Check In: Week 4

First off: sorry for being gone so long. I've embarked on a 12-week program (The Artist's Way, by Julia Cameron), and though part of the program is a daily writing regimen, it's expressly stated that the output is intended to be personal. So, despite my intention not to devolve into this, for the time being you get: "I'm writing! Honest!".

The course itself is interesting, in a new-agey sort of way. So far I have to say the overriding theme is the Jungian concept of Synchronicity. I.e. that if you open yourself up and let the universe show you the way, you'll find by a strange set of coincidences you end up where you want to be. It's a bit wishy-washy from a rational perspective, but the underlying message: "Get out of your own way, dummy!" rings true enough.

I'll have more comments on the three-month trek, well, once I'm done the three month trek. Today I'm smack in the middle of the third day of "Week 4", and the reason I'm gracing this blog with another entry is that in "Week 4", reading is verboten.

Let's take a page out of the suspension of disbelief playbook and ignore that in this digital age not reading for a week is impossible for a working stiff without severe levels of isolation. I like to eat, and planning a vacation on such short notice wasn't really possible, so I've made concesssions in the name of keeping my job (work related reading is okay, 9:00-5:00) and keeping in touch (e-mails and texts, not that I'm good at staying on top of those in "normal" life, but whatever).

It's halfway through Day 3 and I think I'm going to lose it. I'm a ways away from having the spins and cold sweats, but I don't know how I'm going to make it to the other side of the weekend, and the beginning of Week 5. Case in point: in writing this blog entry, I've only used twelve of the 6420 or so minutes between now and when I finally get to close off Week 4.

The marathon of self-imposed illiteracy seems to be having a benefit, though. Even though I haven't really noticed it recently, this week is highlighting how my life is still very much steeped in the written word. Also, the urge to write has been very strong the last few days. Unfortunately it's been either torrents of self-absorbed stream-of-conscioussness blather or agonizing for hours over a few sentences, neither of which are particulary satisfying.