I Might Have Written

It is Tuesday, July 18. I might have written of nice summer nights or plunges in the ocean. I took two plunges in the last two weeks—a Wednesday evening one week and a Thursday afternoon the next—playing in the waves at Spring Lake beach on the Jersey Shore, feeling like a girl again. Saltwater, frothy ride, watch what's coming. Swimsuit, the scent of pretty suntan lotion. Wet hair. When you're in the ocean, good bet you are there for fun.

But one, I'm trying to save essays for spaces where I can earn money for them. I have feelers out. 

And two, many of our summer nights are not so nice but rather challenging and stressful, laced with worry and fear.

Fear does nothing for anyone--not for the worrier, nor the object of the worrying--but still, our old foe jumps eagerly to our side, her head coiffed with jagged alarm wires, not soft, springy curls.  

I/we used to think that the adrenaline jolt prompted by fear of missing an article assignment deadline (and displeasing our editor, not being successful) was just a fact, part of the creative process, that we did our best work then. But that is not true. That kind of fear can feed unhealthy habits and erratic behavior, short tempers with family, money wasted on takeout because we are working through dinner times. Instead, we can be organized and trustworthy, do our best work and hand it in on time but not in a state of exhaustion and frenzy. 

We can count on ourselves to count on ourselves.

Still, if only everyone would do what we want in life. We have to meet the goals and character perimeters we set for ourselves, and that is enough to manage. 

Acceptance.

I might have written about the coneflowers (aka echinacea, a native wildflower that draws butterflies, bees, and songbirds), now that Figgy is here and helped us fill the garden. Or about the angel hair pasta with zucchini "cream" (SmittenKitchen.com) that I made at 9:30 tonight, after my support group. (The most involved things about the recipe were mincing garlic and shredding zucchini. I couldn't use my mini food processor, so I used a box grater, and the zucchini was browned, not fresh green like in the photo. Oh well. Acceptance.)

I might have remembered refreshing showers or blueberries from a farm share. On the flip side, I may have written about a call from a Montclair Police detective received on the drive to Spring Lake (this time, not about our child). Or about dashed hopes, dashed in the moment, for now. Stay present. 

I might have written a lot more but that will take pushing Alarm Curls to the side. 

I might have written. 

I plan to write.

Good night.