Thursday, June 30, 2011

Get back to where you still belong

Tomorrow is my last day at my job, which I've held since December 2009. When it came along, it was very much akin to a godsend: good money, great benefits, a terrific working situation since I could work from home. I took it and ran.

A year and a half later, I'm ready to go back to what I know and love. I'm going to be concentrating on my own memoir and fiction -- working to get The Project into print -- while making money as a freelance writer and editor. And damn if I ain't excited!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Today's writing

We named her Midnight. Her fur was tucked tightly around her body, her tail twitching as a warning. We brought her home in a box and the minute she was sprung loose she made for the door. We slammed it shut and she hid behind the stove instead.

Our dog’s name was Sunny. I’m not sure if that matters, but I thought you’d like to know. Sunny was hanging out in our backyard when Midnight descended. Then again, Midnight didn’t so much descend as stumble in. She was disoriented and we weren’t far behind. Just so you know, Midnight was not black. She was, in fact, orange. Orange and white. The white nights of St. Petersburg. Metaphors like that.

Midnight was not our first, but you perhaps already guessed that. Our first left us six weeks ago, a shade drawing across his eyes as he died. I cried but inside I felt cold. That’s how I knew I was really mourning.

I pulled Midnight out from behind the stove. It couldn’t be good to have her in there. She hissed and made for underneath the bed. We sighed and let the dog in. Draw your own metaphors from all this.

Prick of the Spindle

I'm very proud to have a nonfiction piece in here!

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Interesting exercise

ME (talking about a 10-day Vipassana course during which time I wouldn't be able to have any contact with Adam): It would be an interesting exercise.

ADAM: So would cutting off my balls, but we're not going to do that.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Cap and gown

As I write this, Adam's waiting in line with his graduation regalia in hand. Seventy-something dollars, three years in the making.

So much of our lives have revolved around grad school. A not-inconsiderable number of our fights, too. We've had to postpone or forget about trips, he's been stressed due to homework and exams, and I've had to make professional decisions based on supporting his endeavor.

Is it worth it? Oh, hell yeah. I think.

Today's writing

I wake at two-thirty in the morning. There was no dream, no earthquake, nothing to shock me awake and jolt me into consciousness.

The bedroom is quiet, the silence punctuated with Adam’s breath. Adam is my husband. We were married ten months ago. Billy Joel was our wedding song of choice, “Just the Way You Are.” We didn’t care that it wasn’t cool. We danced and grinned for photos.

But I couldn’t look at those photos.