That’s the subject line on an email chain a group of friends of mine and I have going. I don’t remember who started it, but it feels applicable to all of us, and it feels applicable for me this week especially. I am still alive, even though my posting here has been fewer and farther between lately. My writing is still alive, even though most of it has been diverted elsewhere (though I do have 16 drafts on here in various stages of completion that someday I hope to finish). And, most importantly, my father is still alive this week, even though he had a health scare on Monday and has been in the hospital. I don’t want to go into it, except to say that he is doing well–really well–he should be going home today, and we are all very thankful that he is, indeed, still alive.
This week has just been one of those weeks, however.
It has rained so much on-and-off recently that I’d be curious to see the precipitation numbers for the country this year so far. I haven’t minded the rain; it’s easier to stay inside writing when it’s not appealing to go outside, but I, too, enjoy relaxing in the sun. I’m nearly nose-deep in the manuscript and am trying my darnedest to meet my [self-imposed] deadline on Monday, but all I want to do is anything else. All I wanted to do the past three days is be home with my dad.
Yesterday morning I woke* to the sounds of my neighbor (below, I think, though it sounded like it could have been from anywhere) pounding an entire gallery’s worth of nails into
my skull the wall. I realize I’m not a morning person, but I think we can all agree that 7 AM is too early for home repairs and redecorating, especially if you share walls with strangers.**
I’ve been testing out a new commute: the Green Line light rail replaced my express bus, so it’s taking me longer to get into work, and I haven’t yet figured out the best bus-to-train situation. Sometimes the 7:40 bus gets me to the train as it’s pulling up, sometimes I miss it by that much, and sometimes I end up waiting for 15 minutes, which means I could have taken the next bus and still gotten to work at the same time (but slept for an extra 10 minutes), which is what happened on Monday.
Yesterday morning, I managed to catch the 7:40 bus (which used to come at 7:44 but now comes closer to 7:41), and I was all set to get to work early, make a cup of tea, and get going on the day when about a mile into the trip, a motorcycle turned left in front of the bus and clipped the front right part of the fender. The bus driver pulled over, hopped off to see if the cyclist–who was not knocked over and who did not stop–was okay. I ended up filling out a witness card and wishing I had taken the later bus, especially since the later bus pulled up to the stop where I transfer to the light rail at the same time as my bus.
But, the anthology in which an essay of mine was published came in the mail last week and it is thrilling to see my name in print.
In a fit of belated spring cleaning, I organized my closet, and it looks so much nicer.
My coworker gave me pesto she made with basil from her garden, and it made a delicious addition to my pasta this week, which is good because I haven’t bought groceries in a while.
And I’ve spoken to my parents every day this week, which doesn’t always happen, but it’s nice when it does. Today I get to do some role-playing at work, which should be fun, and I’ve got more improv shows on the horizon.
I’m still alive. And if you’re reading this, so are you. And sometimes, that’s all that matters.
*Technically, I had been “up” for about a half-hour, but I don’t really wake up until 10 AM. Perhaps he was retaliating for my late-night movie-watching of late.
**Walls With Strangers is the sequel to Strangers With Candy, which was the prequel to Perfect Strangers. Which is strange, because they have nothing to do with one another.