Barely Out of Tuesday

I’m sitting at my computer at 10:45 pm eating Cherry Garcia ice cream straight from the pint while Christina watches Bridget Jones Diary and Matt heats up lasagna in the microwave.  A blizzard is stewing and beginning as the first inch dusts gentry atop the cars, and the brisk winds wind through the short Brooklyn blocks.  I wear my pajama pants backwards and inside out in hopes of a snow day.  Funny, how the urge to play in the snow is almost as intense as it was years ago, when all I needed to make me smile was a snow saucer and a day off from school.  Today, the same hopes ring true.  The plate suddenly shatters as Matt wails and comes to the realization that the plate was not microwave safe.  I knew, but didn’t have the heart the tell him.  He’s trying to be more domestic and independent.  His heart is broken.  I stare at the silent phone, waiting for the pot to boil as my first three pages of writing in months vanishes from my computer screen at the accidental brush of a key.  Dammit.

There was a time when I wrote in all italics because I thought it would make my writing more significant.  When I realized that wouldn’t make my writing better, I switched to a purely journalistic account, hoping it would 1) give me an excuse to write and keep myself current on the happenings of the world at large (be it politics, pop-culture, or some weird news account or funny animal Youtube sensation), and/or 2) get me some readers.  It did very little of both.  After 5 years of college, I took a year hiatus from writing down a single word - not a note, a line, a song lyric - nothing.  I was enervated and uninspired.  After 2 years of rejection from the writing world, I wasn’t exactly pumped about my future career - I mean, no one goes into the field they studied in college, that would be madness!  I assumed I could be the exception to the rule.  Reality slap: I am not.  I don’t even know if I’m that talented of a writer to begin with, let alone an outstanding one, which is what you would have to be in order to be noticed.  Writers Markets purchased, query letters sent, rejections received.  Moving on.  I now work in the world of Non-Profit, where I don’t get to do much writing at all.  Instead, I help people (really, check out my website: http://www.yai.org/), which is also something I always wanted to do - I just never saw it happening in this capacity, with this population.  I was supposed to be a dancer.  Instead, I’m a writer, right?  Perhaps not.  The journey continues.  

Which brings us back to the present.  January 11th, to be exact.  I’m not sure what has motivated me to sit back down and really attempt something, but it’s happened regardless.  Maybe that’s the only reason for meeting people - to have them inspire and challenge you.  To have them pull out all the good, the bad, and the ugly, and present it to you in a completely new and shiny package.  To show you where you stand with the world, and maybe where you stand with yourself.  To remind you of where you started, and help you find where you’re going.  In my experience, there are certainly a ton of pot holes along the way - but you always end up back on the track you belong on, one way or another, and not always in the same form you started in.  I’ve met a lot of people.  I’ve fallen in and out of love, and had my heart broken and smashed, then gently reserved it, waiting for the right moment.  I’ve laughed, I’ve wept, drank and partied, and had lots of sex.  I’ve gone on adventures, taken risks, jumped off high dives, driven on the wrong side of the road, run out of gas, broken down on a major highway, gotten stuck in a car, crawled inside a dryer, touched “do not touch” displays, accepted both truths and dares, been broken and bruised, played drunken volleyball and gone drunken sledding, climbed a few mountains, and have no regrets.  And that is what I have come to realize.  There are a million and one things I still want to do - but of the things I have done, I look back and just smile.

And now, it’s 1/11/11 at 11:11pm.  Make a wish.