Being There

I had last week off and the rest of this week, but I had to go into work today. It was odd, returning for a one-day appearance in a two-week break. Making a cameo appearance as a colleague said. Last night I felt like I had the first day of school waiting for me, but the day itself was calm as my boss is still away and I didn't have any court assignment. It's weird to face the wrest of the week off. I could get used to working one day a week.

It brings to a head my growing need to do something else, that something else being, of course, devoting all my time to writing. I've been feeling a drying up of my art urges over the past two months. I have some neglected projects reproaching me on my desk, but fingers itch to press the keys and spin out some new tales.

You see, my husband bought me the laptop becuase he has unconditional faith in my ability to finish the books I've started. He believes if I can relax and work anywhere I want, I'll be more productive. He sees this fantasy where I'll write that best seller and we'll all retire to Cape Cod. I'll sit upstairs in my sun-renched room overlooking the water and write and write, and he'll putter and prune and cook.

Talk about pressure!

But if not now, when? If not by me, whom? My destiny is manifesting iself, and I don't want it to. I am not a passive observor. I want to be in control. I want to manifest my destiny, not have it manifest me.

I feel a visit from I.C. coming.