Survivor

I woke up this morning feeling pretty good. It was Saturday (although I sorta thought it was Sunday), a new day, and I'd gotten seven good hours of sleep last night.

On the way downstairs to feed the dog, I remembered that Husband's silent anger had so permeated me last evening that I couldn't even write. Then, as I went out to get the newspaper, I spotted two pairs of shoes he had left just inside the front door. Another pair of shoes was neatly paired in the entry to the kitchen. One of his moccasins was under his recliner, another in front of it. I seem to remember carrying another pair of his shoes upstairs when I went to bed last night.

Then I noticed that the bathroom door had been left open and, during the night, the dog had strung half the toilet paper roll out into the hall.

The den is a mess, and not just from shoes. My desk is piled high with papers, manuscripts, and notebooks. The coffee table likewise is a depository for my recent--and not so recent--projects and responsibilities. In the kitchen, the dishwasher needs to be emptied and the counters cleaned off. And I'd better finish recovering the big foam cushions which are still sitting on the counter between the kitchen and the den before they turn moldy.

Then I started reading the paper. More news on Hillary's demise, and you know how I feel about that. The economy is going from bad to worse, which any idiot except the one in the White House could have predicted would happen when billions were poured into a bottomless abyss. Jobs are down, joblessness is up, caretakers drop babies on the floor, respected civic activists abuse children, kosher meatpacking companies behave in un-kosher ways. And I don't think anyone is reading my clever, wonderful blog

I decided to write about how depressed I was, how everything is going to hell in a handbasket. I thought about how I felt, what I would say. And the cold within me began to warm up.

Yes, I can write again! And if I focus on just my own private today, all is not lost--after all, I'm just 80 pages away from finishing the first draft of my latest romance novel, I have two others in the hopper, and I'm going to be attending the RWA conference in San Francisco, where I hope to pick up an agent or publisher. Not only that, but I haven't checked my lottery ticket yet.
Hope springs eternal.

My heart is like a little boat
That sails upon the sea,
Rocked by waves and ocean float,
Swamped by adversity--
But still the staunchest little boat
That ever sailed the sea.

Happy sailing!