In the newsroom, when an article is completed, journalists use the term, "put the story to bed." That phrase comes to me now, as I try putting my own story to bed. I completed my essay, "The Ambivalent Memoirist." I must have revised twenty times, a process at times, torturous and other times, exhilirating. To be that into a project is a return to my very early feelings about writing. But the continuous reading and revising sometimes squeezes all the good stuff out of an essay, besides making me a bit loopy.
Now, I need to put my essay to bed. It's difficult. It's not just an essay, but a wrapping up of years of work. That work, while for the most part productive, was also a huge distraction. I've been aching for that distraction in the past few days. Without it, I feel again the loss of my family; through writing, I kept them close and alive.
I've been at Starbucks since 7:15 a.m., wrote my agendas for two classes later today; time spreads before me and I wonder how I'll fill it. In two weeks, my second teaching job kicks in, and that's good. But, there will always be time to fill. My friend in Tibilisi hasn't given up on me moving across the globe.
I'm thinking it might be time to go to Kripalu; allow the wholesomeness to nurture my restless soul.
Followers
