Three months into it, too– like clock work.
I feel friendless. Everyone I care about lives far away. And when I remember what my life was like before I moved here, I remember I was unhappy then, too. So, what’s the solution? To embrace my sadness? Again?
I’m writing differently the past few months– starting at Hedgebrook. The collection is dark, and thankfully I am still in love with the stories and the narrators.
Every morning, I turn away all the noises from my real life– my son’s stomache ache two nights ago, my workshop, the weird sounds my car has been making, the rain outside– and listen to my stories.
As I watch the House and fret about the senate, and read the number of deaths in Iraq and Gaza, I wonder how on earth I can still be self-indulgent as I am, how I can still be annoyed with this pretty, peaceful town.
Oh, yeah…I’m human.