Ice Cream Social

Yesterday's journal provoked a lot of good responses-- thanks to all who wrote.

I had a dream a couple of years ago about writing a masterwork-- a godawful thick book entitled Spotlight. I have no idea what that book was supposed to be about. In the dream I was very old. I knelt before my fireplace and lifted up a hearthstone, and drew the novel out. It was nicely bound but scuffed. I don't know if it was an edition of one, if it had ever been published, or why I had it hidden away. But I held that book in my hands and knew it was the culmination of my work as a writer, the best thing I would ever do, and that the level of accomplishment present in that volume made all my years of effort worthwhile. I woke up before I could read even the first page.

Which is okay. It was just a dream. And a silly dream, at that-- because producing a Great Work isn't what makes the act of writing worthwhile. The act of writing is what makes the act of writing worthwhile.

*******

So it seems I get to keep my job until the end of April, which is when I'm going to be moving anyway. I still don't know where I'll be moving. Wherever Meg goes. It's sort of a nice adventure.

I talked to my various bosses and they decided there's enough for me to do at the Santa Cruz Design Center-- updating the web site, editing manuals, and so on. My old administrative duties will pretty much vanish, though, since the main office has moved to Nevada. It's almost like a totally different (if fuzzily-defined) job. I get a raise, too. So all's well on the job front. I had to cancel an upcoming job interview today, since I'm now gainfully and definitely employed again. It's nice to feel wanted.

*******

My poor boots. I got these great boots for Xmas, but in the course of moving boxes, lugging dollies, and otherwise doing physical labor (the kind of work I got a college degree to avoid-- one summer laying insulation was plenty), my boots are now scuffed-up.

Scott says they still rock, though.

*******

I packed boxes all day, probably the last time I'll have to do that for this job. I hate moving. And yet, I managed to sing and think about stuff and otherwise entertain myself all day. While my co-workers slowly unraveled, and the stress built up into little pocket explosions, I more-or-less merrily went about my boxing business, with my mind busy on other things. Physical labor isn't so bad. If I did it for a living, though, I'd be quite tired at the end of each day, and I wouldn't get enough writing done. So I'm not making any abrupt career changes in that direction.

*******

I went out for pizza with Scott tonight, and later to Saturn with him and Lynne, for a milkshake. So much socialness, and on a Monday! Good stuff, though.

I feel... weird. Like my rituals have been uprooted, like my normal rut-step-rut patterns have been disrupted. As if everything's up in the air, but in a good way, the world rich with possibility. I feel like life has some remarkable surprises, glories and reversals in store for me.

It makes me write poetry, feeling this way.

*******

I didn't write yesterday, or tonight. I sent "Birch Stakes" out to a couple of people, and I'll see what they think of it. I'm gearing up for the Masochism Dare, so I don’t feel too bad about missing the past couple of nights. Only a little bit bad.

I got a rejection from Jed at Strange Horizons yesterday, with some good feedback. I sent him another story within ten minutes of receiving the rejection. That's why I like e-subs.

I (still) love Strange Horizons. Check out their all-Waldrop issue this week. My affection for Waldrop is well-documented, so I won't get into it again.

*******

I had crazy insomnia last night, perhaps because I slept too late (though that usually doesn't bother me). I couldn't get comfortable, and kept drifting in that half-asleep state, but not in a good way-- in a fever-dreamish way. Dreadful. I finally achieved substantive sleep around 3 in the morning. Someone called at 5 a.m., and when I picked up the phone, they didn't speak English. They sounded upset, though. I don't remember what, if anything, I said, but I hung up fairly quickly and crawled back to bed.

I'm going to take another shot at that good night's sleep thing, now.