The vision in my left eye is blurry. It’s the pollen. That lovely burst of gold-green at the end of each tree branch — such a welcome sign of spring — means that “itch” will invade my eyes and ears until, well, it doesn’t.
The car windshield has had a small but irritating crack for weeks. It’ll be there until we get it fixed. Eventually.
This afternoon, a gymnastics party fell smack into the middle of my regular writing time. I took the kids but since I am, above all, a creature of habit, I fretted there and back about when I would tackle the mountain of writing (my latest story has me stumped and my second novel is . . . languishing), research (second novel, again), blog reading (and tweets), queries for the first novel, and the inauguration of this bloggity blog.
All of that led to thoughts of what my “brand” should be. Who I am, anyway, on line, in this virtual space? A friend said, “Can’t you just be you?”
It’s true that there really isn’t any other way. I am what I am in this messy life. There will always be spider webs in the corners, pages half-written, and mystery food in the fridge. Laundry piles will grow and totter. As I sit down to write, my 4-year old will ask for a play date and my 7-year old will wonder about beavers and wolves. I’ll never have all the answers.
This messy life is . . . me. There’s not a lot of spit and polish. Something is generally cracked. Pieces are usually missing. I always drop at least one of the balls I’m tossing in the air. You know, I never really learned to juggle and the on-the-job training — for a mom, for a writer — is trial by fire, in any case.
I’m not sure how long my left eye will stay blurry, but I don’t think any of us ever sees completely clearly. There’s always that speck of pollen, that persistent mote of dust. Without the mess, though — without that little bit of blindness — the page wouldn’t even be half-written. It would simply be blank, a waiting emptiness.
I’ll take the mess. Though it would be nice if I could find my keys . . . .