Sidebar to start: I just dropped off A at the bus station. It's not much fun going to work right after because I don't get a chance to just be cranky about it for a little bit. I have to go pretend not to be cranky, which only makes me (you guessed it!) crankier. Ah well. I see him in two weeks again! Most face time we've had in six months, so I'm happy!
Back to the topic at hand: Christmas! (I just decided that.) The tree is staying green and alive. I've been really good about watering it every day. It's completely decorated and shiny; makes my apartment smell like, well, like Christmas. Now if only I could get my gifts wrapped, I'd be set.
***Several days have gone by since I started this post. My brain has ceased to think in words, making it incredibly difficult to write in this space, but I'm happy to say I've been able to write in a fictional space, and I am pleased with the results.
Is it possible to be in love with one's own words? In my most recent short story, "Black & Blue," I wrote the single best line I think I've ever written. I won't even post it here, but this line just resonates with my being, as if it's a perfectly fitted suit, so perfect you can't tell it's even there. It's almost a stillness, or a moment when all you can hear is the sound of snowflakes layering on the grass. I want to keep it to myself and not ruin it with others' thoughts. This won't be possible if I plan to submit the story, but for now I can revel in its purity.
photo courtesy of Jim Somerville
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