August 8th, 2013

Just me

How a novelist might introduce you. I mean, me.

bart_calendar posted a game last week that I only just finished an (overly long) entry to: How might a novelist introduce you in one paragraph?

I started it the next day but then Life, so I just finished filing the edges off. If nothing else, it is a snapshot of now.

She doesn't mind being away from home, but being away from the internet for very long leaves her twitchy. It's not Fear of Missing Something so much as the sense that half her brain is gone--the half that knows facts like names and addresses and what time it is. Historically, her spatial sense has been the most reliable part of her memory: the shapes, sizes, and locations of things. Each time she has lost a significant piece of jewelry it seemed like a sign from the universe that something was wrong and needed to change. In the past six years she has moved five times, been divorced, remarried, and had a baby. So much change so fast has been physically disorienting; the conviction she once had of knowing what she owned and where it was seems permanently ruptured. One lost pair of earrings showed up again in the last move, though, which seems like a good sign.

She wakes early in the morning, no matter what time she went to bed, so she is chronically short on sleep. She stretches her heels in the still predawn dark to stave off the Achilles tendinitis that is her reward for running too many conventions on hard hotel floors. This has been the most disorienting move yet; frequently she awakens confused as to the geography of the room and her location in it. She stares at a brighter rectangle in the dim and tries to make it resolve into a wall or a column. Without her glasses on this is an exercise in futility unless her memory kicks in to help.

The toddler in the next room calls out, "Mama!" Still uncertain quite how to get to the door, she pushes herself out of the bed and lurches toward the noise.


I'd love to see more people do this.