If she can, I can

Oh the spying powers of Facebook, without you, how else would I stoke my fires of jealous and comparison?  The Real Housewives of New Jersey just don’t do the job.

I have the Facebook friend who’s had a string of writing luck and inspiration lately.  She’s found an agent and her life is such that she’s been able to commit to a month of power novel-writing and yes, that’s marvelous for her.  And I’m so damned petty.

Reading her status updates, I am both hungry to get the news and sputtering reasons why her life has let her do these things, thus implying that clearly my life doesn’t.  Because I have papers to grade (which I don’t and so they just pile up).  I have to go to work (and I keep working longer hours than I’m paid.  By choice.).  I don’t have a husband who makes nice money (but it’s not like I’m poor).  I don’t…and you get the point.

And all the while I keep thinking, how pathetic am I going to get before I just get up and do something?  Because I’ve been on the radio.  I have publications.  I can write.  I have interesting ideas and I have lots of time.  It just needs to be reallocated from reruns of House to fingers on the keyboard.  See, because I have a few things I don’t know if she has.  I do know how to work.  I have staying power.  And I have a deep dark well of human anxiety and sadness to dig from like throwing cinnamon in the stew.  It’s that deep complexity.

If she can find the time to write, I can, too.

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