in which i blog late and mix my metaphors

started at 2:45 AM

I shouldn’t be blogging this late, but I can’t sleep and my mind won’t rest. Earlier this week I watched the Golden Globes with my friend Jen, and as awards shows inexplicably do, they get me dreaming about telling stories, and about getting up on a stage and thanking people for helping me win an award. And yet, because I suck at coming up with plots and have no idea how to go about getting movie rights to things, I can’t see how that’s going to happen. And so I just practice speeches no one else will hear in my car on the way home.

* * *

Lauren Winner, in Girl Meets God, writes this great line: “I know the way an apple feels,” in the sense of being peeled. I’ve gone to bed in tears some nights, feeling like the knife keeps piercing me and stripping away my skin and leaving me to be cut into pieces. I realize it’s probably not so dramatic as that, but the waiting is hard, especially as it leaves me to think so much. A lot has happened the past few months–especially lovely things and especially difficult things, often simultaneously–and I don’t know if I properly dealt with it all until now. And in the meantime I just keep waiting.

My story is still being told, even though the ending’s been written already. It’s just really hard, being a character in the middle of it, waiting for the script to just hurry up and cut to the end of the act already. It may be that I may never get resolution, at least not in this particular part of the play. And in the meantime, I wait for the next page, and practice my lines, and wonder what the Writer is doing out there.

* * *
Because I have good friends who tend to worry about me and roll their eyes at my melodramatics (and rightfully so), I need to clarify: I’m not depressed or upset at all. Anxious, yeah. Antsy, sure. But I feel more like I’m getting prepared for something. The apple is getting peeled to be transfigured into pie; the character is backstage changing costumes; the screenwriter’s putting on her fancy dress and getting in the limo and writing the eighty-seventh draft of her acceptance speech. It’s just that there are surely good things ahead, and I am not a patient person by nature. Of all the virtues, I need to be filled up with fortitude, temperance, and faith, and the One writing my story knows that.

So. What now? I wait. I dream. And I remind myself that “it does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live”, as the late great Albus Dumbledore once said. Right now is what I have; right now is all I’ll ever have.

* * *
So hold me to this: I’m going to save some money, and I’m going to work on brushing up on my web coding, and I’m going to finish some projects. And I’m going to write, and I’m going to get plugged into community. I don’t want to be caught unprepared for when the curtain goes up.


One thought on “in which i blog late and mix my metaphors

  1. Brilliant, m’dear. I’ve been feeling a lot of the same lately and it seems like winter will never end, and grad school will never end… Thanks for putting things into better words than I could. Hugs and prayers (and pokes) for this period of waiting and preparing.

    Now, I’ve got to figure out how to undo the string* on these journals, so I can work toward graduating, at least.
    *Yes, string. Rather than binding back issues into nice, solid volumes, they sent me six bundled together with string.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s