Sunday morning, Carey and I woke up before the kids. He made coffee. Our kitchen was clean. We sat at the white tiled table and sipped.
Dreams, ideas, and books. These are the things we talk of when we are alone together. The things that matter.
It was beautiful.
Then, despite all my pleading, the day refused to get longer for us. It took that hour in the kitchen and it made me pay for it.
I am human. I am mortal. I am going to die (eventually) and there are only so many hours in a day. I want to spend more of them with my husband. Something else must give.
Not my novel because it is my life’s work, and not my business because it is our life’s sustenance. What I am giving up is my manic obsession with keeping up keeping up keeping up keeping ahead. My crazy obsession with being freakin awesome, as though good enough weren’t good enough. Good enough is good enough. For now.
And that is why you will see me here only sometimes for a while. Not every day any more. The book will still see me every day. I hit page 97 in revisions today, nearly halfway through. It will continue apace.
And when you feel the urge to read this blog, when you’re missing me here, if that happens for you (I know that I miss my blogger friends when they take breaks), think of me in the kitchen with the morning light angling hopefully through the cobwebbed panes and lighting on our faces as we talk of many things of shoes and ships and sealing-wax. And sip your coffee, dream your dreams, and meet me here when time stretches out enough. See you then.