I’ve always meant to join in on the currently posts, to journal about the right-nows. Let’s try this.
I don’t have a lot of time for television these days but Tyler and I are making our way through Lost on Netflix. I know. I know. Where have we been? We’re so 2000s.
We are in it’s second season and I can tell that this show is going to have many winding storylines that may never find their ends. But, right now, I am impressed with the duality of each character. As a writer, I am excited about and, in a strange way, jealous of the never-ending plot engine. The possibilities for story are endless. I wonder, as the show progresses, if that will become a problem.
As I nurse Little O, I watch reruns of Gilmore Girls. I have never watched this show straight through and I have to admit that I’ve become slightly obsessive about it. The other day, I told Tyler that I’m starting to daydream about Stars Hollow. Sometimes, I think I live there and can pop into Luke’s.
I just started Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Saenz.
To records, NPR, and baby coos. Some nights, I listen to baby’s breath and it is a bit like the flower, soft, milky fragrant, new.
Stories, as always, and, now that I’m on leave from work, as often as I can. I’m working on a few projects. 6000 words into a new novel. Completing revisions to an old novel that, with gentle and assured guidance from my agent, feels new. And there’s a travel story I’m writing for a contest, as a way to stretch myself.
I’m a little lonely these days but I’m also at peace. I have moments of new-mother euphoria when I believe that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. But happy is a tricky feeling. So I say, instead, at peace.
I have no plans.
Spring. Sky. The feeling I can wear dresses again soon. Little O peeking his head up because he’s curious about the world over my shoulder. His head’s at my chin and his eyes dart like train-window flickers. He wants to see it all.