Anne Boyer is a force of nature. She made me want to clean up my ways and be me again. Or not be me anymore. Or what I mean is she made me realize I wasn't writing enough and that I didn't have to be scared of writing (I've been scared of writing ever since I finished my novel -- it's much easier to be a grad student than to write). She made me think that writing was a way of life much like breathing or taking out the trash and that made it seem easy enough. So the day after she left I wrote all these cool things down in my notebook and today I was thinking of looking at them again and typing them up but I feel all phobic about it.
And I've been really sad about Percy. For some reason his last day with us keeps playing out in my mind. And I think I just miss his friendship. I feel strangely alone. I want my little blind dog guiding me. I miss how little he was and how he would relax in my arms and how his little body would wrap around my chest and how he would rest his chin against my shoulder. I miss the old man sigh he would let out as he was settling himself into bed for the night.
I think things would be better if Anne and Percy were here. But I must learn to carry on. Considering I haven't "blogged" in a year or so, maybe this is, as the psychologists say, "a baby step."
The publisher wrote me and said the typeset manuscript was in the mail.