Right now, I’m about pudding inside. One of my babes is sitting at my feet as I’m editing a Lamp Light, and her soft, warm purr is rubbing up against my toes.
Sighs. As much as I’ve struggled with Oak lately, and I have a good storyline started for Stew’s book, and I’ve edited the heck out of Hawthorne, my intent was to work on the Haven Point series this summer, along with my RPG and board games.
A month ago, I was so happy with Ash about to come out. Knowing it was coming out. And I wish I could share the little smile of contentedness sneaking up my face at the moment.
In the two weeks since, and just beforehand, I’ve had several worlds of grief slam down on me. Things I’ve been ignoring for a long time, since I know there’s no solution. No nice fit. I feel trapped, and I keep coming back to this, each and every time. Intellectually, I know I’m not. And I know I’ll make the same decision I’ve made in the past, knowing my situations won’t change because they are dependent on circumstance and the people around me. Logically, I can’t think of a good way out that will clear the problems, and haven’t been able to in years, because people don’t want to listen or can’t be bothered.
But with these eyes of love softly gazing up from my foot… happy memories are more my focus. I’m not thinking about the irritation about to come back, face first, in the morning, or the other problems I have on my plate. I’m thinking about this little kitten I took in, all fluffy and spikey at the same time, eyes sealed shut, sick as anything, and the absolute chaos my house was in after she healed up. That little fluffball turned into a 15 pound chill cat, twice the size of her mother, hanging out on my upstairs ledge, elbow hooked over the landing, giving me that look like, “hey, man, sunbeam. All is right with the world.” All she needs is a pair of those Risky Business dark black sunglasses, or a Bruce Willis fedora.
I’m reminded of the choices I’ve made. The rules are somewhat working. So are the tattoos. I’ve got some Gordon Lightfoot going and this afternoon, I hit a slew of stations in a row that played those songs I’ve had stuck in my head for a while.
Jana’s moon… I had her design it to remind me to keep an eye on the horizon. On my goals. On the markers I’ve put into my life to stay on the path I keep veering from or get knocked off.
The scenes I’ve just edited for Lamp Light….
“Small steps. If he could just take small steps, he wouldn’t detonate.”
And
“As he began to waken, Drew couldn’t ignore that his entire body felt like a tongue after a heavy night of drinking. Fuzzy and thick. It was going to be a long day. Not one he was keen on starting. Scratching his prickly throat a couple of times convinced him that he wanted the itch of a starting beard even less. He felt dirty and scummy. And he was somewhere. Not lost but somewhere.”
Yes. I’m somewhere. Not lost but somewhere. This isn’t a new beginning, as that would frustrate me beyond bearing. I’m editing. Cutting out a word or two, adding in a half sentence. I think… no more new rules, like I had been contemplating. This week, I’m going to take some time and use some cardboard boxes to make a fort for the cats, start changing the house from winter to summer, and catch the warm scent of coming rain on the front porch. Edit.
‘Cause, hey man. Sunbeam. All is right with the world…