I feel like I'm fresh out of ideas today. I just got another rejection email, it's freezing rain out there and I still have to go to work, and I'm wearing one of those technological reminders of mortality around my neck -- a Holter monitor. (Don't worry about that last point -- we've already found the problem with the little pitty-pat-cha-cha of my heartbeat, and it's easily fixable with a med tweak. They're just making sure that's all there is.)
It's a good day to be down. Not depressed, just down. The desire to wrap myself in the coccoon of my blankets (rather than throw my clothes on over the monitor, put on makeup, and trudge down and up a flight of stairs with my computer backpack) is almost overwhelming. Almost. After all, life is out there, not under my blankets, and the adult thing to do is make the best of it.
Girly-Girl is sitting on the arm of the couch next to me, purring. She's my editor.
 |
| My editor is falling asleep on the job. |
It's definitely dark (and rainy) out here at 7:30 AM. I've had a Messenger chat with my favorite nature interpreter about aquascape and pond design. The rain hits the window like buckshot. I discuss the sorry state of American politics with Richard.
I check the seedlings downstairs in my grow room -- the only evidence that there will someday be spring. The tomatoes and peppers and eggplant stretch and grow in their bigger fiber pots; the perilla seedlings perk up, the first of the miner's lettuce seems to be sprouting.
Someday there will be spring. Someday I will find an agent, someday I will feel healthy enough to work out, someday I will accept aging gracefully.
But for now, I sit in a warm room lit by the glow of candles, next to my cat. I can live with that.
