I AM a Writer

It has been a relatively uneventful few weeks, if you don’t count the sewage outflow pipe bursting open not once but twice, my car languishing, pretending it was sick, HAH, until I ransomed it from the mechanic for $855 and my shoulder hurting so much that by three o’clock every afternoon I just put my head on my desk and weep. Oh and there was a three inch flood in the basement too, that put out the pilot to the water heater. And I can't get down on the floor to relight it because of eff'ing MS. But my friend Peter came to do it for me. Thank you Peter.

I did have dinner one night with Christine and Peter, my wonderful friends, along with Christine’s sister and brother-in-law and approximately one million six adorable children. It is a good, good thing for me to go there because Christine loves me, waits on me hand and foot (and let me tell you NO ONE in my life has EVER waited on me hand and foot) and even better we laugh so much together my face hurts when I leave. Everyone should be lucky enough to have friends like Christine and Peter.

I have done a ton of writing, including writing that I AM BEING PAID FOR.

I whisper it to myself now, barely daring to say it out loud: “I am a writer”. Imagining someone asking me “What do you do?” and I can reply, “I am a writer.”

I am a writer.