Writing is Re-writing

Posted on March 3, 2010

17


I’ve been working on this proposal for a bit now, had finished the 25 pages I’m submitting as the general proposal before Christmas, and the first version of the four chapters I’d like to include. After receiving notes from my agent about two weeks ago, I hit the page again, with my pen and delete button, taking the advice of a writer friend. I retype my pages and if I don’t care about something enough to retype it, it’s cut. I’m feeling pretty positive about the way it’s taking shape, I’ve written a chapter from each of the four segments and have started working on the rest of the first segment. It’s an interesting process, this writing and re-writing, and I must say if I can take this approach to my life as well as my writing, things will generally be on the up and up.

If I do something, and don’t feel good doing it the second time, I probably shouldn’t be doing it.

I had a strange dream today during nap time, I hit an early morning yoga class and then slept on Mr. Mans couch for a few hours snuggling Saucerton. I dreamt I was waiting in the valet line with Deezy’s pops, for a Bentley he’d rented during his visit. He was drinking a nice whiskey and I tasted it. Not a full sip, but just enough to taste. I was then magically transported to a bathtub, where Deezy and I sat fully clothed. Deezy was wearing a smoking jacket and one of those grand poobah hats. He was also drinking whiskey, but it was cheaper and he wouldn’t give me a taste from the glass, he dipped an eyeshadow applicator into the drink and offered it to me. I woke up thinking I’d tasted whiskey, and feeling very strange. Law and Order SVU was playing, and it was time to get up. I’ve been having fairly strange dreams this past week.

Relapse dreams are good because it always reminds me of what it would be like to relapse. I’m upset in the dream, upset I’ve taken a drink and always wish to undo it. When I wake up and wonder “Have I taken a drink,” and realize no, no it was just a dream, it reminds me of what it would actually feel like. There are moments during the past nearly 11 months where I wished I could have drank. I always tell myself I can drink, I just am not going to today. Because I can drink. I’m an adult. It’s just not a good thing when I do. I usually don’t make wise decisions when I drink, and there is plenty of footage on youtube to remind me of the drunk little mess I become. I have no off button. These are the reasons I don’t drink. I miss wine. I miss whiskey. I don’t miss the woman I become and I suppose that’s because it’s taken 11 months to truly like the woman I am.

I have therapy tomorrow with Dr. Reef. Last time we spoke, it was about managing my expectations. I wrote an article for HuffPo recently, the update on my bank drama with the letter they sent me in response to my claim. I emailed the link to my dad, mom, deezy, mr man, and brother from another mother, and everyone seemed to enjoy the article. The point of writing it wasn’t that my money was refunded, it was to illustrate the ridiculous offer Chase made to me in offering a year of free credit protection. Because I really need protection from them and the mistakes they make. Mom was the only one who responded saying “Great News babe. M.” I know what I wanted to hear, which was “Glad you got your money back, shitty they are idiots and sent out your info…” I don’t know what I expected. Silence? The response she gave? It doesn’t matter because once again, I’ve set expectations that may or may not be met instead of managing my own. I just feel sad that I have to manage expectations when it comes to my mom. Guess I feel like I don’t know her… but I’m just barely getting to know myself.

Somewhere in some world it says insane is when we keep doing the same thing and expecting different results. If I can wrap my head around the result of my drinking, around something not being critical to the memoir if I don’t want to retype it, around the natural high I get from doing yoga or feeling rested after taking a nap, why can’t I wrap my head around the relationship with my mother? Is it a truth about her that I’m unwilling to accept?

Or maybe a truth about myself that I don’t understand?

Advertisements
Posted in: Good Days