Getting a New Floor and Trying to Calm the Fuck Down

For the last few weeks I’ve been getting rid of the old carpet in our living room and scraping the glue residue off the floor (a hellish task). As I’m close to finishing, I bought some tools and material yesterday – accompanied by my son, having a good time – and I hope I’ll be able to cast a new floor today which we will then paint in a color we have already bought some time ago. And I hope this floor will prove less sensitive to the abuse of two preschoolers and an outdoorsy wife than the carpet before it, which had quite some battle scars to show.

A few days ago I heard someone say “Writing basically is thinking!”. Since I have neither written nor read a lot in the last few years and worry about getting dumb (in the sense of being unfocused, unaware, unorganized) I feel like I should get into the habit of writing again. Which is why I’m writing this. It’s scary how juggling work, children, making music, and other obligations drown out any contemplative thinking if you don’t keep observing yourself very vigilantly. I often feel like a train is bolting through my mind in a blur and I’m trying to count the passengers in the seats through the windows, completely unable to keep track. And whenever I get a chance to chose what to do with my time I fail to use it in a way that I actually had set out to do while I was occupied with other things, longing for some time to get my own shit done. And really it boils down to a lack of mindfulness I think. Which depresses me. Which leads to even less mindfulness and more escapist behavior. A downward spiral.

So that’s that. And I’m trying to get better at this. Because I feel like I’ll pay dearly for this style of conducting myself in the long run.