Progress is made.

I have entered the land of closer-but-not-quite.

I have my furniture, and now a one-bedroom apartment as a work in progress, closer to completion but not yet finished. I am still housebound/officebound, too occupied with beginning the new job and putting together the apartment to sample much of the wonders that Denver has to offer. That will change a bit today….

Dear friend Melody is in Denver to skate a roller derby bout against the local Denver team. I’ll get to see her this afternoon and I’ll watch her skate tonight. That’ll be good.

Tomorrow I’ll visit the Yve St. Laurent retrospective, traveling there by bike. That’ll be good, too.

I have a bed to sleep in—one that doesn’t require reinflation twice a night.

 

I have a sofa and the makings of a living room.

 

I have a place to sit while I eat.

Next comes the return of the writing. The thing I miss most. The me I miss most.

I had a dream last night that I showed Everything to my ex-agent. And I remember his exact words: “There’s the Lynn I was waiting for.”

It’s the Lynn I’ve been waiting for, too.

As I did my daily wood floor dusting (who’d thunk that cat hair could be such a plague?), I put on some John Adams music, the neo-Romantic composer whose music was the soundtrack for The Spiritkeeper. It filled me with thoughts of main character David Emory, my adored one. It calmed me. It reminded me of who I am; what I must be.

I write. Not the commerce writing, which is what I have come to Denver to do, but the making of worlds. I need that. Now. Next. Always.

Writing again…real writing: That will be true progress. That will be the moment in which my life begins again.

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