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9:40 p.m. - February 15, 2003
It's less a re-cap and more an excuse to look away from the work I'm supposed to be doing, to have done. But that is the privilege of being a writer, telling your editor I'm not done yet and there is little she can do. I think.
Working on the book tonight � surprise � and revisiting a section I think is weaker than it ought. Just cannot let go. The just is dismissive and I know why I�m struggling with revisions following revisions following revisions that don�t really need to be tweaked, but knowing the reason � or is it only a symptom? � doesn�t galvanize what Barbara-the-Editor likely considers a proper response. At disparate moments throughout the day certain passages will come to mind and I�ll think But I could render it this way and the cycle goes for another spin, just like a Tibetan prayer wheel but lacking the bits of paper and cloth fluttering. If anything, it�s my mind that flutters and cannot settle down between deciding whether to use a semicolon, create two separate sentences, or scrap it all in favor of something else. I�ve got to get a handle on this � this is only the first book and there are five more. One and five; a ratio, 1 : 5; 20%; not even halfway close to passing � I can think of it in scholastic terms as a motivator but even this, too, lacks the momentum I�m seeking. What a pain to realize the inner cheerleader�s graduated and moved on after I inked the contract.

I�ve been working on this for too long and have nothing to show for my time.

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Spec�s been making an effort but he approaches things the wrong way. Out of the blue he turned towards me and asked, Tell me about what it was like to be abused and how that might affect our relationship now, as if he memorized the line from a self-help book or Dr. Phil and I was taken aback by his straightforward request. I don�t know how to talk about it and generally resist the notion � hence, minimal progress with the former therapist � and there�s no way I�ll talk about it during the day. Yeah, during the day. For the longest time I didn�t understand that either, until I realized that I blush and feel ashamed and it�s easier to hide at night. That was another in-traffic moment � I resist saying epiphany only because I�m resisting pretentiousness as well tonight; one must, with Spec � but it�s one thing to make a connection and another to engage in communication. Told him we could talk about it later and he said No, no, let�s talk now and so we did a bit, talked about the difficulty I�m having in developing a timeline or a sequence of events and reconciling that with the images and sounds and the physical sensations that creep about and sometimes overwhelm. He asked about my dreams at night and that was sensitive, but how many times has he lain there next to me wide awake and not run off into another bed? He says I talk in my sleep and utter the oddest phrases � but he couldn�t recall any � and overall I kept the discussion superficial and it wasn�t difficult to talk about. There�s a relationship between superficiality and degree of difficulty, I realize. I�m increasing my dodging skills.

But the thing that strikes me most is that I�m having an easier time talking about it in general. Things get rocky when I try to make correlations between then and now and become frustrated at feeling a lack of control, like I�m caught up in this current that springs from his mouth like that Indian goddess; zero authentic me, just a series of reactions to something I didn�t put into place. I hate that feeling of being a pawn, of not being able to call the shots. So we talked, he asked a few questions about what I remember most, about the images, and I told him it�s more like listening to a story and you leave now and then for pee breaks, returning and it�s a different part of the story but still the same story. Looking at it this way does little to calm me down when I become afraid of the wind but it has to be good, doesn�t it? And then in the middle of our talk I blurted out That�s why I don�t like smokers, because he smoked and I couldn�t stand the smell and then I thought Maybe? I distrust smokers automatically because of him? I don�t know and that�s the truly insidious part of everything, this self-doubt I have and goes back to the being adrift in somebody else�s current. How sure can I be about things, especially things that aren�t linear? And the inclination to dismiss it won�t succeed because I know. I just know.

And Spec took all this in and didn�t say anything and I wondered if he wasn�t paying attention and I felt hurt. He said it�s a lot to absorb and I became irritated; if you can�t handle it, then don�t ask.

That�s all. My eyes are tired and I want to go to sleep.

 

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