Thanksgiving ambushed me, but I think I'm recovered. Finished the NaNovel and am looking forward to editing it (don't ask me why, I'm just ready to rip the text to pieces). Haven't read much, but the nightstand is moulting novels so I should be catching up on that soon.
Meanwhile...the difference. A few days ago I received an e-mail that, as these things may, struck me as less friendly than it could have been. A few angry hours later and I'd updated some lists that needed updating and found myself once again grieving over the events of the past year and a half. It sucks...but things have changed. I'm not going to find another office job and start attending my old writer's group. Our two oldest dogs aren't going to run around in the backyard and then come in to snooze on the carpet. Things have changed.
Until yesterday it wasn't a profound change, because until yesterday these weren't changes that I allowed to move into the past. I'm still dreaming about my old job. Invariably, I'm trying to get things done knowing that I won't get paid or knowing that I'm skipping out on another job to finish "just one more thing" in the old one. I would dream that I was sneaking into offices that should have been closed just to finish paperwork. My brain wouldn't let it be over and I could feel myself tucking in my head like a turtle as I kept shuffling that damn useless paperwork. Then someone struck a match to my frustration and changes had to be made.
I don't know yet whether this means no more nightmares, but it does mean that I'm now aware that I can't just pick up where I left off. I can be a writer, but I can't hide out in a group of other writers and pretend. I can imagine not being a writer. I can think about working again without carrying around the burden of unfinished business.