Last week my writing beast (who I imagine to be much like Aunt Beast and not at all like the yeti from the Matterhorn) shook out of hibernation, giving air to any leaves and cherry blossoms that had gathered upon her as she slept. As she padded to a silvery-teal pool of water to quench her slumber-induced thirst, she softly murmured, “I’m ready. It’s time.”
I wasn’t expecting her.
Though not shy about discussing 50/50 (actually, I am increasingly rose-tinted in the cheeks when it comes up) I haven’t much written about it formally, except for of course this blog. Sure, I’ll pen random thoughts in personal correspondence, or occasionally my journal gets a jumble of nonsensical words, mostly made up, that attempt to encapsulate what it’s like to do something you assumed could only be a dream, to get at the heart of what it means to meet over 50 strangers and let them into your life as they let you into theirs. Part of the expected outcomes of the journey was to write a long-form, more book like piece, and that’s the part I’ve avoided.
Until my writing beast woke up, parched and eager to be satiated, that is. This weekend, for the first time in a year, I opened a blank document and began writing, organizing, planning, plotting. I compiled the notes I’ve made and let a stream of consciousness pour out of me. After an hour, I was able to forgo the judgement toward my writing that I felt, and eventually just let the beast take over.
My mind a haze and my sense of taste saturated with chai, I wrote with a sense of freedom that doesn’t strike often, letting my mind truly wander back to the past and recalling what it felt like to get to be babysat by Casey’s family, how while in the van on the way to play rehearsal Jessa’s mom told us to keep our hair up by day and only let it down at night for the men we loved, the gasping pain of regret. I recalled conversations held while sitting in my driveway, and attempted to see the truth in situations of the past (as it seems truth only presents itself to me later).
Then I closed my computer, snuggled deep into my blankets (including covering my head like a yenta), and feeling curled up with my writing beast for comfort, fell asleep.