Moses likes it!
Shh….we have to be very, very quiet!
Husband is sleeping, and just between us, I think he has grown tired of my journaling.
My blogging.
Weary of walking into his office to a round of applause, this last time about his unfortunate,
open umbrella vs. coffee cup on the car roof confrontation.
And he’s a wee bit irritated at finding my laptop and I huddled together in the middle of the night.
But my inner editing voice, apparently on Greenwich Time, comes callin’ at the most inopportune hour.
And it’s not a gentle, “Hey, I don’t mean to bother you…but I was just thinking” call.
No So Much!
Husband is sleeping, and just between us, I think he has grown tired of my journaling.
My blogging.
Weary of walking into his office to a round of applause, this last time about his unfortunate,
open umbrella vs. coffee cup on the car roof confrontation.
And he’s a wee bit irritated at finding my laptop and I huddled together in the middle of the night.
But my inner editing voice, apparently on Greenwich Time, comes callin’ at the most inopportune hour.
And it’s not a gentle, “Hey, I don’t mean to bother you…but I was just thinking” call.
No So Much!
It’s a bellowing, high pitched, “There’s a FIRE IN THE THEATRE!
Get yourself back to that keyboard,” call.
And I do.
And I add.
And I delete.
And I cut.
And I paste.
And in the stillness of my office/workout equipment graveyard, I exorcise trepidations.
I squint, through half-closed eyes, hoping I have envisioned the perfect phrase.
I inhale; a deep filling breath, and then exhale, making a loud exaggerated “whooshing” sound,
hoping that a cleansing rush will blow away any mislaid commas or awfully, annoying alliteration. And in this comfy setting, between my Buns of Steel DVD and a Memoirs for Dummies paperback,
I re-read my finished creation to Moses, our recently cremated German shepherd.
(I struggle with criticism)
You see, thirteen years ago, when he was just a pup, I devised a critique code for him.
Bark twice if you hate it, once if it needs minimal tweaking, and sit quietly if it's done.
And here we sat, he in his little doggie urn, and me, in my fire retardant, hot-flash proof,
menopause nightgown.
And I listen…and my editing voice is silent…and Moses approves…..and…
“Donna, where are you?” Husband growls, from our bedroom across the hall.
“Are you OK? Are you blogging in the middle of the night again?
Am I going to have to stay home from work in the morning because you’re telling
the world about my misplaced remote control hissy fit?
I still think you’re the one that put it in the freezer.
You know, my clients read that damn blog!
Sometimes they call me, not about their accounts, but just to laugh.
DONNA!!! Are you done?”
“Husband, Shh, Moses is sleeping. And yes, I’m done.”
And I do.
And I add.
And I delete.
And I cut.
And I paste.
And in the stillness of my office/workout equipment graveyard, I exorcise trepidations.
I squint, through half-closed eyes, hoping I have envisioned the perfect phrase.
I inhale; a deep filling breath, and then exhale, making a loud exaggerated “whooshing” sound,
hoping that a cleansing rush will blow away any mislaid commas or awfully, annoying alliteration. And in this comfy setting, between my Buns of Steel DVD and a Memoirs for Dummies paperback,
I re-read my finished creation to Moses, our recently cremated German shepherd.
(I struggle with criticism)
You see, thirteen years ago, when he was just a pup, I devised a critique code for him.
Bark twice if you hate it, once if it needs minimal tweaking, and sit quietly if it's done.
And here we sat, he in his little doggie urn, and me, in my fire retardant, hot-flash proof,
menopause nightgown.
And I listen…and my editing voice is silent…and Moses approves…..and…
“Donna, where are you?” Husband growls, from our bedroom across the hall.
“Are you OK? Are you blogging in the middle of the night again?
Am I going to have to stay home from work in the morning because you’re telling
the world about my misplaced remote control hissy fit?
I still think you’re the one that put it in the freezer.
You know, my clients read that damn blog!
Sometimes they call me, not about their accounts, but just to laugh.
DONNA!!! Are you done?”
“Husband, Shh, Moses is sleeping. And yes, I’m done.”
