Usually when I sit down to write a blog, I have some idea of where it’s going to go. Maybe I want to talk about words that make me giggle like an adolescent boy: cheese log, muffin, and, of course, beaver.
But today, I’m just sort of sitting down and writing. My fingers are flying and my mind isn’t quite there yet. There’s been so much going on I haven’t had time to breathe or relax…which is why my body has decided to pummel me with a cold. Seems the only thing that will slow me down is when I have a broken foot or a chest cold. This cold’s only minor. My voice actually sounds sexy, instead of freakish.
What’s been going on? I’ve been on a few more dates, though I said I was giving up on that. Went to a great wine tasting with quirky characters from Italy. One was wearing a shirt a few sizes too small and had one of those bellies that stick out like a happy toddler’s. He was also wearing enormous glasses. The other Italian sat at my table and entertained us with stories on how carefully he must pronounce the word “Cork” because he has a tendency to leave out the ‘r’, and when he told a woman that he had a ‘cork’ (sans r) in his hand, she looked absolutely pale. That was a good time. Not the, ahem, co*k in his hand, but the wine tasting. Just the right amount of awkwardness. And my escort did a fine job.
I’m still not sure I’m cut out for dating. The problem is that whole loneliness thing. And I really wish I could just fast-forward through the dating process and just be comfortable with someone. I’m so tired of asking men about their childhood, their job, their goals, their travel. It’s driving me bonkers. I just want to sit quietly with someone and be quiet, take their hand, lean against them. Not to mention other things I’d like to do…but….yeah…you sort of have to date before you get to that point.
And the other drama going on has been this house ordeal. I think I’ve come to terms with it. And now, it might actually still happen. I’m whispering quietly for luck. Then there’s taxes, trying to work on my book, putting up a show at Dog Story, trying to juggle time with the kids and a social life and returning to reading. I’m so busy I’ve thrown out commas entirely.
As I was walking to school today, I had a peculiar awareness dawn. I’m actually happy. I am. It’s almost been a year now since I left Pierre, and it has been beyond difficult. I left with nothing, started with nothing, broke my foot, had several major disappointments, stressed about money and work and the kids, felt my heart break over Pierre’s choice to remarry so quickly, felt it break again when I started to fall for the wrong person and then stopped myself, felt intense loneliness, even, at times, utter despair.
But the flip side? The flip side is, I’m finishing up a year as a professor of writing. My book is being published in July. My kids are happy. I’ve reconnected with wonderful friends and made new friends. I’ve laughed more this year than in the past five. I’ve cried more too, but they’ve been good tears…and I find, suddenly, that I’ve done it. I’ve succeeded. Maybe I’m not rich or famous or Hollywood beautiful, but I am living the life I want. The life I deserve.
Hmmm. This is what happens when you free write. Sometimes you realize that that thing you’ve been searching for, that happiness…well, you’ve had it all along.