Yarn and Selfies

Don’t take this the wrong way, but my ass hurts.

Yeah, not that way, you pervs (my people, I adore you all!) but in the more prosaic sense, by the time I got from SF Airport to Atlanta (where I am blogging from, while I wait for my connector to Daytona Beach), my left hind yaab was killing me, my tummy does not make for great laptop  accessibility, and, I’m sitting across from a Popeye’s chicken after eating a really crappy sandwich wrap for lunch.

Excuse me while I whine.

I’m actually looking forward to this trip– I had a good time in Florida last year (not to mention the fact that it yielded me the profoundly quirky Left-on-St.-Truth-be-Well,) and even though many of my friends who were there last year will not be there this year, I still want to go.  Or, rather, I want to be there.

I didn’t really want to “go”.  I certainly didn’t want to leave.  You all may or may not have guessed, but as crappy and as messy as my home gets, I sort of like it there.

I certainly like the people there.  My Mate and I seem to have less and less time as the years go by.  This worries me.  So I was really grateful when Mate agreed to take me to SF the night before my flight left.  He kept asking me what I wanted to do with our sudden windfall of time, and I kept saying, “You’re the one who took time off work to spend time with me.  What do you want to do?”

We went out to eat.  We watched TV. We cuddled. Not exciting, I know, but God, it felt so important.  And it was hard to leave him this morning–well, hard to leave at 4 a.m. anyway, but really hard to leave him, all sleepy and warm.

And it was hard to leave the kids, too, all quirky and cuddly as well.

But on Monday, I was getting a pedicure, and my friend Wendy called.  I explained what I was doing, and she was sort of puzzled– and a little contemptuous.  She works very hard– very often doing outdoor work in the mud, wearing boots.  She couldn’t understand why I would spend the money and take the time getting my feet done.  “I just can’t justify the expense.”

Last year, I might have felt the same way.  Ten years ago I definitely would have felt the same way.  But today, I have gone to conventions and met some writers I admire the hell out of, and they looked like everything we all imagine writers to look like.  Beautiful, confident, polished.

No, not what you all imagine when you think of me, I’m sure.

But going to cons, you all meet me, and I want to be my best for you.  So it occurred to me, trying to explain my need for cute feet in open-toed shoes, that with different stages in our life, we get to try different things.  I get to try pedicures.  I get to try traveling for my job.  I get to try meeting really awesome people.  No, it’s not knitting on my chair with my kids, but that doesn’t make it any less me than the yarn and the kids and the booby hamster do.

So while I’m not exactly thrilled to be leaving home, I am excited to be going somewhere.  I’ve never been to Daytona Beach.  I understand it’s really beautiful.

I can’t wait to see it.

I can’t wait to go back home and tell my people what I’ve seen.