—”the opportune moment”—and sklēroun—“harden”
“the moment you realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savor the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste.” — The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
There’s a desperate trembling in her fingers as she pours golden liquid from one beaker into another. It doesn’t fizz or puff smoke; it pours slowly, more viscous than water but not as sticky as honey. She contemplates dipping her finger in and tasting it as if she doesn’t know that it’s nothing to her, hollow and empty as air.
People pay dearly for it, and money buys security, if not happiness. She labels the bottles in bright yellow and weepy-eyed widows and broken-hearted bachelors turn out their pockets, sipping the last dregs of joy from each bottle, eyes alight.