Yay! Here's October!!!! I wonder if I'm going to be in trouble for just getting started on October. I wonder if they know I just got October. I wonder if they ever got my e-mail. Oh, well. No matter. I'll have to see if I can log in from my Palm. Probably not. But, if I can, I feel pretty sure I catch up before the end of the day. I might be able to get it tonight, but I doubt it. I have had a very excting day. For starters, I discovered that I can do non-fiction on Nano.

I need a name. I just really need a name. I can't even settle on the purpose of my name. Do I want to use a name that could someday be my pen name? Would a pen name really hide me? What if I accidentally chose a real-sounding name that sounded real because it is real? What if that name already belongs to somebody else? That notion makes me feel like a thief and am imposter. So, I guess I don't need a real name. Do I need a name that I could use again next year? No, I don't.

I have a name! I have a name! Came to me during romance, which is a little surprising. Named myself after a character who speaks one of my favorite lines, in a novel, and then added two words of the quote. I think that I am very clever, and I think that seeing that name every time I get ready to write will be a lift. And the section of Telling True Stories that I read while waiting in the dentists office with Evan seemed like prep reading for Nano. The first draft can rest, for years if need be.

I feel something changing. My secret plan to Nano has me energized. I wrote in the dentists office, and I read a book about writing, in public, and did not feel self-conscious at all. In the vet's waiting room, I tried to make 100 words entry on my Palm, and didn't worry at all what the receptionist might be thinking. The entry didn't work --- when I clicked submit it called it a December 1999 entry, and the page wouldn't open. That little avenue seems to be nixed, and naturally, I have forgotten what I wrote, just five minutes ago.

Little Fences. A theme that came to me while I was applying moisturizer. The thing I seem to most need to write through is the turmoil surrounding BJ. But, part and parcel of that is the dissembling that I must now do with the people that are closest to me. Being aware of that has made me more aware of the little fences that I have scattered all across my landscape. I erected them, these barriers between those I love and my most honest thoughts and feelings, in an effort to avoid their harsh judgments, and to keep the peace.

Tada! Victory is in sight! After this, I'll write two hundred words, and I'll be all caught up. Today is Shawn Baby's birthday. I was at the hospital. Barry was not. Neither one of us were there when Tyler was born. Jennifer had made such a mess of things and was so mad at us, the pretense just would have been too great. We did go to make a visit after he was born though. I don't even know if they called us when they went to the hospital. And that is one of the fences. I don't trust her.

Could you color code them? And without even thinking about it, he said no. Weary of his early dismissal issues, I pressed. Why not? Because you beat those things, that's what you do with them. So what, the paint wouldn't last for even a minute? I would be more convinced that the idea was unworthy of pursuit of he had paused, blinked, hesitated, indicated in any way that he was giving the idea some thought, or hell, even faked that he was giving the idea some thought. But no, as usual, it was my idea and it was therefore useless.

I think that I will feel a great sense of joy when I have done today's one hundred words and am therefore caught up with the program. So, here I am trying a two-hundred word burst. I'm not supposed to think about Nano ahead of time, and I am trying, but I am finding it to be increasingly difficult. I can hardly wait to go the site and sign in and find my forum and my friends. The writers who write like me. The downside, here, is that I seem to spend more time counting words than I do writing.

Mellow. Mellow and uncomplicated. Tight sentences. I do not write in sentences. I should probably work on that. Maybe go ahead with the spurts of fragments since they are the pithy thoughts, and build from there. Now that you mention it maybe I am out of sync because I didn't get my tiny little piece of peace and quiet this morning. That'll learn me durn me with respect to the alarm clock. Still get jazzed when I think about Nano, even though I haven't gotten a big welcome. No one is as excited about the Mattress Factory as I am.

The closeness is gone. The level of comfort we once enjoyed, the easy passing of conversation/not-conversation is gone. I don't recognize her. Somewhere in the upheaval of losing her home and taking on new work, she became stridently political and pierced her nose, and started dressing like her new friend. I didn't see her often enough after the change to become familiar with it, and my eyes won't adjust. I keep searching her face, her hair, her clothing, for something that looks familiar, and there is nothing. Even her eyes reflect the things we are hiding from each other.

