For a second there I thought the well had dried and I wasn’t a writer anymore. I acquired some new interests around the new year, things like vegetables, water picking (look it up) and skin regimes that include but are not limited to slathering food all over my face. It’s a good life here with my mother in Michigan while I teach community college and save up money for something cooler in spring. (As long as good no longer has any real meaning, it is a good life.)
This lady named Kelly Howell who makes subliminal audio programming that puts me into a trance-like state before bed every night told me that any discomfort I was feeling in the month of January was likely the result of increased solar flare activity. The solar flares are expanding our consciousness, heating up our bodies and causing unspecified irritability and discomfort.
I got a cold the other day, which infuriated me because I thought people who stopped eating dairy products as of December 26 of 2011 would never get colds. The cold sucked all the moisture out of my face under the nose and the top lip and it makes me look and feel like a grown-up who loves Kool-aid.
Next, A small bird came in the night and scratched my right eyeball. It swelled and it hurt. The bird would have scratched my left eyeball too, but then my mother’s cats ripped the bird apart and all three took equal parts in the eating.
That’s probably not even how it happened.
Worst of all, I’m this 29-year-old woman who doesn’t have any wisdom teeth. I don’t think. I might have one on the top right row. How do you know if you have them? I’m obsessed with whether or not I have them. The point is, some prehistoric, sharp pointy bone is poking through on the bottom right side of my gums and it hurts. This seems to happen every few months and then every time it turns out I was mistaken. It’s sort of like when I was nearly 15 years old and waiting around to get my first period under some mistaken delusion that it was going to be awesome. Do I think I’m going to know more when the tooth finally breaks through? What’s the point of even talking about it.
So yeah. Solar flares.
About the writing: Meh. There are millions of projects I can and should be working on about now. There’s the novel I started at MacDowell. It’s like a dead body I walled up in the basement, but I have all these feigned regrets, all “Oh, why did I kill that man in the heat of passion!” Then he starts tapping on the brick, whimpering, “I’m not dead,” and my friends on facebook and twitter are all, “We want to meet your dead friend,” and I know that I should feel bad that I don’t want to save him, but I don’t know. I don’t want to save him.
I got some movie review writing gigs and a third feature for the Indy in the works. Got a couple of stories that need nothing more than a quick spit shine and day after day I can’t be bothered. I’m a writer with more work than ambition to face it. Basically, I’m the biggest asshole ever.
No, but seriously. Get it together, Molly.