Bootcamp, Part III: Something More

Continued from Tuesday, August 16 post.

The only time I don’t feel pulled from the present, that nagging feeling that I should be doing something else, is first thing in the morning. It is 6:59 AM, and I have been alone in the office since six thirty. After spending the week running with me to Costco and Albuquerque Tents and my tía’s house–where my wedding dress has been safely tucked in a spacious closet–my mom will soon drop by on her way home to pick up a trunk load of sticks and coffee cans for safe transport to my childhood home in Deming, where she, my dad and sister-in-law will assemble thirty-five to fifty centerpieces. (Photos forthcoming. After the wedding.)

Somewhere beneath this heap of wedding-related tasks, I remember that I am a writer working on a book and an original play. I remember that, even if all I can do is slip out of the house at six thirty and write in my journal, then I must slip out of the house at six thirty and write in my journal because moving my hand across the page each morning is a lifeline, as important for my mental and physical health as sleeping eight hours or running a few miles along the acequia a few times a week.

Almost too pretty to eat.

This morning I wrote about the weddings Henry and I attended over the weekend. Two sets of friends, one in Old Town and one in the Sangre de Cristos. I wrote about my bridal shower, also this past weekend, and the pretty dress my Maid of Honor helped me find off the sale rack at Dillards, and how, as Henry and I enter the last month of planning before the wedding, more and more, I feel supported by all the friends and familia who have offered to cook a pot of beans or open an extra rooms for guests. I feel confident in this step we are taking and grateful for each and every moment in my life that led me here. More and more, because I leave my bed before the rest of my family wakes up, I feel present in the same way I do on my best writing days, when the next image surfaces without my asking, when 500 words fill the page, and I don’t know exactly how they got there, only that they came through me and I let them. Those days are rare. This time, preparing for marriage, is rare. Between now and October 1, I won’t make much progress on the book or the play. But I will be at my writing desk every morning with my journal and favorite pen, even if it’s only thirty minutes.

Published in: on August 30, 2011 at 1:35 pm  Leave a Comment  

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