I have had no work since early September. No work at all. I've been hard pressed to fill my days, as I am most grounded when I am working. "You are truly the child of civil servants," my cousin said. "They planted that work ethic in you deep." It's true. Working. Writing. They are my source of balance, my sense of purpose and reason, especially now that my children are all raised and efficiently running their lives without my help. I tried to stay busy, cleaning the house, reading, binge watching The Americans, doing jigsaw puzzles, catching up on doctor visits, getting way too involved with the news, or sitting on a bench in the gardens at twilight with my neighbor and friend.
Yesterday, I got up in the morning, straightened the house, and went down Broadway for a pedicure. I considered a movie on my own, but in the end, just came back home. I lay on my bed, reading JK Rowling's third Cormoran Strike novel, when suddenly I couldn't stand it anymore. I needed work. There is someone I can call for possible projects when I'm at a loose end. I'd hesitated to call because I didn't want to be tied up if another project that I'd been waiting to hear about, and that I very much want to do, actually came through. But I couldn't just sit around anymore. So I opened my laptop, logged in to my email, and there at the top of my messages was an email from my agent saying the subject of the book I was waiting to hear about, was ready to move forward. I think now that my mother was whispering to me not to lose hope.
For no reason, here's a sweet picture I found of my girl and two of her lifer friends, when they were in seventh grade. They were spending the week at their school's farm. Last night, my girl was on the phone with one of these boys for hours. They went to college in the same town upstate, and now he's moved to LA and is working as a writers' PA on a TV sitcom. He calls my girl in the evenings on his commute home. I love how their friendship endures.