5:46 A.M, and I wake up 14 minutes before the alarm (the sound of cathedral bells on my iPhone)is set to go off. An early start on a day like today couldn't hurt...I brew coffee first thing(imperative in my ritual), grab a pile of clothes from the corner of the bedroom and toss it into the washing machine in true Flylady- style.
I may as well tell you that I have a new job, in which person-finds-blog, likes blog, and offers money to blogger to blog for them. It has always been a want in me to be able to do what I covet: writing, taking pictures, blogging, and getting paid for it. But when the time comes, how much compensation do you ask for? This is my dilemma as I traipse into his office today to negotiate a price for what I believe is my art. Of course, I realize this has long been the dilemma for many an artist and writer, and they're walking along in my shadow whispering to me today. Putting a price on something that is so close to your heart and head that your creation that feels kind of like a child of sorts. How do you negotiate that? The right word, the perfect shot, the whole package? Julia Cameron would know the answer to this question.
6:41 A.M. I "save draft," and head downstairs to take wet, sweet-smelling laundry out of the washing machine. "Professional casual," I keep saying to myself out loud. No quirky. No velvet jackets and no black capes and no fedoras to this particular meeting. No eccentric arty stuff in the office.
My husband said to me in a kind, thoughtful voice the other day, "I've been wanting to tell you for months, but it was so 'cute and quirky,' so I didn't say anything, but you make your smiley faces backwards when you type." (: :) Now, when I type, I can't seem to remember my way or the "right" way, so I don't do smiley faces at all. I left a comment on one of my new favorite blogs last night, and I found myself grasping to remember which way was correct. I couldn't recall, so I just left it off. The "right way" stole my smiley faces.
6:59 A.M. I start thinking of shampoo and conditioner and hair spray and curled hair. I haven't given them this much thought in a long time.
7:01, and I'm already thinking of two of my favorite places going away this month. Business had slowed to a crawl, and they understandably were forced to walk. One I'd been prepared for, but the other came as a surprise yesterday in a mass email. "No tears" they said at the end. In a big city, businesses come and go, but this is a small town where business are people. Businesses are friends. And their identities mingle with your own, and yours with theirs. And when they go away, it makes you feel like you've lost a little of yourself.
7:08 A.M. The sun rises, the street in front of my suburban house comes alive with people heading to work. But for the hills and the trees, my neighborhood is not an extravagant one. Ranches built in the 1970's, filled with the families of policemen, firefighters, teachers, school bus drivers, and me, the blog writer.