I have myrrh should anyone’s life depend on it.

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This is the fourth week at my new job. I’m still scrambling to adjust to my new schedule that includes 20 hrs of working outside the home. I’ve started (and then stopped) riding my bicycle to work. I have only stopped because this week I’m preparing for a weekend trip over which I’m pretty spastically excited because I haven’t taken a trip of any kind for 3 years. I’ll resume riding my bicycle to work next week.

I’m most looking forward to hanging out in the airport, staying in a hotel room and watching crap tv, meeting my friend Kele, not having to worry about anyone but myself, hogging a bed all to myself, being alone, people watching, writing field notes, drinking everywhere (you can judge all you want and it will deflect off of me like water off a duck’s back), seeing a new place, being alone, change in routine, being el mysterioso woman abroad who rocks a beret, knowing that I’m a person who has myrrh should anyone’s life depend on it.

I’ve joined NaNoWriMo and I still hate that name after all these years hearing about it.

I’ve chosen to work on my idea for “The Nightmare Club” for it. The main character is Perla who looks a lot like Jasika Nicole. This work is close to my heart. It’s what haunts me. It lives inside of me. Perla starts a club for people who suffer chronic nightmares like she does to discuss the psychology of nightmares and to be around other people who understand what it’s like to suffer from them.  But when a member of The Nightmare Club is murdered and elaborately staged in a scene from one of the nightmares shared with the group, suspicion settles on the members of the group and everyone wonders it they’re next.

My online friend John is reading Cricket and Grey and has said such encouraging things about my writing that I had to open up my own book and read a little to believe the good things he said. My favorite scene in the whole book is the first kiss (chapter 10) and I believe it’s because of the scarlet and peaches line. Summer coming before the spring. Another writer acquaintance of mine read my novel recently and also said such kind and encouraging things – it isn’t that writers are necessarily vain motherfuckers, they need some perspective that only readers can give them. The bad things help them grow if they’re willing to listen and the positive things reinforce their passion.

My passion is reignited.

Not that it was out.

But it’s been so hard to write lately with all the changes going on, adjustment to working outside the home again, writing endless emails on Max’s behalf, doing an endless daily mountain of dishes. I have but one professional life’s ambition. I don’t let go willingly. I wrote 1600 words today. It wasn’t easy to push myself but I’m glad I did.

Shit. I’m listening to the soundtrack to Bridget Jone’s Diary. I used to blast this as loud as my stereo would crank it while I cleaned house and I would sing to every song (poorly) and feel so happy. But there’s a song missing. I wonder if it’s from a different soundtrack? Can’t figure out what I’m looking for that isn’t here.

Let it be.

Let it be.

Let it go.

Two days until I get to sit in an airport and pretend to be anyone but myself and no one will know. No one will question.

I get to write myself completely new.

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