The air in my cannula dries me out, so I'm more susceptible to a sudden eruption. I can say in all honesty, I wasn't attempting suicide via nosebleed. It looks like you're losing an awful of blood, but it ain't gonna kill you. (But it is very dramatic.) Or it would have been a really idiotic way to try to off myself. Dramatic, weird, and pointless.
So I eat my peanut butter and jelly a little worse for wear. Kristin, my beloved therapist, will be over shortly. Is that the nicest? Most mensch-ish? It sure is. I have a therapist who makes house calls. Wow.
Session was lovely. I can't remember one blessed thing we talked about. Ah, yes, we did talk about Since When- that I am certain that it must maintain its integrity and if by doing so, no one wants to buy it, I'll learn to live with that rejection. Just as well as I've learned to live with everything else I'm trying to cope with. (Why do I find that last sentence hysterically funny?)
I never started writing with blockbuster in mind. Hell, I never started writing with a book in mind. As "the thing" grew, I felt more comfortable referring to it as my tome or my family story. (The word "book" was plain scary.) For me, tome is more acceptable because of its negative connotations. My tome, therefore, is just a large piece of crap written for no particular purpose. Least of publishing. And I can write one of those. No problem. Uh huh.
It was like removing impacted wisdom teeth to get me to admit that Since When had turned into a book despite all my denials and protestations. And that all books have a writer. QED: I'm (oh my) a writer. There I said it? Are you happy now? (I mean it. Had to drag me kicking and screaming: say it! say it! say it!) Hey, not all writers are good writers. (Sometimes I think and behave like a supreme jackass.)
I'm still shaken up by my earlier nose emergency. It's much, much later in the day and true, I'm feeling a little less paranoid than I had been several hours ago which is a always a plus. Paranoia? From a nosebleed? I, too, fail to see any connection between the two accept that it takes so little these days to knock me down. Until I start becoming psychologically stronger, (your guess is as good as mine), things like a nosebleed can shake me all the way down to my very foundations.
When I get like that I feel terribly lonely and stuck. I don't think I'll ever accept that Fran Part 1 is really over and that I should git going, get off my ass, and get acquainted with Fran 2. I'm clueless to what she's about except if I don't write (like these posts) I'll go mad. Now about another book. Hah! I'll likely end up as a whiny, sniveling doppelganger of Harper Lee except my one book won't be a masterpiece. A shame, but acceptable. I'm perfectly content to rest on my laurels. Oy gevalt. Just please stop these nosebleeds. They're really hard to take.