Wednesday, June 21, 2000

 

 

12:00 a.m. Just in under the wire, but I did it. I made it. The perfect year. Whew ... let's just sit back and catch our breath for a second, shall we? Wallow in the glory of a job well done. A monument to consistency from the most inconsistent person on the planet.

But not anymore. Look at me now, Ma!

Was it hard? You'd better believe it. There were nights when my head felt like a lead balloon, when I would have to stop and look up to the ceiling for an impossibly long time before the next natural word would come, but I muddled something on the page and bundled it off to the server, and more than once I knew it was insane.

Is it easier now? It's a breeze now. It's second nature now. It's actually fun now. Who could have known this?

And here it is, the big reward:

A dreamy link, I tell you. The stuff that dreams are made of. I never would have dreamed that I could do this, but here I am. Tinkling the keys nightly like a jazz man, watching my little brandy snifter fill up with coin of the realm. Playing to the guys in the back, the insomniac at the bar, the waitress with the Windex who wants to go home. Playing my little fool heart out, and singing along with the tunes.

A couple of very interesting things have happened in this writer's year. First of all, I finally got the praise I needed. I was wilting. Parched for feedback. Desperate to hear how it sounded when it left my brain. And here's the strange thing -- I never needed all that much, after all. A kind word here or there, a kudo or two. They came in the email.

Yes they did.

And now, I'm fine. Filled up with joy and confidence and able to work long hours again. I know I don't make sense to everyone and I know I don't sound mellifluous to everyone. But I know now that I'm ok -- that I can hold my own and move the thoughts from here (tap tap) to there (ping ping). I hope sometimes I give you a tingle.

I am in love with the writing community I find myself a part of -- the world of people who must document. I understand that urge and I applaud it. I understand the thrill of the hunt as you close in on that perfect description -- the attempt to capture, intact, the butterfly dusty wings of the moment brushing past. I know what it feels like to just miss it each day.

One day one of us will get it right and the entire human race will be the better for it.

Meanwhile, my year has had some interesting moments. There have been two earthquakes, a millennial shift, a robbery, one late-night visit from the firemen, and another from the police. There was a mouse in the tub and a bird in the rafters and a couple of plumbing leaks. All in all, probably a typical year -- except that this one has been documented. This one isn't getting away so fast.

And although I'm proud of my little exercise, I'm also mighty restless and even now I'm hatching a wily plot to amuse and entertain and maybe make my fortune. There has to be more than this, right? I realize I've barely scratched the surface of each day, and some days I've thrown a hasty dropcloth over the mess in the middle of the room and pretended it was art.

I can do better than this, and for my next year-long trick, I'm going to try.

Will I still attempt to punch my timecard each day? Yeah -- now it's becoming an obsession. Now I want to see how long I can go before I falter. And now I'm curious about what would keep me away from this task. I realize how fragile this little construction is, and how much it depends on health, luck, electricity, and a little bit more luck.

I'm fully aware of just how lucky I've been to have these days to document.

Minutes, moments, momentous.

Thank you for reading.