Not enough words in the day.

Dear friends,

Some days, you end up feeling like there just isn’t enough something to keep you going.

Some days there aren’t enough minutes of sleep. Others, not enough moments of joy. And others, not enough expressions of friendship or gratitude.

Lately, though, there haven’t been enough words.

I hope I don’t sound whiny here, but I’ve been trying to write more of my mountain story. And that combined with a daily post has run me fresh out of words.

Which is a bit of an odd position for me. I hardly ever run out of words. I love words. I ply them, savor them, consider them, share them.

But I don’t have any to share right now because everything I had got spread thinly over a document called The Mountain, parts 16 and 17. And part 18? It’s not written and I don’t even remember what happened in that episode, or everything after it. Isn’t that weird? It’s the latest stuff and I don’t even remember most of the details.

I think it’s a sign I’ve lost interest in the story. Not of telling the story . . . I always love telling a story. But I’ve clearly grown tired of the plot of this one. Good thing, I guess, Mr. Mom is plugging along, working the case like he has for years. I used to brag about how determined I am, how driven, how willing to expend myself to reach a goal. But I pale in comparison to my partner who refuses to give up, never says uncle, and is chewing this lawsuit like a wild dog with a bone. Last night was a sleepless one for him, but while lying awake he remembered a detail about the case that — upon further research today — just might be important to the outcome. (I slept soundly, by the way.)

We’ve always said we’re yin and yang, the two of us. In the match called The Mountain, I’m down for the count and he’s still punching.

Or . . . maybe . . . he’s the choreographer and I’m the scriptwriter. I think I like that metaphor better.

Yeah, I like that a lot better. I’m going to head back to the words. I’ll try to come up with some good ones.

With gratitude {for a man of few words but many actions and remarkable stamina},

Joan, who discovered a new writer recently and loves her words

Never before had I known the sudden quiver of understanding that travels from word to brain to heart, the way a new language can move, coil, swim into life under the eyes, the almost savage leap of comprehension, the instantaneous, joyful release of meaning, the way the words shed their printed bodies in a flash of heat and light.
Elizabeth Kostova, The Historian