I gave what I gave

Today, I got home from South Boston. I went for a run in the noon heat, I watered my plants, I showered. I cleaned house. I meditated on speed and efficiency while mopping my floors. I cooked chicken Florentine crepes, which I paired with a buttery lemon sauce and a hellbright viognier. I left myself 43 minutes to write. Freewrite day: anything I wanted. Ongoing literary projects, fancy blog prep, this secret bust-up blog, Yan stories, smut, whatever. One of the things I wrote was this. I won't tell you the other thing.

Tomorrow, I start a new job that could possibly change my life in a lot of substantial ways. "A big girl job" I would say, although I question the popular definition, the same as I think "adulting" is a silly phrase. I haven't been a child for a long time. (Furthermore, if working two jobs while maintaining a 4.0 in grad school hasn't already required me to learn something of that station, I doubt a job with a security clearance will.)

I've been wriggling around how to say this for a while. I have this sort of Puritan fear of saying my life is going too well, least I invite chaos and persecution. This blog is sometimes practice at saying things I like about myself. (Check out that cute, furtive humblebrag about "working really hard in grad school." ~le eyeroll~) I know I couldn't have done any of the things I've done without the help and support of the great people in my life.

Back in March-April, I decided there were things I was unhappy with in my life. So I changed it. It's possible to do that. I'm writing and publishing again for the first time since 2011. A couple weeks ago, I found out that I won a pretty exciting poetry prize. It won't change my life, but it certainly was a nice little splash to come back on the scene with. (Plus, you know, paying my bills for two months.) One of my poems is getting published, and another few are out at other magazines.

I finished a new piece last week about going back to Isaac's farm, to the Little Otter river and Falling Creek, after four years. These days, I'm feeling more comfortable writing about personal things and putting that out there. A lot has happened to me that I want to write about. I think it's been healthy to own those feelings instead of burying them in vagueness, or the noble death march of the high road.

Anyway, it feels good to stop whining and move forward.