As the World Turns

So many things I should have said. Long, LONG lost friend.
I should have marked the grueling day-by-day of The Painting Project--because I certainly don't intend EVER to do one again on that scale. Not that it's completely finished; once the real painters had completed their part, it had become TOO FUCKING HOT to do any more of mine, except one more wall I finished before throwing in the towel. Later. November, after I get back, when the temps should be bearable again.
The bizarre Brief Encounter in May--though it was extremely interesting to see a snippet of Baltimore (whetting an appetite for more, sometime), Fallingwater, Ohiopyle, Harper's Ferry, Antietam. A meaningless whirlwind, so at least there was--that, the gleaning & filing of new sights. Sites.
The sheer joy of that moment, May 26, when Camille drove up (amazed at how utterly different the house now looks!) and we hugged hard for a minute. A WHOLE minute. The sweltering visit in New Orleans with her in July, museums and Inception on opening day at the Prytania and food, food, food.
Why bother even mentioning the fundraiser sponsorship sales, the Lesche handbook done again, the Hope for Paws meetings. Other than that they eat away, have eaten away. So, I'm drawing back, declining a club presidency, retiring as secretary, planning to go off the DOVES board in December . . . knowing full well that the majority of lost hours are in fact spent not on those activities. The leaf I turn over must be massive, heavy, and very--very--new. "Driven," A.C. says of me--damned right. Driven by the ever-encroaching infirmities, by the prospect of more, or even some sudden incapacity, of unpredictable death. I'm all for leaving a light footprint on the earth, but not none at all. How I've failed myself, what disrespect I've shown my potential.
Fear of failure, fear of imperfection, fear of not being good enough. What a coward--and a lazy coward, to boot. Almost a whole lifetime, struggling, yearning--& now there is no excuse.