Last night’s sickeningly sugary dinner resulted in the most exhaustingly active dreams… it was the full techni-coloured tragedy: dancing girls, dancing bears, circus acts, live music and a colourful cast of characters I’m sure included a mincing cat burglar. I woke up at 6:50 am feeling like I’d spent the night astral travelling my way through a meat mincer. And remind me to call the friend I dreamt about to tell her about her alternate destiny as a hardcore rock chick – I think she’ll be pleased.
But phew – that was one tiring sleep session. I feel like one of the fairytale princesses who sneak out to meet the princes and secretly dance the night away… maybe I should check my shoes for worn soles…
It was an early start, too, since IVF round #2 commenced this morning at 8:10 am downtown. Blood test in my arm, Synarel in my handbag, charge on my card. We’re back in business, friends! A very old, very dear friend of mine is starting her first round in London today, and she’s sounding a little anxious about it. I wish I could give her a big hug as it sounds like she could use it. I only hope she has as uneventful a time on the drugs as I did – and I hope I enjoy the same minimal side-effects this time around. Fingers crossed.
Good writing day today… started a short story I’ve been mulling over since Shanghai and also continued on with MS #2. I also cracked, caved, gave in: I emailed the agent who’ll have had #1 for f-i-v-e months next week and asked how it was all going. As I said, in a lifelong comedy of errors, it would come as no surprise to me to learn the MS was returned weeks ago but was lost in the post en route. Even the thought makes me giggle. I can so clearly imagine that this is what’s happened that I am biting the inside of my cheek right now to stop from laughing. And truly, I would find it funny. I wouldn’t have even bothered asking but for the fact that I want to work on MS #1 next Darkling retreat, and I want to work on it without anything like this hanging over me. I want a clean slate. I’ve assumed it’s a no for months now, but the thought of not receiving confirmation of that before we go away really irks me. It bothers me because I know myself well enough to know it would play on my mind, thus hampering my progress. I also don’t want to go on the retreat only to be derailed by an ill-timed rejection email right in the middle of it. I’d rather have a few days to digest the implications, embrace the benefits, and move on.
Having waited one week shy of five months for an answer, I can’t tell you how vexing it’s been waiting for a response this afternoon. A response I’ve not yet received, I might add, but given I only sent my own email at about 2:30 pm, that’s hardly surprising. I just want it to be over now. I’ve hit the wall. It’s required more patience than I knew I possessed to sit this out for this long, but now I’m done. I admit defeat. I just really want the answer and I have stopped caring what it is. Isn’t that terrible? Terrible but true. I’ve completely lost interest. And I’m not being cavalier or disingenuous – I’ve only lost interest in the outcome because I know I’m shortly due to start redrafting the MS again. Therefore (and I feel like I need to show you my working like in a botched Maths problem in high school, when I might still have scrounged a couple of marks for trying), what this agency says about the draft they received has for all intents and purposes ceased to matter, because it won’t be this version that goes out. Even in the wild alternate universe in which a five-month turnaround time somehow becomes GOOD news for a manuscript (sorry, but if they want you, they grab you – I have seen this happen, and the contrast between that response and this is beyond extreme, trust me), this still wouldn’t be the version that would go out.
In fact, the one and only thing the agent could say to me now that really would frighten and upset me is this: “We want to send your manuscript out to publishers just as it is.”
Yep (shudder), that would be scary – as utterly fanciful as Freddy Kruger, mind you, but scary just the same.
Note to self: Monday, let’s talk about diary keeping. Was reading through an old one of mine through the week, and my, my, it’s a doozy. It raises some interesting questions, including WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING??