Recent-Past Me writes…
I met my best friend in the forums of NaNoWriMo. It’s a story we’ve rehashed a ton of times, to curious outsiders and among ourselves: Her foxy Thief Lord, my legendary outlaws and Song Caster of minstrel; a passing connection between states-away strangers that, somehow, went beyond passing to lasting these four years and counting.
A once-in-a-lifetime miracle.
At least, not a miracle I’ve seen repeated yet in my life, and don’t expect to during NaNo ‘14.
I haven’t spent much time in the forums, this past month. By which I mean, I’ve half-heartedly poked my head in once, lurked around for a short while, then wearily closed out the tab. I don’t have the energy for socializing chitchat. For dragging on a smile and feeling around for common ground. For friendly emoticons and exclamation points.
There are few things I want to deal with less, in this state, than exclamation points.
My best friend just got married, moving even further out of reach. I was her Maid of Honor; her personal assistant; the collected, efficient go-getter striding around with a rapidly marked-up notebook. My brain, it seems, works differently than the average human. (Gasps of faux surprise all ‘round.) The bride-to-be and her family, the wedding itself, needed me in cyborg mode. Cue three weeks of setting self aside that I might to best ability serve.
Greater love hath no one than this: To lay down her life for a friend.
My insides feel slain on the altar where she spoke her vows.
I pushed myself so far, strained so hard, strove so long, and I’m proud of me, but I’m injured.
It’s not the first time I’ve maimed myself like this. The summer I published “Swan Prince” then dove straight into my second season on cast at the Renaissance Faire blew me out in much the same way. Strained, sprained, drained.
My brain works differently than the average human.
I’m not made to deal so intensely with so many people for this length of time. I’m slowly recovering; better now than I was days ago, and likely better by the time this post goes live than I am during its drafting. But in the meantime, much as I’d love to get back into the international camaraderie of NaNo – one of my favorite parts of the event, in years past; what separates NaNo from just another month of me bingeing on word-making; the gateway, once, to a friendship like I’ve never had before – I just can’t with the socializing, right now.
So a world of Wrimos is over there, and I’m over here, with days to go ‘til THE Writing Month begins, feeling wholly disconnected from it all.
My tired = sad.
My sad = lonely.
My cyborg powers, experiencing technical difficulties.
“The girl needs a vacation,” Will Scarlet opines.
The girl doesn’t believe in vacation.
Edgwyn says kindly, “That’s why the girl’s a wreck.”
I’ll sleep when I’m dead. ‘Til then, I’ve got writing to do.
“Mercy on our souls,” Allyn murmurs.