weekends

memories beget memories.

July. I have consciously and physically put aside my plan to create an online course: I rolled up the extra-large planning sheets lining my hallway and labeled and tucked them away. This act created room to do one thing, which is to focus wholly on the memoir. 

mornings

non-negotiable morning routine for proper installation of the self

Wake up before my alarm at still dark o'clock worried about some things and excited about some other things

Write in my journal

Meditate

Put the kettle on for tea (milk oolong from Petaluma Coffee & Tea)

Begin noticing what I'm grateful for

Cat tending

Yoga & stretching

Post on Instagram 

Water the garden

Sometimes I forget the order in which my Sacred Morning Routine flows most smoothly. I'm always tempted to test things like whether washing my face before I brew tea feels better than doing yoga right away before I leave my bedroom. I'm rarely the same person I was yesterday, so the test is inherently flawed.

evenings

apparently I can't let go enough for fiction during a Pandemic (but I can let go enough for romantic comedies because they are, uh, real)

July. Reading James Baldwin. Unsurprisingly his published letter/essay, The Fire Next Time. My all-time favorite Baldwin book is Another Country, for this paragraph:

Book 2, Chapter 1: 

Eric sat naked in his rented garden. Flies buzzed and boomed in the brilliant heat, and a yellow bee circled his head. Eric remained very still, then reached for the cigarette beside him and lit one, hoping that the smoke would drive the bee away. Yves' tiny black-and-white kitten stalked the garden as though it were Africa, crouching beneath the mimosas like a panther and leaping into the air.

April. I'm reading Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay while ignoring that I am super late to the party on this one (the book, not feminism). This collection of essays pairs well with watching every lecture or talk of Ms. Gay's that I can find on YouTube. I'm feeling switched on, smarter and smarter, and like I'm on the verge of something. It's like accidentally getting a caffeinated latte instead of the decaf. From one of the essays in the collection:   

Abandon the cultural myth that all female friendships must be bitchy, toxic, or competitive. This myth is like heels and purses--pretty but designed to SLOW women down. 

See what Amy's posting on social media:

  • Instagram
  • Facebook
  • Black LinkedIn Icon
  • Twitter
  • Pinterest

©2019 Amy Eden Jollymore. Design: Wix.com