Last week, I funneled all energy into creating things.

Since then, I've felt tapped out of creativity. No mindless doodling in my doodle/poems/lyrics notebook, and no shallow or deep topics of interest in my journal. (I philosophize anything. Nail polish, super powers, Ella Fitzgerald vs. Billie Holiday in a sing-off, etc.) I would stare at my computer, motivating myself to draw another 3-year-old's version of an illustration on WordPad. But it's fuuuuuunnnn, I would say. No, I would reply. But your family likes them! No, I would mechanically say, I don't want to. Why? I don't know. Perhaps my week was a bit too adventurous. Rugby, lice (which are gone!), swimming (which hasn't really happened since,) and planning/attending umteen social functions to celebrate any and everything. Ex.hau.stion. I have heaps of laundry that are sitting in my biggest laundry tub, and have been for 2 weeks now, but in the last 5 days I've managed to soak them in warm water/detergent overnight, half-assedly wring out the suds, and plop them into the rinse bucket. Which is still sitting in my bathroom. And will probably remain there until tomorrow. Or Saturday. Stinking, marinating in the smell of fresh detergent gone sour from all the humidity in this country...and my laziness in all things life. I finally bought vegetables today. I have meals to cook for people, goodies to prepare for a Halloween party this weekend. Another costume to put together. But. I'm. Drained.

Cat is sooooooo annoying. She's eating tuna now and getting fatter by the day. She still doesn't understand now to drink milk via licking. My friend Sandy found an old empty nosepray bottle, whittled the hole a bit, and put milk in it. Cat LOVED it. And now wants to eat ALL the time. Meowing, scratching at my feet, jumping onto my calf muscles. Climbing my chest like a jungle gym. I nearly crushed her the other day while rolling my bike down the steps. She somehow didn't die. Maybe her big belly protects her. I also must've gotten really impatient this morning while getting ready. Punting your baby cat across the kitchen--even when she's clawing the heck out of your ankles, biting your feet, hopping from leg to leg like flippin Tarzan--I still feel like a bad mom.

It sounds depressing, eh? I feel drained of creative flow and motivation to live like a normal person. I'm finally nearly finished with a book--a different one from the 4 I was simultaneously switching up--but that has helped to get my mind off things and just observe a story. But today, while biking from the bank to the market to my house, while making my PB&J and stuffing my Bluebird Salt and Vinegar chips into my Indian-style purse, I realized something. I. Love. Jam.

It's beautiful. I've been around it my entire life--my mama's homemade strawberry and peach freezer jams are to DIE for, and Lord knows I've used them for more than just jam on a biscuit or the J to my PB. They've been ice cream toppings, yogurt mixers, milkshake-flavorers...and more, I'm sure. Since Tonga life started, my specialty has become papaya jam, but I love looking in the little Chinese shops where they have more than just strawberry. So it's become my new goal to try AS MANY JAMS as possible in my life. Here's the list so far: -Grape -Strawberry -Peach -Blackberry -Apricot -Cherry -Apricot and Ginger -Red Plum -Papaya -Passionfruit (DELICIOUS) -Blueberry -Raspberry -Orange Marmalade (yes, I'm counting marmalade as a jam, too!) This hardly adds anything to my tropical creative depression, but maybe I'll begin concocting more exotic forms of Papaya jam...I also just used a plastic clothes pin as a means of pulling my hair back. Creative or loony/desperate? .