As of a few weeks ago, I turned my back on that wall and now face the wall with the chosen buff shade of yellow behind the TV on its cabinet. A finished wall that wraps around an interior corner and encloses new bookshelves with glass doors. There are candles on top. Icons on the wall above. And the clock that used to hang in the Stevenson train station ticks away the century, as ever.
I started this blog before I went back to school in 2008. In the decade since, I've gotten a (legitimate, accredited) degree (unlike my first one), and added an MFA to that. I've been painting patches on unfinished walls, and I've been starting up blogs for the sake of a writing course, for the sake of a new identity, for the sake of trying one more thing. Is this the thing? Is here my voice? Are here my readers?
And then, this morning, on my daily walk, all at once, the idea of working at the wet edge swam into my mind's view and I knew it was time to come back here. Back to my own Recollected Life. Start the painting again, right at the edge where I just used my roller. Start again where I left off before. I'm not making anything new. I'm finishing what I've already started.
I want to tell you about some stuff. I want to recollect, collect, collect again, and hear from people who are reading what I write. I started here and said, "I want to go back to school." And then I did that. I said, in print, online, in front of God and everybody, "I want to find a way to go back to work." And I did that too. I said, "I want a shop in Stevenson." Now that's on its way. It's going to be a bookstore. I said, "I want to be a writer." It's time to work on that. I'll be telling you here how that goes.
This blog is where I'm going to start again to recollect my life. Also, the wall behind this chair is finally going to be refinished. Soon. I mean it.