Wednesday, March 12, 2014

March 12: Always Nostalgic, Always Worried, Always Cleaning

...Before he even reached his teens, he was worrying about how to make a living after he graduated from high school into the scary world of adulthood, marriage, and profession.  Worry haunted his days.  He was never abused but always anxious, never deprived but somehow always nostalgic...

The more I read about E. B. White, the more I believe I may be E. B. White reincarnated, even though he died in 1985, the year I graduated from high school  (I'll wait while you do the math.)  I remember being worried about adulthood when I was young.  I've always wanted to be a writer, but I also always knew that writing for a living is a dream within a rainbow within a unicorn.  Whatever the hell that means.

I find myself in a strange place right now.  I'm still doing what I've been doing for the past 15 or 16 years.  Working at the medical office.  Teaching at the university.  Yet, I know the clock is ticking on this part of my life.  In a couple of months, whether I like it or not, my life will be very different.  And I'm already nostalgic for the life I'm still living.  It's a weird predicament, like being a ghost in a crowded room.

This evening, I couldn't shake that haunted feeling.  I was doing what I always do on Wednesday nights.  Cleaning.  I cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed the rugs.  While I scrubbing the sink and shower and toilet, I was even getting nostalgic about cleaning, and I don't know why.  I'm standing on a precipice, and I can't see what's in front of me.

I'm not frightened.  Not yet, anyway.  But I'm missing something I haven't lost yet.

And Saint Marty isn't quite ready to let it go.

Writing is something like this...

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