It's been 5 full days of straight sunshine, a straight-shot of sunshine here in the Northwest since I've last written. Been writing, working in the yard and kind of in the house. Enough so I don't feel that I could be an episode of Hoarders; I'm cleaning up and cleaning out.
But enough on that, it's time to confess. Let's start with the weather and the Northwest. To the confessional--
I confess I learned this week that the Seattle area has only 58 (!!!) days of sunshine a year, the rest is overcast and cloudy. 58! No wonder we lead the country in suicides and serial killers (we all suffer from S.A.D. - Seasonal Affect Disorder), but we also have the most percentage of library card holders and we buy 2x as many books as the rest of the country.
I realize why so many writers, bands and artists come from the Northwest-- we're the kids that are always inside and we have to do something to keep us entertained.
But only 58 days of sun? That seemed so low.
Still, I am thankful for the days I stay inside and write because it's pouring outside.
I confess I've been sleeping better now that the haunted armoire is out of my house. Except for last night. Last night, my golden retriever woke me up crying. Do you need to go outside? Are you okay? My dog is frozen still on his bed and won't move, but keeps doing this long sad cry.
So in the dark, I rush over to my golden panicked that he's hurt or dying or in pain.
Turns out, he is fine, but our 20 lb. cat had fallen asleep next to him on his sleeping bag and he was afraid to get up off his bed and move to the floor. He outweighs the cat by 65 lbs and yet, he is afraid to disturb the cat.
I moved the cat and all was well for another four hours until the cat returned to sleep with the dog.
I confess I've been working a lot on manuscript 3 because I'm swapping it with another poet on Valentine's Day. I confess it does not have a title yet, but the above image from my vision board this year is a huge inspiration for it.
I completely lose myself while working on this manuscript, but deal with a huge worry that it's not very good.
I haven't submitted many poems from the mss, so of the 40+ pages, only 3 have been published. I tell myself this is not the fault of the poems, but the fault of the poet for not submitting the poet. But the poet says she so dislikes submitting work that she hasn't done so very much this year. Bad poet.
But I still love the manuscript even with its quiet existence.
I confess I think I'd feel a little better if I had a title.