Three days ago I was getting antsy.
Just two days left.
I had a sinking feeling – you know, like when you’re on a roller coaster or a log ride and your stomach just falls to the floor? You’re holding your breath, waiting for your heart to catch up to your brain and start beating a million miles per minute. Right before then.
That was telling me that the next deadline, May 10th, wasn’t it for me either. It just isn’t my year. For contests, at least.
Oddly, my intuition was right. Even odder still? I am okay with it.
There is so much going on that it’s good I’m not going. My oldest, Bunny Wabbit, leaves for camp right in the middle of the Squaw Valley Writers thingamajig. It would be sad not to be there for her coming of age ceremony. My youngest, Little Bear, would be sister-less *and* mommy-less for two days or so and that would be a little hard on her.
So maybe life is just telling me to slow down and enjoy the ride. Which doesn’t sound half bad.
Anyhow, even though that bitter sweet moment has passed, my hands are raised, waiting for the quick descent. Something tells me that even though *this one* got away, it’s not the only one. So I may have a temporary reprieve, witnessed by the mid-day nap in the sun, the grand barbecue and the bonfire in my backyard that is still going on as I write. Can you hear the campfire songs?
I might be taking a breath of relief, but it’s not over.
Nope, it’s not over ‘til the curvy lady screams.
And I’m not screaming yet.