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.