The man who made me crazy last week by leaving his shoes in the middle of the floor and by indicating no interest in fixing the kitchen light, bluntly told our son that the maritial problems he'd described were his own fault. He enumerated Jennifer's responsibilities, chastized Chris for unfinished home improvement projects, told him to take her some flowers, mow the lawn, wash the towels, and take care of his honey do list. Would things be better at this house if my husband practiced what he preached? Yes. Still, realizing that he sees things that way is very comforting.

Well,let's hope I don't get twenty five hundred words behind. That would really be pretty hard to catch up. What am I going to do about my constantly aching wrist bone and my increasingly uncomfortable chair? That certainly isn't going to increase my chances of making Nano work. New chair. New computer. New mouse. New shoes. Younger body --- that's what would really help. A chair from Levenger or DWR. Should I look into that? What happenned to the Bar and Grill posts that told me what to do about all of this aching? Am I just falling apart? Probably.

Well, it's my birthday. My ever-loving birthday. Far less angst associated with it this year. Maybe because I am older, and am less worried about whether or not it is noticed and more willing to just let the whole thing pass by. What is there about being closer to sixty that I really want to celebrate, anyway? I don't remember what Barry did last year, but this year he asked me a couple of times what I wanted, so at least I knew that he was giving it a little bit of thought. I was set with his birthday greetings.

I'm going to catch up! I am very excited about that! If I could lose twenty pounds and write 50,000 words I would finish this year with a feeling of accomplishment, even if I couldn't tell anybody about my book. I would also like to clear out that project section of my shelf and clear it out for ... I don't know what ... something. Something new. And get those unfinished picture project things out of the drawer. But mostly, lose twenty pounds and write 50,000 words. A vacation in to writing land. That's what would delight me. I am going soon!

I need a great first line. A hook. Someday. Today I just need a word. One word. One teacher suggests that even true stories should begin with the end in mind. I can't do that either, as I cannot see through to the end. If I knew the ending, I wouldn't be writing this story. Having no beginning and no ending, I must start in the middle. I must start with today. Ralph is in prison. He is in prison, and in the old photograph of three young boys, all of them my sons. I don't know what to do.

Today is Morgan's birthday. Brad said that when he saw me holding her, he knew that everything was going to be all right. It wasn't all right of course, at least not forever, and not even immediately, and not even for very long, but we did have a spell when things seemed pretty good. My relationship with her includes a thing I hope she never knows. I wonder if she can sense it; I wonder if it has affected us any; I wonder if she loves me any less without realizing it or realizing why. Where is this secret stored?

Rethinking my self-portrait. For starters, the whole thing about my children not needing me has turned out to be highly inaccurate. Or, rather, I think I had assessed it as all voluntary, and even that turns out not to be exactly true. As a matter of fact, when I came home from shopping, expecting a quiet house, Shawn Baby was here. And, just as I finished putting away the groceries and settled in to write, Barry suggested we go get Tyler from daycare and take both boys to dinner. A climate of uncertainty and interruptions. Should I say no sometimes?

I have been a better friend to Mary, although I do not feel as connected with her as I once did. I want to. Goodness knows she has counseled me through many hard times, including my hardest day of all. The financial dissonance makes things a little difficult. There are things that I don't tell her about, and things she doesn't tell me about, and things she does tell me that I find fault with and do not understand. Maybe that is the way of friendships. I do not know. I want to care for the friendship and enrich it.

I really don't feel connected to the Bar and Grill. Maybe that is because Mol is gone, and she was one of the least shouty. Maybe it is because Rosella is gone, and she was always so sweet to me and had so much to teach me. Maybe it is because the election draweth nigh and politics is at the forefront of their thoughts and conversation. The more caustic the conversation, the more of a dissembler I feel, like I am being a back-stabber to other people that I love. I really do not feel ready to walk away though.

Thank goodness for the quiet of the morning. I wasn't expecting it. Course, it would be even quieter if the whole house weren't humming. I can't wait to turn the aquarium off. And he might wake up at any minute, so I write with that expectancy of being interrupted at any minute, which is far different from the settled in writing that I can do when I know that I am alone. Still, I have fifteen minutes before it is time to let Ginger out, and since I am eight days behind, this might be a good place to start.

And just about the time I was ready to get serious about my writing, ready to plunge into Nano, ready to think of it is the meat and potatoes of my day, along comes Danyelle and her betrayal of the trust I had given her. That neccesitates a shift in the way I relate to my Wonderland tasks, neccesitates it and caused it. Once changed, there does not seem to be much changing back. I have to look at her tasks differently. I can't let Wonderland be a take-it or leave-it proposition. There are some things which must be done.

