I am so tired. Like running-away-from-home-fantasy tired. Like thank-God-for-preschool-and-can-they-have-class-on-Fridays-too tired. Sickness has once again hit our family. Kiddo came down with a nasty cold (a rare occurrence, I'm happy to say), and of course, I succumbed as well. We're pretty much past all the coughing and mass tissue consumption, but the exhaustion remains. So does the I-didn't-get-any-writing-done-for-over-a-week guilt. Sometimes (actually most of the time), it feels like I can't keep a regular writing schedule for more than a week or two before I'm sick and confined to bed or busy with a school holiday (meaning an energetic and chatty four-year old full-time.) Fatigue and frustration are gnarly bedfellows. Needless to say, my state of mind isn't stellar today -- or this week, for that matter.
But there are small wins. Like today, I'm up and writing while Kiddo is at preschool instead of collapsing back into bed like I did yesterday. Also, I got a superbly helpful critique back from a friend/former professor on my story. I'm excited about the prospect of working on the revisions she suggests (which are spot-on), though not excited enough to face yet another complete rewrite TODAY. Did I mention that I'm so bloody tired?
Another good piece of news is that I checked online, and my class for Spring term is already at fifteen students! (That's a lot for a small southern women's college.) I am mostly thrilled and only a little terrified. Should be fun. After Christmas, the planning begins. I've already ordered the latest Best American Essays, and it's sitting on my nightstand awaiting my perusal.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to fit one more woman writer into my year of #readwomen2014, and so I started Autobiography of a Face, by Lucy Grealy, last night. I've been wanting to read it ever since I devoured Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty a couple of years ago. Found a copy of Grealy's book at my local used bookstore the other day for three dollars, so I snagged it. It's pretty short, so who knows? Maybe I'll be able to squeeze in one more woman before 2015 dawns (sounds a bit illicit, doesn't it?). I did put Station Eleven at the top of my Amazon and BN Christmas wish lists. It will be difficult, though, to top my Christmas present last year, Meg Wolitzer's The Interestings, which has become one of my favorite books I read all year.
Now, while you the reader were unaware of any break, I just returned to my desk after fetching a steaming cup of British Breakfast (shout out to Republic of Tea!) to warm me and my icy fingers. Seriously, I was holding my trembling hands over the teakettle and burner like a freezing camper over a roaring fire. The caffeine probably won't got amiss either. A few sips, and I'm feeling more human already. Too bad most of this blog entry is already written and won't benefit from my sudden burst of warmth and energy and general goodwill toward men (okay, maybe that's a stretch.)
So as the year draws to a close (how's that for a sleep-deprived cliche?), I am thinking about the final writing topics I want to wedge into my blog before midnight on December 31st. There will be a big 2014 reading log wrap-up (try to contain your excitement.) Probably a Christmas/holiday post (don't worry, I won't overdo it.) Maybe a post on my reading/writing plans for the new year? (No, I'm not talking about New Year's Resolutions. I HATE those.) Nothing terribly earth-shattering (we have enough of that in real life) or innovative (we probably have enough of that, too.) Just me. And my steaming cuppa. And hopefully those fingerless gloves I asked Santa for.