I grabbed the orange square from Twitter yesterday. It’s NaNoWriMo month. I’m not working on a novel. I’d like to be, but I’m cleaned out. Hollow. The last two years have been challenging. My husband has Parkinson’s disease. After two years of medical tests, and ten months of medication, he’s better. We’re coping with the new normal. And hey, things could be much worse.
My oldest is away at college. Loving it. Thriving. It was no small feat to get her into a great place, round-up the money, and send her off. I miss her.
My youngest is a full-throttle high school junior. Swim team captain, Varsity orchestra, AP classes from hell.
It’s time to work on me, again. But I’m different now. I have less patience. I care less about the opinions of people I care less about. I don’t care about marketing. Or fitting into a certain box.
I am militant. My children are immigrants. They are naturalized citizens. They aren’t white. I’m their mother, and I’m upset about the things that are happening in my country. I can’t not write about it.
So if you want me to make nice (it’s a southern expression), you should unfollow me.
The orange box says it. I don’t have a clear vision of where I’m headed, but I have to write.
I’ll be back tomorrow.
