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29 days

This month is gonna be busy. 29 days left to turn this turd fire of a manuscript into gold, okay maybe silver or bronze, but still, something pretty.

I’ve struggled creatively since the 2016 election – I know I’m not alone here. *sympathetic fist bumps to all the writers*

Anxiety and depression reared their ugly heads again and again and again. I won’t go into specifics because ew no not today mthrfckr.

I did what I could to alleviate the daily numbing  horror.  I attended resistance rallies, spoke nearly daily with friends and family as we buoyed each other on days there seemed to no hope, canvassed for my candidates (who won!!!), and watched in tearful joy at the midterm results. The tide has turned, hasn’t it?

YES IT HAS I LOVE BLUE WAVES SO MUCH

I’ve been dancing…and writing…again for the past few months. This one is fun and has become the unofficial song of this book. Go on, get up and dance you know you want to

Sigh. I love sexy times.

The fight isn’t over, I know. A cornered dog is dangerous as hell. This month though, that orange bag of shit and his complicit buddies are kicked out of my head and heart. No room. I’m on a deadline and intend to make it.  I’m coming out  swinging, not for the fences because come on, no. I’m shooting for base hits every day to win the game.

Ugh, I’m stopping with the baseball metaphor medley right freaking now. Yuck.

So anyhoo.

I’m gonna be busy; writing early before work, rewriting late after work. Holiday parties will go on without me. Shopping is online only because time is ticking. Christmas Day is reserved, naturally, for hanging with family and animals (and maybe sneaking a little editing). The only other exception will be if, hmm idk, news of a resignation or perhaps an indictment. On that day I shall be joyful and deliriously intoxicated. I’ve prepared my coworkers for this and they’re cool with it .

Deep breaths. Here we go.

29 days.

WRITE ON;

10/21

8 birthdays missing you

Without you I live

doing what I love to do

Write, dance, play, ride, love

PS I think you’d have loved this one, played loud, really loud.

I remember when you loved that song by Staind “It’s Been Awhile” so much that you named a horse Benawhile. Benny’s still around, last I heard, giving lessons to kids.

Don’t worry, we’re doing okay 95% of the time.  Today I’m said because it’s your birthday, remembering trail rides and dinners and laughing and crying and loving; i miss us looking up knowing exactly what the other was thinking. Damn I miss you but onward I travel, books to read, books to write, songs to hear, friends to make, horses to hug, dogs to cuddle, people to love, you get the idea 🙂

Sending you peace and love.

A simple Saturday restored my hope.

This past weekend I saw a homeless man collapse, his head inches away from cars whizzing by on a busy four lane road. My 15-year-old car was being fixed and I’d been stuck in the waiting room for hours, irritated and worried about another $900 repair bill. I’d been watching the man through the window because pedestrians are rare on this particular stretch of road but also because he was elderly with an unsteady gait.

When he fell and remained unmoving, I yelled for the mechanics to call 911 and raced across the street. I stood over him on the curb so that the cars would slow and ease to the other side of the lane. The man stirred and a couple minutes later sat up. By this time more people had run over to help. Two young women (one with a blond ponytail, one wearing a hijab and both surgical techs) took his pulse, a middle-aged tall guy jumped out of his car in the parking lot to help; a middle Eastern gentleman, an employee from the store next door, ran over to see what he could do; a young man (I’m not sure where he came from) remained on his phone with 911 and directed them.

The injured man told me his name and shook his head no when I asked if had any family that I could call. He just wanted to get to his motel room, he said, which was about 400 yards away. Well, that might as well have been 400 miles since he couldn’t even stand.

Then came the sirens and flashing lights. The cavalry arrived. When the man told the paramedics that he was 61 years old I was shocked. He looked closer to 80. He seemed confused, possibly inebriated or possibly mentally ill, repeatedly saying he got dizzy with panic attacks and that he didn’t mean to cause any trouble. His clothing was simple – tee shirt, pull on pants, slip on shoes, a Chicago Bears cap. He needed a haircut and shave.  Was he a veteran? Was he a parent? Grandparent? What had happened to him? I didn’t know.

I admit I worried that the paramedics and police officers would be brusque and impatient with the man  After all, the news over the past month has been filled with gut-punching stories about cutting federal funding for the elderly, the homeless, the poor, the mentally ill; from rationalizing its necessity to outright glee that we, as a country, wouldn’t have to support “them” anymore.

I was flat-out wrong. Everyone involved that day, from concerned bystanders to overworked emergency personnel, men and women, young and old, different races and faiths, all treated the man with respect. Eventually, the medics and police officers gently coaxed him with humor and kindness into going to the hospital. And once there Social Services would look out for him after he was discharged (which he was later that day).

This incident on a Saturday afternoon reminded me that people are basically good. I’d forgotten that, or misplaced it, or stopped believing that as long as there are good people in this world, there is hope. Simplistic? Maybe. But this realization made my day brighter and I’ll take that over a gut punch all day long and twice on Sundays.

Because I hadn’t even known how desperately I needed the reminder I am sharing this story in case anyone else needs it.

WRITE ON;