It’s someone’s birthday this week. I know, that sounds obvious. Clearly many people have birthdays this week. I meant someone in particular.
I just realized it as I sat here working on my latest manuscript. I’m supposed to be writing. I told my friend Christina I would begin again. My Manhattan birthday trip’s over, it’s time to buckle down. I have three manuscripts in the works but am still finding my mind going in a million directions – scattered, frenzied, stupid. Then I wonder if this is the start of Alzheimer’s. Maybe that’s why I can’t concentrate? I am old… Such thoughts take me down another tangent and make it so I’ve frittered away a good part of the morning, none of it on writing, most of it on worrying. My neuroses are limitless. It’s one of the perks of being me, I suppose.
Christina said, “I don’t care what you write, but write… every day.” This counts, yes?
My other manuscript, the first, that one’s still resting comfortably with my literary agent. I think it may have slipped into a coma at this point. Ah, well. I tried to get my mind off my latest failure and instead it saw the calendar – which brings me back to September 1st and, perhaps, my biggest failure. I dredged my feeble brain, why did September 1st hold what appeared to be a massive sort of consequence for me? It hit like a cannonball to the chest. I felt like you do when you realize it’s one of your best friend’s birthdays in a few days and you haven’t yet shipped a gift. You know that feeling? The OH FUCK feeling? Yes, that was it. Then, came the thought that I won’t be shipping a gift. It is, however, one of my best friend’s birthdays in a few days…
I could pretend I was completely and blissfully unaware of the day. That it would wash over me the way every other day does – with a slight sense of dread. But those of you who follow and read my blog regularly know I’m nothing if not completely honest with my horrid range of emotions. My easy excitability, fusspot attitude, and hotheadedness make me a veritable weathervane of moods. I’d imagine on September 1st, my weathervane will be planted firmly in the dour position with a few rapid swings into teary.
So, yes, I see that it’s your birthday coming up. The only good that will come of that day for me is that my boy returns briefly from college. I’m going to latch onto that happy thought to get me through the rest of this week. I don’t need anyone telling me to “just breathe” – I know how to do that. What you people don’t realize is breathing sometimes hurts – even if the pain has lessened tremendously with the passage of time and the company and kindness of other friends. I still prefer to hold my breath. It might have the added benefit of making me pass out.
So happy fucking birthday…