Today begins a new phase in my life. I sold my car, cut my hair, and quit the gym. I am giving myself a budget of $20 per day for all food and drink. That includes groceries, restaurants, bottles of wine, glasses of wine. Will be strict but doable. At least until Paris.
I sold my car because it’s a helluva lotta money to sink into something I just don’t need and certainly don’t value (possessions in general). I am young, strong, full of energy with a boatload of unread books. If other people can commute, I certainly can. After twelve days and three and a half books, I can tell you it is heaven. I have even looked at ways I could increase my commute time! I can easily and seamlessly reconcile this lifestyle with my values and ideals. The car thing just didn’t fit. In so many ways. I won’t even get into the Dealership Drama and the Insurance Insanity.
I cut my hair because I am impulsive and like change and because it grows back.
I quit the gym because after fourteen years of being a dedicated little gym bunny, doing the same, repetitious pretend work began to make me feel a bit like a stupid asshole much the same way sitting in traffic made me feel like a jackass. I run, I walk, I bicycle, I have weights at home, calisthenics, plyometrics. Who needs a gym? I also HATED the corporate culture of my gym in particular. I lovingly called it Badlife.
So a new phase begins.
I am going to treat writing more like a job. « Be prolific » the guy with the Hemingway tattoo on the subway had said to me. Not profound but the words ring like pure wisdom. I could see the two words, like a billboard in the air, simple and true and exactly what I need to do. The answer.
I spent almost the entire day last Thursday organizing all the stuff I’ve written up to now in a file called « Writings. » I had been tormenting myself about going back and editing this and fixing that, etcetera. Instead I will take what I know I need to fix and apply it to the next thing. This is a new phase. I’ve been given an assignment from a published author and it will be Flash Fiction 02. I squirm in embarrassment about my Flash Fiction 01. But I refuse to delete it. Instead, like a bad dog, I rub my nose in it. This is how we learn.
It’s six thirty-two in the morning, Easter Monday, cloudy, seven degrees, fourth and final day off. After this short blog it’s home-brewed espressos and the writing project and a run outside and sushi with an old friend and a back-to-life shower and then hopefully a bicycle ride in the forecasted twenty-one-degree warmth and sunshine with the new very cool boy in a little black dress and high heels the way I love to do. Perhaps we will go to a park with the Sue Townsend book and a bottle of wine or his flask and he can read to me again. This would be very, very nice. Hemingway said, « In order to write about life, first you must live it. » But, of course.
Tomorrow it’s back to real life. There is everything before this post, and everything after it.