Right, well, I’m forcing myself to settle down to read, and when I do, it’s all fine, and I’m absorbed (Helene Cixous on language… fascinating).
But what I really want to do is sew. Tiny tiny stitches, following my handwriting so slowly it becomes nonsensical, I get no sense of the words by doing this, just faithfully following a scrawled piece of writing. I like the way that some words become abstracted somehow by this process. I’m following the line blindly, trusting what the pen line did the day before. Stitching before it disappears. What I do find though, is that it is repetitive, mantra-like, meditative. I don’t think about the text, but I do think. This is when I do most of my thinking, when I’m immersed in a task that is easy, yet totally engrossing, mindless, yet mindful.
