On a Tuesday Morning Sidewalk

It's gorgeous here this morning. The cats got me up. I have to start setting my phone (alarm) or quit staying up so late. Need to do the dishes, put a little cash into Sarah's account, and friggin' write. Had a good session yesterday at school but something is firing wrong in me. I love the students, but my passion is waning. I need a break. Or I have done what is in me. I am, to be quite honest, tired of being at service. I realized yesterday that I've been in jobs that deal with helping or being available to big clusters of people whether it's an organization or students. I'm blown. Oh great universe, hear my plea! One sabbatical. I wanted to write to my mother last night and beg for my inheritance early. This is my window for completing the novel and the other works backing up like an assembly line on The Lucy Show. Now that my girls are grown, I am rediscovering me. Like this morning while still in a stupor I realized I could take a nice long walk after depositing money into Sarah's account and then I realized I was walking with flat running shoes and I really needed some cushion in my arch. So on payday, I'll purchase some new shoes. Things like that. Learning to be one person and one person first.

A student asked me last night if I ever thought of being with a woman. We got into a conversation about being gay and lesbian. I told her at this point in my life I really don't see myself with anyone. I'm not feeling it because I am in love with this pen. That is all I'm thinking about besides my daughters. But to be a lesbian? I'm not feeling it. My friend Annie says you can't change teams and I know what she means. I'm not interested in playing, I guess is where I am. There's one guy I'm interested in, but he's taken, so that's that. Oh and the delicious man interviewed by Deborah Soloman in the NY Times Sunday Magazine this past Sunday. I don't even care that he's a billionaire (well, er). But what a sweet deal. I'd be Laurie from The Real Housewives of Orange County. If I could wear jeans for the rest of my days and write and be left alone, that'd be great, but all that comes with a price and I'm not willing to pay it. I am alone and quite tediously always conscious that I am the sole provider for Sheela, and somewhere in my misery I know I am my own person. But as Suze Orman says, money supports you, and so I want to earn my money or get an investor who believes in me and allows me to do my craft, but I think the former is my true way of life.

And now this rich mama is going to Dunkin Donuts for a coffee since it's next door to the bank. And I'm going to take that walk and then come back to the stack of dishes that I do not know how a single woman can accumulate, but just as surely as my passion to write one day into the next, there they are.

Cheers.