Confession Part Deux

Do you ever feel like you're floating through your life and only the barest sense of reality seeps through the fogginess of your brain to remind you that are tethered to the ground?

Everything is connected, isn't it? One moment to the next, that invisible thread linked together as intricately as the lace doilies my Grammy used to make. I remember as a child curiously wondering if I pulled as hard as could, would those threads break apart? My fingers would twitch with the desire to yank on them, and once or twice I did just to see what would happen. Doing so stretched the thin yarn, but it did not break apart proving to me that something delicate could also be very strong.

My "career" has gone in the completely opposite direction of where I always dreamed it would go, and now, at almost 38 years old I'm constantly wondering if it's too late to make a change.

Here again, I make a confession, and part of my brain reminds me it's a silly one at that: What I wanted as a young girl, as an idealistic teenager, as a trying-to-figure-life-out young woman and still now, is to be an author. The kind of writer who concocts the sort of book you might pick up at the airport as you wait for your flight to take you on your winter vacation. The sort of novel you grab and read the back cover of on your way to the check-out at Walmart and toss in your cart because you know it's not War and Peace and you just want to escape for a little while. It would be my books that suck you in, and when you're done, you can't believe it only took you 3 days to read, you search out others I've written, and you tell your friends, "You've GOT to read this book," and they do.

I daydream of this and then snap back to reality where I'm stuck in a soul destroying office job, where the days blend into each other and I silently count down the minutes until I can go home. When doing laundry excites you more than your day job, it might be time for a change.

My hubby is urging me to just write, write whatever I feel like and I think he's onto to something there.

Maybe using my imagination more will lessen this Eeyore-like cloud I seem to like hanging over my head.

Maybe I need to learn how to make doilies.