I get a response from someone in the Maldives that enjoyed my post. Really. And in French. I think I am going to be buzzed on that for days.
Last night I got a late night phone call from a friend who is writing a book. She is going through the nuts and bolts stage of proof reading. She called and began with, “I have spent 10 years of my life on a stupid book that I should throw out.” And it went down hill from there.
I gave her a suggestion that I will take myself. I will do my proof on my Nanowrimo script starting from the last chapter. Then go to the second to last, etc. That way you don’t get all wrapped up in the story, it is out of order and so all you see are typos and commas. I notice that I am often so wrapped around the “start at the beginning”- axel, that the last few chapters, scenes, stories, suffer from “are we done yet?”-syndrome. I wonder if that is why books that are trilogies are sometimes better, because they actually have to keep the story going through the ending chapters.
Satisfying endings are a Bitch. Absolutely. I am struggling with finding a satisfying ending to 30 years in Seattle. I struggled and never found a satisfying ending to the job I just left. 16 years and I think I would have had more closure if I had just severed my leg and left it on the door step. Something final, so that I could move on. I just want to move on cleanly and with integrity. I want to have someone, somewhere give me a hardy bon voyage. And yet, I seem to shy away from it. We had a chance to go to parties this weekend, see people, say goodbye, and I couldn’t leave the house. As if I were being held by this incredible forcefield that was my shame and my failure and my judgement holding hands outside the door like some ridiculous game of Red Rover.
And like when I was a kid, I was so ashamed of being to fat and heavy, to slow, and to chicken, that I would try to wait until the game was over and never really run to try to break into the line. I was a turncoat, a coward. The is what it feels like right now. I am paralyzing myself in place in this 806 square foot condo, behind half packed boxes, shaking and crying and being useless. I have quit caffeine and need to take Xanax, a lot just to make my heart stop pounding out of my chest. If only I could find a way to move this fear into momentum. I don’t need to break through the arms of the other team, but loping up to them and then falling on the grass, a foot from where they are, and sobbing is not what I want either.
So a little love from the Maldives in French. A pretty picture of the new house on my desktop screen. All but one person saying that they love Bellingham. These are the bon mots I am going to hold on to.