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February 23, 2006

Is Someone Trying to Tell Me Something?

Why yes, like last week, I'm blogging when I'm supposed to be at the coffeehouse, working on the book. Like last week, I'm still under the weather, although not so bad that I can justify a sick day. Besides, Clara Jane and I have been cooped up since Sunday. It's time to be out of the house and among the other humans.

I dropped her off at daycare, then started to the coffeehouse, anxious and happy to get back to work. But, oh, that's not what the universe wants. Oh no. As I made the turn to the coffeehouse, I looked down and noticed that my wedding ring was missing.

As my shit began to freak out, I remembered that I'd taken it off to put lotion on my hands. I was 99.9% sure that I'd simply left the ring on the bathroom vanity, where it's perfectly safe .

I now know for sure that I can be driven stark raving batshit by a mere .1%.

But that's not all. Oh no. I ordered my usual - a large 2% latte and a bagel sandwich with egg, sausage and cheese - took my usual table and started unloading my bag. Damn. I meant to pack pens. I've had a pen die during each writing day two weeks straight, and I knew the one remaining pen was on its last legs. While it didn't up and die on me, it was pretty clear that it would like to take a nap.

With the pen set aside, I ate my breakfast and read the draft I wrote two weeks ago. Complete, utter garbage. If I caught my stupid little dog Murphy eating something that vile, I'd pry it from her jaws. That's how bad it is. We're talking the kind of writing that's best left to a seventh grader's little diary with the flimsy lock. Horrid.

I waffled on what to do next. It's never a good idea for me to try to edit something while I'm actively stewing in contempt for it. Editing in those situations tends to become throwing-the-whole-fucking-book-in-the-trash-ing.

I called B. and whined.

I finished my latte.

I decided to just get over myself already and press on.

I dug out the next pages of the first draft to be edited.

And I dug.

Then I dug some more.

Goddammit, they were here last week. I know they were. I remember them being here last week.

Fuck.

You know, when I was at my worst with the anxiety disorder and panic attacks, I would often let myself get wrapped up in believing things were signs or omens. I sure am glad I'm cured, because between the lost ring, the lack of pens, the shitty writing and the lack of first draft pages that I know where there last week, my brain would have split down the middle if I wasn't.

So I'm home. My ring was on the bathroom sink, just as I thought. I'm printing draft pages and have a pile of pens in front of me to take to my bag, once then next 40 pages of the draft finishing printing. The house hasn't burned. None of the animals are dead. All's well. Well, except for that chapter I read this morning. It still sucks large Peruvian donkeys. Soon I'll be headed back to the coffeehouse. Again. To tackle the next chapter. Again. To bang my head against the large copper decorative espresso machine. Again.

I love my Thursdays so.

Posted by Robin at February 23, 2006 10:44 AM

Comments

We are hoping to buy a laptop sometime in the near future. AS I left Barnes and Noble the other day, I noticed their WiFi sign and thought, "I could come here and write, like Robin." Then I thought, "You can't write like Robin." Sure that first draft just needs to smoke a little more, sweets. And I'm glad you didn't give up on the day. Good on you.

Posted by: Zuly at February 23, 2006 12:38 PM

This is like a little breatkthrough for you! Things happening that point to a disaster on the horizon and no disaster comes. And you stay cool.

And now that you've come through that little set of setbacks, I imagine you've cleared the way to having some great writing burst forth.

Posted by: DixiePeach at February 23, 2006 02:25 PM