Miss Antsy Pants

May 21, 2008 12:23

I've spent most of the day writing. Not working is making me antsy, but I've written almost 2000 words since eight o'clock this morning. It's a new piece called "The Way It Should Have Been." It's different than other pieces I've written, and it seems more like a stream of consciousness right now, but I'm going to see where it goes. I'm thinking that this story would make a fantastic beginning, but I'll see how I feel about it in a few days.

Mom came home from a doctor's appointment a little while ago. She had surgery on her wrist a couple months ago, and has since decided that she doesn't want to go back to work. She applied to BSC, was accepted, and will be attending in the fall. Her mother died this past October, and though she says she's dealing with it fine, I know better. She just sat down across from me with a cup of tea. She thinks I'm still working on the aforementioned new story.

"What are you writing about," she just asked me.

"You," I said.

"It's a story about me?"

"Yup. Sure is." This is true; the story has a lot to do with her.

She's still talking, but I'm not really paying attention. She's leafing through a catalog and pointing at dresses that I could buy for when I go to Oxford. Sometimes I think that she's way more excited about the trip than I am, if that's even possible. She bought me a new raincoat and umbrella last week.

Tomorrow I turn 28. I'm not really sure how I feel about that. Twenty-eight seems so old to me. There are so many things that I wanted to have had accomplished by now.

My feet are cold, the UPS man just dropped a box on the front porch (my Oxford books, perhaps?) and I can't go another day without washing my hair, so I'm going to go now.





mom, writing

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