In no particular order, I’m thankful for:
--Sheri, for always being here, no matter where “here” is.
--The book club and my book club partner.
--Jay, who supports and indulges a moody, possibly insane, free spirit of a wife when he could have married a minivan driving soccer mom.
--A dog who sleeps on the bed and keeps me safe in the night.
--Cats who gather in whatever room I’m in when they could be as aloof as normal cats.
--Susie Bright, for being a kick ass role model.
--Ditto Heather Corinna.
--This guy, for being there through hurricanes, injured dogs, stray cats, snow days, Staff Days, party plans, splinters, new jobs, everything.
--John Kerry, for giving me hope-- if only for a few months.
--Hillary Clinton, for giving me hope that things will get better in four years.
--My Powerbook, because I’ve written more on it in the past three months than I wrote on my desktop in two years.
--Being a student again.
--Editors who buy my work-- especially the ones who ask me to write something for them.
--Lush, especially the one in London because I hope to go back and visit it soon.
--Starbucks, for keeping me going.
--Josh, for being the kind of teenager who makes me wish I had kids.
--Being home for the holidays when a lot of people can’t be.
--NaNoWriMo for motivating me to write a book that’s been in my head for awhile.
--Everyone who reads my little musings here. Whether you post comments or not (and I wish y’all would, it inspires me to write more), I love that you take the time to read what I write.
--Friends, old and new, close and distant. They are my wacky, exasperating family.
Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you have as much to be thankful for as I do.
As you can see, there is a reason I was pushing myself so hard to get my word count done for NaNoWriMo. Sheri isn’t even here yet, but my writing is already slowing down. Busy days ahead… but I’ll still be writing a little, with much writing to come in December.
Sheri, for those of you who don’t know (and I honestly can’t remember if I’ve ever mentioned it here) is my dearest, oldest, bestest friend. She is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister. She is family (and I use that word in the you-hurt-her-and-I’ll-kill-you way). We met over sixteen years ago in Florida when I hired her to work in the photo lab I managed. She was seventeen, I was twenty-one. Somehow, despite many differences, we became friends.
Since 1988, Sheri and I have only lived in the same state for a year and a half. First, she was off to college, then I was married and off to follow my Navy husband. Over a span of sixteen years and several relocations for both of us (just for fun: Florida (mulitple times), New Jersey, Virginia (twice), New York (three times?), South Carolina, Georgia, Rhode Island, New Mexico and Illinois), we have managed to maintain our friendship. We’ve done that with many, many long distance phone calls, letters (including pre-email “real” letters), our yearly Thanksgiving get-together and the occasional bonus trip (London, last year!).
By the time Sheri leaves in a little over a week, it will feel as if she’s been here all along. Sometimes it surprises me that we don’t live closer, it seems as if we should. Hopefully, one day we will. We’re going to be very cool little old ladies together.
My recent award notwithstanding, I’m still unsure what to do about my library job with grad school looming in January and my job dissatisfaction growing exponentially by the week. I find myself trying to figure out how to juggle the job, school, writing and the rest of my life and I just don’t come up with a satisfactory answer. What to do?
October has been a sucky month for writing. In part, because I wrote like crazy in September and got a bunch of stuff in ahead of deadline. The other part is lack of motivation and a weird schedule. I haven’t written much at home, I haven’t hit the bookstore (to write) in at least two weeks and other than doing a rough draft of my NaNoWriMo book during a five-hour visit to the hospital (not for me), I haven’t accomplished much else. It’s disheartening after having such a good run last month. Ahh… but November is book-writing month and I really do want to make the 50,000 word limit this year. That would be quite an accomplishment after October’s lack of productivity.
Of course, with November blocked out for NaNoWriMo (not to mention Thanksgiving and a week of Sheri time), and December being full of the usual holiday madness… I feel like I might as well write off the rest of the year in terms of writing. Because, let’s face it, even if I hammer out 50,000 words in November, I will be a long way from having anything that is remotely ready for submission. Then there is January… and back to school. I’m planning on taking two classes (what, I don’t know yet. I need to make an appointment with my program director) and while I’m sure the workload will be manageable (after all, I like school), it will be one more thing eating into my writing time. Frustrating.
I know there are other people who do this-- juggle jobs and school and writing and relationships and life-- and I know I can do it (and have done it), I just wish I knew how to do it well. Every time I add something to my life, I feel as if there is a weight pressing on my chest. I feel trapped when my schedule is booked, I feel as if I have to give something up even when the answer is probably better time management. Or is it? Sometimes, no matter how well I manage my time, something gets sacrificed. I’m not good at sacrifice.
I look at my friendships, the ones that are still solid and the ones that have faded, the ones that are slipping away because time has become a factor and there are other priorities. Time management doesn’t fix everything. Sometimes, quite simply, things change and there isn’t anything to be done about it.
Change has never been something I have handled well. I adjust, but I don’t like it. Even when it’s necessary, I have to force myself to deal with change. So now I’m looking toward January and going back to school and excitement is not what I’m feeling. Anxiety, definitely, and a sense of anticipation that isn’t entirely comfortable. I’ve felt this way before and everything turned out fine. Different, but fine. I’ll adjust to this, too. But I don’t have to like it.
I have kind of a crazy week going on. I’m coming off a nice break from the library (five whole days!), but I’m working for the next five days because of some scheduling issues and a sick co-worker. I can’t complain, as I volunteered to work the extra hours, but it’s messing with my sense of balance. It doesn’t help that autumn allergies are kicking my ass and I didn’t feel like doing much of anything yesterday (though I did make some yummy chili).
There are a couple other things going on this week, including a houseguest this weekend (hello, Christine!), that aren’t part of my usual schedule. So though there are a hundred things I want/need to do (including massive quantities of writing), most of it is going to get pushed until next week. Which is okay, but I’m feeling a little off-balance right now.
I get cranky if I don’t have a good mix of social time, alone time, work time and writing time (Who am I kidding? I could easily give up the work time and divide it amongst the others. Heh.), but I also need time for things like laundry and house cleaning and bill paying and phone calls and e-mail and reading and Pilates and coffee and cooking. I also apparently need a huge chunk of time to go through the 1,296 magazines and catalogs that have somehow accumulated in the past three months. Where does all this stuff come from?
It’s all about balance. I wonder if Restoration Hardware has anything that can help me?
Someone I never met committed suicide this week. I only knew him through someone else’s words and photography, yet reading about his death made me feel a sense of personal loss. Maybe it’s because words have a way of taking on a life of their own and becoming reality. Maybe it’s because I saw pictures of him and was struck by how beautiful he was. Whatever the reason, he was very real to me.
I wonder if any of us can know the impact we have on others’ lives. I wonder if this man knew there would be strangers thinking of him and mourning his death.
I wonder if it would have made any difference.
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Babies. Pregnancy. Motherhood. Insanity. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
