I’d rather stay at home all day—part of the day. If I could have my way…after I’ve written and read until I’m filled and satisfied, I’d hop in the car and drive, drive down the long tree lined road without a destination and stop when I was ready. I would find a small café, grab a sandwich and an iced tea. I would watch the ice melt, the cubes jingle in the glass after each sip, lifting the cold glass to my lips. I would open my notebook, inhale the hot pastrami warming in the oven before it was placed between two slices of onion bagel. I can smell the onions and the pastrami. I would look out the window, watch the people walk by. I would sit there with my pen in hand staring out the window, lose myself—and after some time has gone by, between bites and sips, I would begin writing, jotting anything that came to my mind and when I was full, when I was satisfied I would take a break and I’d do it all over again. In my reverie, I wouldn’t go to work at my regular job. It wouldn’t exist. I would be working doing something I love and I would make a living doing it. One day I hope to actualize this dream. The dream will have to sustain me.
It’s a moody week of ups and downs for no apparent reason. There are moments of happiness and moments of sadness. I believe the hormone fairy is about due for the cyclic visit and that always adds to my moods. I’ve lost some motivation for cooking and cleaning; although, I did prepare a pork tenderloin with a delicious rub the other night. I haven’t felt inspired to cook much of anything. Tonight though I have the desire to prepare a beef stir-fry—beef sirloin strips soaked in soy sauce, sautéed with green onions, garlic, bell pepper, mushrooms, and tomatoes, over a bed of rice. I don’t cook red meat often, but my body is craving the iron.
I overslept this morning. I’m feeling clumsy. I’m in internal cleansing mode. I’ll feel better. The day will be. Plans for camping have been postponed. It may be best. Now I will be able to attend the writer’s group meeting. The four pieces that I chose to submit for July to the group are all pulled from my blog, from the beginnings: Two poems and Two short personal essays. What’s interesting for me to observe is that I feel more nervous than when I posted them here for the first time. I will have to face people in the flesh and listen to their critiques. It definitely adds a very different element than hearing comments on the page alone. I hope that my emotions don’t get the best of me. I don’t mean it in a critical way. But even one comment from a woman in person about how she really liked something I had expressed, my closing lines—I started tearing up because of the tone in her voice. I could tell she connected with it. She understood.
The two personal essays I submitted are very personal and I only hope that my emotions don’t get the better of me. Even when I read one of my essays over, I became emotional. It sometimes takes me by surprise. I’m an emotional creature and this feels very different. I can’t hide my tears or laughter behind the screen. I will be naked, but I know I will be safe. Writers understand these things.
Naked on the page.