Moonstruck

Sometimes there is a thin film separating me from normalcy. Perhaps it has something to do with string theory, and one of my nanofilaments is out of tune, thrumming in discord to the rest of my universe. At present, I know it has much to do with my mate being out of town, unexpectedly. His grandfather's health is failing fast, and his family made the emergency decision to move him from a retirement apartment in Illinois to their home in Denver. My hubby flew out Saturday to help them pack a 92-year-old man's life into a van, and drive x-country in the snow. I am profoundly grateful to have Husby as my lifemate, and when he's away, I feel his absence as a physical emptyness in the space around me. He takes a part of my aura with him, leaving me tender and vulnerable, less protected from the elements. I wonder how different this feels from the loneliness of not having someone at all. Judy Dench has an incredible scene and monologue in Notes on a Scandal as to what it's like being truly lonely. Speaking of movies, I saw Pan's Labyrinth by myself this evening. There were stunning scenes, but overall, I wanted to see more of her fantasy world and less of the real world. Oddly, it was the real world scenes that were overwrought; they could have been expressed more effectively in a subtle manner.

SPOILER WARNING!!!! If the violence were underplayed in the majority of the movie, it would have made the violence toward her more effective in the end. OVER NOW.

On an entirely different note, I was thrilled beyond belief to receive my latest royalty statement; my dog book has finally started earning money above and beyond the advance they paid me. What a milestone! To earn money, at least on paper, for my first book, is a thrill. In truth, we're still light years behind in terms of what I spent traveling, and what it cost us (is still costing us) for me to pursue this dream. If an outsider were to examine the practical evidence, the sure conclusion would be that my career path over the last four-ish years has been utter folly. How can it be that my internal compass feels never more true? I hope this is what it's supposed to feel like when flying in the face of convention, what it takes to pursue creative bliss. I have to believe I'll be rewarded in this lifetime for taking these risks, and for forcing the man I love to take them with me. In my deepest, darkest moments, there's a hollow core of doubt in my heart, an ache in my solar plexus. Mother Moon, shine bright tonight. Illuminate my path.