Just a great, well maybe great isn't the right word, considering all the truly great sadness that exists in the world, maybe chronic is a better word. Chronic hopelessness. I miss the time when he valued my opinion, when we were in this together, with a shared vision and dream. I left and he hasn't even noticed. "Whatever we're doing is working," he said when I broached the idea of coming back. I wonder if he will ever realize what his ego cost us in lost joy. Three years later, he thinks the ad is a good idea. Opportunity lost.

Course, the good news is that I have learned how to use Word to count my words. More time writing, less time counting, which doesn’t seem to be one of my strengths. And, in other good news, the house was straight by nine fifteen. Laundry and cooking are still ahead of me, and I haven’t e-mailed Andrew and Annette, but still --- nine fifteen beats two o’clock all over the place. I could live with getting the housework vamoosed and then settling in to writing. Housework is tricky though, since there is always one more thing to clean. Be careful.

I'd like to go put out some more bird seed and move one feeder just a little bit, but I hate for the office people to see me in my housekeeping clothes, and it is cold outside. I am conditioned to worrying about them thinking that I am lazy and making that an excuse for their not working. It will take a little while for me to adjust. If a twenty thousand dollar bonus doesn't motivate them, my waiting until five o'clock to feed the birds isn't going to make any difference. I have been set free, sort of. Yay!

Should I go to the NaNo meeting Saturday? Will it just make me feel bad? I'm such a misfit amongst fiction writers. I think that after I have written through B.J., I will be in a better place personally. I worry about delving into that right before Christmas and with our cruise right in the middle of it. I know for sure that I cannot do it if I think that anyone who knows us, or anyone who knows someone who us, might ever have access to my thoughts and feelings. How can I meet the writers without revealing myself?

I am not willing to backtrack on writing, so I am going to have to figure out how to stay serious about it while simultaneously being more responsible about Wonderland. I have no heart for Wonderland. Every time I try to redefine myself as engaged, he reminds me of why I withdrew. He doesn't realize that every time he broaches a new project which would require my participation he gets a cool response because of the way he treated me. He may not have learned anything, but I have. My best energies will go to a project of my own.

I need to figure out how to lose twenty pounds. Our little walking phase seems to be over, which is too bad, because I was enjoying the walks. I wonder if I could get outside during the middle of the day. Again, with the people in the office. You can't really walk around in your own yard without feeling terribly self-conscious, especially if MG has set up camp for the weekend. How in the world did that come to pass, anyway? There's a lot of low-grade anger connected with subjects where I feel helpless. What if I’m overlooking the solution?

It isn't the same as having done it correctly --- as having written one hundred words every day. And it isn't the same as having crafted the words carefully and made the most of my hundred words. And it might even be a misfire, as I'm not sure how some things are counted. Knowing all of those things is not squelching the little feeling of triumph that rises from having caught up, from having come so much closer to reaching my goal on this than I ever have before, to being three days away from a feeling of real success.

Memoir. Story. Will I want to tell it after I have written it? I can’t think about those things now. I feel compelled to write it. To sort it out. “I write to make sense of my life,” she said, and I understand her completely. I can’t figure out why I am getting through the housework so much faster than I used to, but I am quite happy about it. Like being set free. Certainly makes serious writing a more distinct possibility. And, once I get caught up with the Wonderwork, I think it will be easy to keep up.

Well, apparently I did all that to give myself a writing drawer. I must say that it is kind of nice. I didn't realize when I purchased the new file cabinet, culled through all my files, and rearranged all twelve drawers in the tall cabinets that what I was working towards was a nice, official, writing drawer. I like the way that feels. I'm not sure how to be more official about my writing and more serious about Wonderland at the same time. If I'm designed to be intense about one thing, why does life keep handing me two things?

"No Halloween," she says. It isn't that we can't come over, we can. It's just that she won't be there and neither will her kids, and neither will the other kids. It isn't that we couldn't go Trick or Treating with the other grandchildren, we can. It's just that they'll be in different places all over the city, and the fun of going to her house was that everybody came, and we got to see everybody at once, instead of having to choose. What are the old people supposed to do now? We could go slot car racing, I suppose.