waiting for godot

Well, perhaps not Godot. But this has been a month of waiting. Waiting for news about a job. Waiting for that essay to finally be published. Waiting for responses to queries about more jobs, courses, writing submissions. i've realised that i never had to do very much waiting before. At least, i don't remember ever waiting with such a strong sense of anticipation, even worry -- perhaps because most things in my life have, so far, more or less followed the usual Singaporean order of things, and even when i had to wait, it was a waiting that was altogether in line with what everyone else was doing, and therefore, not so much of a real waiting at all.
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Does that make any sense?
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And all around me, my country going mad, the world burning burning burning. Three plane crashes in the last week alone, and of course there was MH370 from just four months ago -- good God, surely some moderation would be in order here?? Israel and Palestine up in flames. i can't believe it's just been about 6 weeks since the end of the residency. Already everyone feels so far away, even the people who seemed so vital, so close, when we were together in Vermont.
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i'm starting to think that, in order to write, i really have to find some way to build a little bubble around me -- a bubble of excellence, of faith; a bubble that will help me to keep believing in literature, in its value, in the necessity of making work that is not only good enough, but excellent, the importance of taking time, of waiting (there's that word again) rather than trying to rush something into being before its time. i need to shut out all the noise that threatens to divert me from the work i want to do, or that seeks to make me do that work in a way that feels alien to me. i need to learn to keep my independence even when i get involved. i need to learn to recognise that pressure of feeling that signals the arrival of something i want to write, and i need to learn how to make time for it, even if other things are getting in the way.
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And, both in and apart from my writing, i need to learn to listen to intuition, learn to recognise it and distinguish it from fear and anxiety and mere wishful thinking.
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This country is really not an easy place to write in. Everytime i have a conversation with a normal person here (i.e., someone who does not write), i feel this overwhelming sense that my choices do not make sense here, that perhaps it's time to get with the programme and buckle down to Real Life. i really wish i could talk to the residency people again. Their faith rekindled my faith when i was there; and now that i'm back, i find my faith dying out again. This will not do.
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So much that i want to do. And yet.
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