A big, BIG nor'easter is headed to New York. Batten down the hatches. I've already gone up to the roof and tied down the door that won't seem to cooperate and lock anymore. I laugh every time I rope it down. I imagine myself as a rodeo girl lassoing a calf (never would I do that to a sweet calf). I feel each time like singing, "I am woman, frickin' hear me roar!"
I have a friend and co-worker who was impressed I do my own taxes. Huh? I've been divorced for 19 years, I'd better know how to do my own taxes. I can't imagine someone else having my finances (although I am more than willing to offer up my accounting skills to anyone who wants to try).
But I like being the boss of me. I can hear my mother, "God is the boss of you." That's what I said, "I'm the boss of me."
This past week three more chapters fell down from the sky. A mighty big thank you. As I was writing, I looked at the clock and realized I had lost an hour, and I looked down at the page and smiled: finally, I've found a forum where my words stick. Saved the best for last.
Let's be real; I'm still in the trimester of this young 'un and it is my first novel and just like any new mom there's always hoardes of Mamas to tell the newbie how it goes. But right now it's just me, being all Steven King like, and keeping it close to my chest. I love the process.
I love my purpose.
I'm listening to Toby Keith on Channel 140. I love his vibratto. He reminds me of my buddy who's no more. No, he's not dead but he is to me. I miss him. So I listen to Toby and think of him.
He's my daddy.
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