Uncommitted

I was going to write a piece on being alone and how being alone by yourself is better than being alone in a relationship. You know what I mean, right? If, ostensibly, you’re in a committed relationship, but the person to whom you have committed yourself is emotionally uncommitted…  that’s painful. It’s more painful, I think, than not being in a relationship, or…  being alone.

So that’s what I was going to write about but then I started to think about the words “being alone” and those words, taken literally, don’t really apply to many people.

I have four children and although most of them are now out of the house, they’re not gone from my life. I have friends, acquaintances, and colleagues in real life and anytime I’m feeling like chatting I have Twitter.  That’s not really being alone, is it? I mean I’m not Tom Hanks trapped on a desert island with a blood-stained volleyball. That’s alone. It’s also fiction. Most people are not alone.

So I guess “alone” is not really the correct word, but what is? Unaccompanied? Solo? Forlorn? Uncommitted? Single? Happy? Unhappy?

I think we’re all here to connect with other human beings in meaningful ways, but the most meaningful way and the way I think we all search for is that intimate, loving emotional connection with one other person. It’s fair to say the part of me that is searching for that is alone.

For now I’m okay with that because I’ve been in too many situations where that part of me has been alone in a committed relationship and I’d much rather be alone alone than alone together.

If I ever settle for being alone together, I should be committed.

Back to Square One

I’m in major editing mode. 

I hate that. I hate when I think I have everything figured out and I think I know where I’m going and then something happens and I have to go back and start over. I was so sure I knew where I was going that I was halfway through the sequel. 

It’s not just the sequel that needs to be completely reworked, I’m going to have to rethink the whole first book. 

Turning point.

I have options. I could just chuck it all and forget that I’m a writer. I don’t have to be a writer. I could be something else, but probably not. 

Or - I could throw it all away and work on something completely different. The trash can is looking rather inviting and there’s something freeing about throwing things away. Very tempting. A clean sheet of paper holds endless opportunities. 

Or - I could seize the opportunity to take what I think was pretty good work and look at it with fresh eyes and a different heart and I could take it to a better place. 

Life imitates art. Or is it the other way around? I always forget.

This is why I’m a writer - because editing is always an option.

And so is writing a whole new story.

You can follow me on Twitter: @ceceliahalbert

Love, Whither Shall You Find Me

I’m not going looking for Love anymore. Love is going to have to come find me.

I am just too damn busy. 

I’d like to state, however, that I am worth the effort.

If you find me, Love, you’ll discover that I have great capacity for acceptance. I am happiest when I’m head over heels, tumbling madly into your arms. What you offer to me I will give back many times over.

I have loved deeply and unconditionally. I know how it’s done. I live to do it again, but I am more cautious now and there is now one condition: I won’t give love unless I know that it will be returned. I have no patience for half your heart. I want it all. I promise mine in return.

I am not hiding, but to find me you must rely on your skill, intellect, and creativity. 

And please bring with you a good bottle of wine, for of one thing I am certain: lips that know good wine also know good love.

I'll be waiting.

Artwork by: Andre Kohn, "Good Times, Good Wines", Joe Wade Fine Art - See more at: http://www.santafe.com/article/for-the-love-of-wine#sthash.xIwZopcl.dpuf

Follow me on twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

Thank God It's Friday

I’m at a loss.

I have been writing a weekly blog post, typically on Thursdays, but today on Friday, for almost a year now and have never been at a loss for a topic. This morning I sit at my desk and for the life of me can’t think of anything to say.

Okay, that’s not entirely true.

I can think of lots to say. It’s been a hell of a week. But who wants to read a whiny blog? Certainly not me. Maybe I could spin the hell into something funny. Let me think about that. Caution: if you don’t want to read my whining, stop here.

Hell, Part One: “Money”

As you know, I’m a teacher. As you also know, I started a new job this fall in a new school. I’ve been working now since August 12. Know when my first paycheck is? September 15. Funny thing - my employers still expect me to put gas in my car in order to get to work even though they haven’t paid me. Ha ha ha. They’re funny. They also wanted me to order transcripts from every university I attended. $68 worth of transcripts. I went to school way too much. Oh. They also wanted me to get a physical but they don’t give me insurance. $212 for the physical. 

Do these people not understand that I have a wine budget that I’m now having to tap into in order to have this job? Apparently not. This is why I work 12-16 hours on the weekend serving wine so I can take home the leftovers. And some money.

Hell, Part Two: “Ex-husband and also…. money”

I really have to hand it to my ex-husband, who is a very nice person. He really is. Every once in a while when I question my decision to divorce him, he provides a crystal clear reminder of why I did. Take this week, for instance. After spending nearly 2K of my part-time wine gig money to get our children registered and supplied for school, he sent me a text saying he’d spent a hundred dollars (from his 6-figure engineering salary) on some extra school supplies that they needed and that he would be deducting that from child support since I’m responsible for school expenses according to our joint parenting agreement. He’s so thoughtful!! I could tell you how much he pays for child support, but that would be in poor taste - ‘poor’ being the keyword. 

Thanks, honey. Now I remember why I don’t live with you anymore.

Hell, Part Three: “Cancer”

Wow. It’s tough to funny that one up. I’m seven years cancer free this summer but my routine physical turned up something suspicious, so I get to go in for a biopsy. But not until Monday because I need some time to lose sleep over the prospect of doing that whole cancer treatment thing again. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” says the doctor, trying to ease my anxiety. She’s pretty funny. Hey, doc, how about some Xanax or something because that “I’m sure it’s nothing” is not really working for me. I’m not worried though. Really.  I’m sure it’s nothing.

Hell, Part Four: “I’ve been found out.”

I’m a teacher (see Hell, Part One). I mold the minds of impressionable youth. I’ve been doing this for 32 years. I love my job. I love teaching. 

I also love writing and my brain, when not at work, sometimes creates not-so-appropriate-for-the-under-eighteen crowd fiction. So I write under a pseudonym. This week some clever people at work found out about the book I wrote that is now officially unpublished. Those clever people are probably reading this now. “Hi, clever people!” I wave. 

If Alexander Payne would just buy the movie rights for the book, I could quit my job and move far far away. 

BUT - it’s Friday and things cannot possibly get any worse until next week at the earliest. Also, I do have wine to drink this weekend even if it’s another week until I get paid. 

Cheers!