Letter to the Universe

A Memoirish Thing
August 22, 2016
How We Spend Our Days
July 10, 2017

I finished my memoir, and I sent it off to an agent who said she wanted to read it (Please send!!). The two exclamation points made me very happy. Thrilling. Thrilling. But now it’s been ten days. Two hundred and forty hours of worrying, pretending not to care very much, caring very much, re-reading it, hating it, loving it, cringing over it, hating myself, pep-talking myself, trying not to think about it, thinking about it obsessively… My usual psychotic vacillation.

Thank goodness we’re in Florida on vacation, and we have company. Every day, they say, “Let’s do something!” We have been on catamarans, kayaks, motor boats, dinner cruise boats and these little zippity-do-dah hold-onto-your-hats boats called Craig Cats. We have been golfing, beaching and bobbing around the pool. We have gone out to breakfast, lunch and dinner. We have barbecued and food shopped and wine shopped and blender-drinked ourselves into utter silliness. Today, more company is coming. I know what they are going to say when they walk in the door: “Let’s do something!”

Thank God for distractions from myself. Otherwise, I’d be driving myself crazy. Well, I AM driving myself crazy, but it’s a slower process because of all these daily doings.

I stink at “letting things go” and “giving things up to the universe.” I’d much rather be in charge of the universe, thank you. I’m not very trusting of the universe these days.   I mean, look what’s been happening in this country. Yikes. And the other day, one of those ancient peaceful beautiful gopher tortoises was smushed by a stupid car on the road. What was the universe thinking?  Maybe the universe is on vacation drinking too many pina coladas also.

Nonetheless, I wrote a letter to the universe today. Dear Universe, It’s hard for me to ask for help. But I’m asking for help in the courage department, in the faith department and in the believing-in-myself department. All of which I could use improvement on. This memoir is really me. It’s vulnerable and true. It was hard to write. It was hard to let an agent read it. But I think I need to tell this story. And maybe the world needs to hear it. Yours truly.

I kind of felt stupid writing it, but I did it. I wrote it in my notepad, then I closed the pad. I felt a little like the kids in Mary Poppins, when they write the note saying what they want in a nanny, and the father rips it up, but the wind takes it and puts it all back together again and delivers it to Mary. I want to believe in that kind of magical universe. I can’t say why, but I got some peace after I closed my notepad. I feel like I did my bit. I can only do so much. Now, it’s in the universe’s hands.

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