Well, it was a pretty darn good day, even considering I was feeling sloggy all day.
This morning in the cool I took a scooter/walk with His Highness The Tyrant of the Universe and his Evil Sidekick, both of whom were in pretty good moods today (Allelujah). I love to see their little cannonball helmet-covered heads, three feet off the ground, as they paddle their scooters around. They look like two lollipops, really. I want to lick them.
Tonight I got to go on a date with my handsome husband who is, yes indeedy, up and around and looking awfully spunky and healthy. He only has little red marks and a little swelling (besides the original stitches) to show for his surgery, and so he is not getting the attention and sympathy he deserves. But he is practically himself again, which is such a relief to me. I really can't stand it when he is under the weather (good thing that is rare)--it throws me for a loop. It's not like him to ever be down, and I feel it like an injury to myself when he is not well.
Anyway, we got to go down to hear a reading of Scott Bronson's "Dial Tones," which was cute. (Oooh, yeah, Scott, I see you wincing. One word to describe all that work? CUTE?) Well, it was. I appreciated having some things to laugh about at this one--it's what hubby and I needed tonight--and a sweet love story to boot. It was fun to look forward all day to an outing tonight to see my "AML friends," as they are referred to around here. And, as always happens when I hang with said friends, my mind starts whirring in different directions, never landing for long. What could I write on that topic? Why don't I try writing a play sometime? How does a playwright decide whether and when to have a character who addresses the audience? (There are so many ways to tell a love story that I haven't tried yet!) Will I ever have any success? My great and deepest yearning, I'm afraid, isn't to write that fantastic play or story or poem, but rather to write whatever it takes so that I can hold my head up as an artist around these people. In other words, it's not so much that I have the urge to write, but that I want to be in their club. So there's my confession: I'm not a real writer, just a wannabe.
But I think I may have confessed that before.
And, as much as I confess it, I find myself still writing all the time, so maybe I'm a writer after all.
The frustrating thing lately is that I have been getting just a downpour of ideas for all sorts of writing projects--but I don't have the time set aside to pursue them (even if I could decide which to focus on first). It makes me a nervous wreck. Better to put them all off and go around feeling sloggy, maybe. Or concentrate on the "Friend" stories because they bring in money . . . which means I could take another class . . .
Does anyone else get as envious as I do when your kids go back to school?
Anyway, it's a good life when you can head to Utah Valley for an evening under the stars (and occasionally, umbrellas) and some good theater and ELF cookies in the car on the way home while you watch the lights coming on in the houses and laugh with your handsome husband with the stitched-up eyebrow and then come home and the World's Best Babysitter has already put the Tyrants down so you can blog about it. Isn't it?