Friday morning, 10:30 am. My eyes open slightly as I lay in bed. I notice the time, shut them again hoping for a bit more sleep as I know it will be a long and active night, but my mind has other plans for me. It toys with me, letting me be just relaxed enough to think sleep may be possible but active enough to prevent that: “What do I need to do today? Ahh, my Dr. appointment.” I get up to check the time I need to be there and notice that this is the first one I’ve had in many months that falls on the morning side of the noon hour. I was supposed to be there an hour ago. I feel guilty for a fraction of a second for missing it, for not doing the ONE thing that I had to do before this evening, but that guilt is quickly rationalized away by realizing that I didn’t have enough gas in my car to make it there and back anyway. I’ll reschedule. Life goes on.
I begin to reach for my phone then remember that the service was cut off last night somewhere between 11:20 and 11:26, just as I was in between receiving and answering a text from L. I was intending to call my mother today as well, but I guess that will have to wait. Hell, I had to wait forty-five years to talk with her the first time, so I guess waiting another two weeks for my disability check is possible, or perhaps some other form of infusion of cash before then… but then, the whole process begins again at the beginning of next month – the constant question of “where will the money come from?”
I need to figure out a way to make ends meet. Write the book, tour, and HELP people. Create things. Perform. I have two of those down, performing tonight and tomorrow at the Edwardian Ball with Vau de Vire as a Living Statue and creating things to sell, though when I get paid for performing (and how much) I’m not certain, and what I’m creating needs to sell. So I can make more, sell them, make even more, sell those, and so on. I have two pieces made with lots of positive feedback, but for a bit, until that grows, most of the money that I hopefully make from them will go back into making more and simply using the small amount made on top to survive – get food for Ruby & myself, herbs, and the fuel to get around. Still, it’s a start, and much more than I had to look forward to a few short weeks ago when I was wondering what I could do. I’m thankful for that more than I can say, as it silences the turmoil inside that has been deafening me for the past few months. Sometimes wondering what to do was far too loud to let me simply be quiet and listen to the possibilities. It happens. My brain screams at me, gets all fretful and worried, and I can’t hear anything else until quiet happens inside, and I let things happen instead of trying to force them too. I’m not saying that action isn’t good – it’s great, unless that action is running around in a friggin’ circle, eyes bulging, heart pounding, and not seeing or hearing anything that I should be paying attention to. I’ve taught myself to be better at not letting that happen, but sometimes… yeah. It’s like drinking 20 cups of Peet’s coffee and being shut in a barren 8×8 room. Without the padding on the walls, though that would be fitting.
I’m becoming more and more inclined to write the book on my experiences over the two years I was in the hospitals, expected to die. I want to do it soon – need to do it soon while it is still fresh, but I mustn’t lose sight of its purpose, which is to help people, to offer them hope where there may not be any. It can’t be written well, I can’t hope to help anyone, if somewhere in the back of my mind is writing it for the purpose for financial gain. That’s the rub. It must be written for one purpose only; to give back all that I have been given, all that I have, for some reason, been blessed with. It needs to be written out of love.
Time now to take my wonderful little beastly out into the streets of the Tenderloin, let her explore the world outside this apartment and expel at least a tiny bit of her puppy energy, then back here for the Edwardian getting readiness.
And life, so beautiful and terrifyingly exquisite, goes on.
By the way, if you want a completely custom, made to order bookshelf, garment rack, or pretty much anything our imaginations can conceive, let me know! Here are some ideas to tickle your fancy: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151232068837965.455253.581812964&type=1