I sit in my jammies for half the quiet lovely snowy day and write and write and write. It is a glorious egghead Saturday. My old dog and I circle the hood to stretch our legs and shake fuzz balls from our brains and I marvel at how fascinated he is, anew, by the smells along McLean. My kitten’s new favourite game is knocking my keys off my desk while I write. Scares the hell out of me every time. If she could speak English, her first word would be “gotcha”.
There’s been a shift in my writing. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before. I’ve spent twenty five years writing quite passionately about sexuality and spirituality and how the two relate. After Leave of Absence I felt the holy Muse sharply release me from this. I’m done. I’ve exhausted everything I have to say for now. I got a pat on the back and a clear redirection towards exploring diverse forms of family and questioning what makes a healthy community. But my common focus of sexuality and spirituality is habit. It’s an unconscious thread in my work that ends up extraneous. It’s rather fascinating to pluck it out and see how the story I am actually trying to write sharpens. Not to say sexuality and spirituality aren’t in everything, they are. But it’s not the direct conversation I’m having.
…After I get tired of my own grey matter, I decide to meet up with my dear playwright pal, Leanna Brodie. It’s so delightful to be nerdy wordy girls sipping Scotch on the rocks and nibbling chocolates. Leanna uses five syllable words I’ve never heard and occasionally throws in some French. I just love her for that. It’s like being invited to a wine tasting at a vineyard: from this vast vocabulary I get a little sampling of this and that and I take home what I can remember to invest in.
The brains and now the braun: I proudly explain the big bruise on my chest. I am on a learning curve with form and this week dead-lift high pulled 40lbs. I banged the barbell up against my chest on a lift too buoyant. It makes me chuckle to say this. I joke with Leanna, “next week Crossfit Charlie will have me throwing wild boars and lifting VW vans.”
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On my drive home I test the muscles in various parts of my body: what has been worked this week, what feels a bit sore? Between my shoulder blades. My inner thighs. What do I think my strongest muscle group is? I get to a red light and notice that I am doing my Kegels by habit. For the past nine years, since I decided on a natural birth, I do Kegels at all the red lights. Oh ho ho, did I chuckle. That’s my strongest muscle group! And so well hidden! I’m a secret weapon! My body is like a fluffy pink cotton candy spun around a copper pipe.
