For The Record

This is the only picture in my camera from the last two weeks.  I can't remember what I was going to post with it, but it was probably something like:



This morning I rolled over to David's side of the bed and asked, "Do you love me?"

He murmured, "Uh huh."

I asked, "In spite of my problems?"


Then I asked, "Because of my problems?"

He laughed.

"You wouldn't go that far?"

He laughed again and grabbed my boob and told me I was crazy. 

So, for the record:

1.  I'm still married.

2.  My children are still alive.

3.  I'm hard-pressed to remember a time I've been this miserable due to my own actions (or inability to say "no.")

4.  I am dreaming of summer every waking and sleeping moment.

5.  In nearly every conversation I have with David I use one of the following phrases:

I quit.

Can't we just run away somewhere?

Isn't there a free bed somewhere in that hospital where I could just disappear for a couple of weeks.

I'm not kidding, I totally quit.

I mean it.

6.  I've developed a new "inside voice" as well.  CIM and RIM have been joined by FPM, "fetal-position-me," and nearly every day RIM is yelling at her that "It's not so bad!"  and "Just do something already!" which only makes things worse.

(I wonder if it is a bad sign that my inside voices are multiplying.  Whatever it takes to get one of those free hospital beds, I say.)

Do you want the good news?

Someone wonderful (I've no idea who) (or is it "whom" FPM asks from her sad little pile at the bottom of my mind) sent me this little book in the mail.

I read it in a day and half and it is helping my writing immensely.  Bless you, whoever you are.   

Well.  I suppose that's all.

Wait, you say.  I waited two and half weeks for that?

And now more bad news:

It's the best I've got.

Oh, To Be As Brilliant As She!

First some news, some anxieties, and then I'll do my best to bless your life.

First news.

Last week I was asked by a real-life editor to write a foreword for a new, soon-to-be-published book.  I know.  You can bet I did a little jig of happiness.

Which leads us, already, to the anxieties part.

I worked on it this morning.  I think parts of it were just shy of brilliant, or at least good.  Not sure about the rest of it though.  I emailed it off to him today with my heart in my throat and my ego on my sleeve.  Gulp.  We'll see.

After the first draft I left the house to get away from it a bit before I edited it.  I have to get a little space before I can start killing and maiming my babies, see?  I went to the college to get my student ID and my parking pass.  The student ID they gave me has my maiden name on it, as the computer refused to believe that I had gotten married.  I told David this morning in the shower that I needed to get a ring between now and next Tuesday just in case some other boy wants to ask me out.  He just smiled.  ("What?" I said, "I was very popular in college."  At which, his smile broadened.)

Anyway, while I was there I went to the bookstore for my required books (can I tell you what a little thrill that was?) and saw that one of the requireds is a book I already own, a book already sitting on my writing table, on top of the stack even!, a book I've already read and tried to learn from.  And I had the brief and horrible thought that what I might need is not more information (i.e. this class I've registered for) but more talent (i.e. no professor can help you there).  And the dream nearly died right there on the bookstore linoleum.

But then RIM raised her voice over CIM's freaking out and I pulled myself together.  That is, until I got home and murdered my forward, gave birth to a new version, and sent it through cyberspace to be critiqued and analyzed by a real-life editor.

Good night, what am I thinking?

There's no help for it.  Best move on to the part where I bless you life.

Last week I went to to lunch with my brother who was in town just briefly, and my sister who lives here all the time but whom I never see enough.  We had a delicious conversation over sandwiches and fries and water with lemon.  Near the end, my brother mentioned a masterful talk he had heard at church that had blessed his life.  I looked it up and now it has blessed mine as well.

So here it is.  It is by Sister Julie B. Beck--the B. stands for Brilliant by the way, and that is always how I refer to her in our house, Sister Julie Brilliant Beck.  I think you'll agree.

And, you're welcome. 


(P.S.  I know some of you might be sorely tempted to leave an encouraging comment about my "brilliant" writing, but honestly I can't bear it today.  I am restricting all comments to agreements about the gorgeous and wise, Julie Brilliant Beck, and to those of you who think it is entirely plausible that I could indeed get asked out my some cute boy in my class next week.)