The past two weeks have been fun.
So much fun.
Tons. Of. Fun.
The kind of fun you have when you spend months dreaming and anticipating and planning a vacation to Fiji (haven’t been to Fiji, but it’s on my list) only to finally arrive at the five-star hotel with its crystal chandeliers and white cashmere robes and private masseuses…and then spend the next five days retching uncontrollably in your hotel bathroom.
Just poor pitiful you wearing a ratty old t-shirt while curled up on a white tile floor—both hands gripping either side of an upgraded porcelain toilet, hair pushed back and away from your face, cries of “Why God, why?” being uttered as tears run down your face and drip into the questionable toilet bowl water.
Dramatic much? I’m a writer. Drama’s my way of life.
Anyway, the past two weeks have been fun. Thought I’d give you the rundown just for memory’s sake.
First, I had a book launch. I LOVE book launches, mainly because finally finally finally after what usually amounts to about a year of hard work—the world gets to see what you’ve been doing all that time. And sure, they get to critique it and criticize it and analyze it, but that usually amounts to a whole lot of support. This time was no exception. I received so much support from family and friends and fellow writers and people I’ve never even met who went out of their way to help promote my book and encourage me in the process. This book launched well; even now, it continues to outsell all my other books. And that makes me really really happy.
So I was really really happy.
And then the next day, my oldest son moved away.
Yep, that’s right. The day after one of my favorite days of the year, I loaded up my oldest son in his car—we somehow crammed it full of almost every possession he owns—and set off driving with him to Atlanta where he’ll be living for the next two years. He’s attending the Atlanta Institute of Music—which is very hard to get into, so that’s awesome—but it’s not close to me. So that sucks. I spent four days in the city with him, getting settled into his apartment, getting familiar with the area, visiting the school, and shopping for household items that he’ll need to make it through everyday living. And then I hopped on a plane to fly home.
Where I cried through two long flights and an even longer layover. I kept my face down in the airport and pressed against the window on both planes in an effort to hide my tears. But I didn’t do a good job of it. Flight attendants repeatedly checked on me to see if I was okay. I wasn’t.
I was really really sad.
And then I was home.
Where I continued to cry off and on.
Even while I painted bedroom walls and moved my kids around (which I’m still doing because the fun never seems to end). Even while I shopped for new bedding and rearranged furniture and generally played musical bedrooms for what felt like ever.
Until my agent called me with some really good news. And I was smiling once again. Because I was ecstatic once again. Elated once again. So so happy once again.
Until I got into an argument with a friend. Someone I never fight with. But a few hours had passed since the agent phone call and during that time I was sad once again and also happy once again and then generally pissy and moody once again and then “yay my book is selling great!” once again and then “how am I gonna survive my kid not living here?” once again…
And then the “fight me” attitude kicked in.
So I picked one.
And there was that.
All in all, it’s been a great two weeks.
Filled with apologies.
Not filled with medication, though. Win win for me.
Or lose lose?
I really do want to go to Fiji one of these days. With lots of suntan lotion.
And without the white tile floor or toilet—figuratively speaking, of course. Because swear on my life, if I eventually make it to Fiji only to wind up retching in a bathroom…
Someone’s gonna fight me.