Well THAT Was An Ugly 24 Hours...

I have been through the storm.  Yesterday about 9 pm I came down with some sort of stomach/flu virus. Miserable does not begin to describe the last 24 hours. I have not done this much praying to the porcelain god since college.  Add in fever, aches, chills, headache... Today was one of those days where I just prayed for death.  And yet, as suddenly as it hit, it seems to have gone. I realized about an hour ago that the thought of food was not stomach-turning and actually kept down some applesauce. (Much love to my sister who called and told me the "BRAT" secret to eating when sick: Bananas, Rice, Applause, Toast.  That, and she suggested sipping Gatorade for nutrients, which helped as well.)

I'm still shaky, but about 90% better than four hours ago. Which is good, because I'm supposed to get in a car and drive 8 hours to Dayton tomorrow for a writer's conference. I'd all but written the conference off, earlier today, but now I'm thinking I might just pull through and make it. If so, probably no blogging for a few days as I don't plan on taking my laptop with me.

Off to bed for what I hope is a good night's sleep.

What's Your Word?

I'm re-reading Elizabeth Gilbert's brilliant book, Eat, Pray, Love.  I just read it at the end of last year but I fell in love with her writing and humor and decided to indulge my urge to read it again.

I read a section last night that I thought would be interesting to blog about. When Liz is in Italy, she has a conversation with an Italian friend who tells her that every place has its own word. Rome's word, for example, is SEX. Sex is what everyone there is thinking about and influences daily how people eat, dress, shop, talk, walk, and make friends. Liz declares New York City's word to be ACHIEVE and Los Angeles's word to be SUCCEED.

She then moved into contemplating what her own personal word might be and that got me thinking about what my own word would be. It's easy of course to come up with words I wish described me: PEACE, LOVE, HOPE, JOYFUL, ENCOURAGING...  But I think my actual word would be something closer to: EXPLORE, WISH, ADMIRE, ACHIEVE, EGO, or LAUGH.  Not bad words, but perhaps not quite the Zen-master word list one might hope for.

The good thing is your word can change as you change. But how 'bout it? If you had to pick one word today to encapsulate who you are, what would that word be?

Weekend Update

It's a cold, rainy Saturday which suits my mood just fine. Not that I'm in a bad mood. It's just that if it were sunny and clear I'd convince myself I should be out clearing the yard, or planting flowers, or taking a walk. Instead, the dreary weather is the perfect excuse to huddle inside and read books and watch TV all day long.

I'm thinking of driving into GSO to see a movie. Blair isn't feeling well (possible reaction to medication for his cat bite) and again, my mood is one of those where it sounds quite fun to sit in a darkened theatre by myself and enjoy a movie. I've yet to see Juno and it's playing at 1:20--I'm contemplating it.

Updates:

• The Camry lost a hubcap but luckily Blair saw it fall off so we could retrieve it. We can't get it back on though, and for the moment I'm too embarrassed to drive to a repair shop and ask for help.
• The killer squirrels are for the moment respecting the cease and desist order I sent them. This is good, as Critter Control never called me back.
• I cleaned out my closet and filled a bag and a half with clothes. I ran across a straw hat I bought 8 years ago in Williamsburg. All the ladies were wearing them and Blair and I spent an hour shopping for the perfect hat for me. I wore it one day and it hasn't been on my head since. Blair saw it in the "to go" pile and said, "Oh, you're getting rid of the hat?" I put it on and he declared it cute. It kind of is, but I can't imagine anyplace I would wear it, and told him so. He started chanting, "One more year. One more year," so I laughingly gave in and the hat is now back in place on the back of my closet door.

Tomorrow is a 14-mile run. Apparently the weather gods dislike us as we've had sunny 65 degree days during the week and it drops to 41 on weekends. That's okay. I just think "coffee and a bagel" during my last three miles and that pulls me through.

The Creepiness of Life

It's happening again. Every couple of weeks I sit myself down for the "all you're going to do is write" lecture. I hang tough for a few days and then... life creeps back in. I know I can't keep life out, and I don't want to. I would, however, prefer to limit my involvement in it until the late afternoon hours.

But how do you hold life back? This week is a good example. Monday was trashed as we had to drive 3 hours to Fayetteville and 3 hours back to deliver the Saturn to Blair's sister. Tuesday morning I had my eyes dilated--the only time Blair could work into his schedule to take me--and couldn't sit at a computer or read a book for 4 hours afterward. Right there, two working days down the drain.

Or is it really? Nothing is stopping me from working in the evenings, except myself. I'm a morning writer, useless after 2 pm. Plus, I only get to see Blair for 1-2 hours each night--I'd prefer to take advantage of that versus sitting in front of a computer while he's home.

Blair raised a good point the other day when I was complaining about how I let "stuff" get in the way of my writing time. "You always make time for running," he said. "What's the difference?"

Hmmm. Excellent question. Part of the difference is I run with people. I make time because I know people are waiting on me to show up. If I have to run alone... a lot of times it still get skipped (or mileage reduced). There's no getting around the fact that writing is lonely. It's you, a laptop, and your thoughts. And the really hard part is doing the work while having no idea if there will ever be a payoff. I'm fine being a starving, struggling artist for two years, so long as I know that at the end of the two years, it was all for a purpose. The not knowingness is maddening.

But I've shaken myself off and given the speech yet again. I've marked out 8-noon all week next week as uninterrupted writing time. No checking e-mail, answering phones, doing laundry, petting cats, eating meals, running errands, or scheduling meetings. Four hours is not much to ask of myself. But if it's four hours of butt-in-the-chair-doing-the-work writing time, the payoff will be immense.

So don't call, don't write, don't e-mail, and don't bother me... unless it's after 3 pm. =)

Dena