Scribble, Scribble, Scribble

20180306_0942061756246556.jpgJanuary and February prove the hardest months of the year in this already-cold burg. While light inches closer, I still head home in the dark and we had a cold snap. Add to the weather misery, my transfer to the other campus with a different flow to the downtown. (For the record, I welcomed the transfer. People ask me “Is that what you wanted?” in that tone suggested something else played a role. Something did, but it worked out, for me, for the better.) I get more reference questions beyond ‘how do I print my document’ although I still get that question in between ones about APA and searching nursing databases. Most of all, I just slow down and stay home. Sadness takes over, I wouldn’t say it’s depression, but it requires a Happy Light and my journal.

Writing keeps saving my life. I didn’t know what freewriting was until university, but it’s what I did over and over again to write down an idea or work something out. Sometimes I go in circles and my journals from a difficult time in my twenties reflected that spiral. In the act of physically taking a pen to my journal, I make meaning, especially when I wonder what’s the point at some points in my life. (Get it?) I feel like the bull rider and my emotions are the bull, and I just want to make the eight seconds before getting bucked off. When I do, I merely strut away, satisfied I hung on.

I know spring will come with longer days, my feet free of boots, my clothes looking colourful, and scribbling in one of the outdoor patios dotting Winnipeg.



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