Yes, it's time to talk about giant squid again, my symbol for all that is terrifying. I am glued to the TV. I keep expecting Bush to declare martial law and make himself king forever so my anxiety level is a tad high. I cannot wait for Obama to be president!
All this change has made me go into facebook and start looking up everyone I used to know a million years ago. I found a fabulous painter I used to know when I first lived in NYC , the best friend of my locksmith, who also became my friend. This painter used to make homemade cinnamon buns for his fabulous brunches and he would encourage me to eat them! I found a woman I went to high school with who shared a hospital floor with me in 9th grade (Her lip was bitten by a dog and I was in for asthma). I found a guy I used to work with at Columbia Hell House whom I always liked. I also found these two people who were friends of mine at Brandeis. She was gorgeous and he was the cutest, vainest guy on the planet. She still looks great, but he is veering towards the size of two small countries. It makes me wonder how different I look now to others. I still have the same long mop of hair, same basic style (black, black, black black and a touch of red.) I am no longer 98 pounds, though I am still thin. And I no longer romp around Boston and Manhattan in bare feet and halter tops and the tiniest miniskirt on the planet. I'm now more concerned with those I love and my work than I am in being cool (but it would be cool if I WERE still cool...sigh..)
I prefer the quantum physics rational for time: there is none.
I am still struggling with fear of writing. I'm terrified to dip into my novel again. I don't know whether it is fear that it won't continue to progress, or it won't be any good or I will reach that point where I am hysterical and panicked. I have 180 pages done! Or maybe it is fear of going into those dark, deep places I need to go to do this novel. Sometimes I think it is fear of the publishing world, fear of that look on a face which makes you stop telling your story in mid word. Fear that my premise is too different, too difficult, too far fetched. (But I WANT to write this story.) Last night I overcame my angst and wrote 800 words in a burst of fever and I felt so much better, so high. But today, here it is again and I don't know why. I don't have this problem with scripts, probably because I feel that I've only dipped my toes into the film world so I don't have the sense to worry about hyperthermia and sharks and giant squids yet.
I know what I need to do. I need to shut up, hunker down, shut out the voices and push away the giant squids and write.
See you later, alligators (and giant squids)