Usually I have so much to say. An excess of things to say, even. You would think that two weeks post book launch, I would be brimming with All the Things (I Need to Tell You). Mostly, I feel tired. I will be sailing the high seas next week with Jow which will hopefully help as I have a pile of books I need to read for book #2. I’m listening to The Last Tudor in my car, which is better than her last one because she fixes the narrative issue the last one had.
There are lots of projects I could start (or finish), lots of things I could be cooking, lots of gym I am avoiding, lots of things I am contracted to write but I feel like now Jow and I are waiting for him to start nursing school, so while he’s doing all the many things that he has to do before he can officially start in two weeks, it feel like a holding pattern, especially with vacation next week.
I have ideas about what to write about here, but it feels like I have a lack of research to back it up presently. My personal practice is not terribly exciting right now, especially compared to two years ago when I was really rocking out.
I’m having a lot of feels about having my book out that I can’t quite put my finger on. I was depressed and missing my uncle on book launch day like a champion and vomiting up whole pieces of chicken at dinner the night before my book launch party. Every time something lovely happens though – the party itself with the boys at QXTS treating me like an actual queen in exile, the flowers C. & A. sent me, the card Jow gave me, the Instagram shots from Witch stores with people holding my book, my mother making a fuss at work about my book, I feel a fierce surge of pride and happiness, that I did this. That no one can take it back. That my sales are good. My podcasts are solid.
I think about my party, I looked just the way I wanted to look at my party, my glam squad reading my mind. My hair was up in boho braids, my eyelashes were so long they kept brushing my glasses, I wore my velvet Ted Baker dress that I got on sale with a mesh top under it with my bright purple fishnets, Manolo flats and bloodmilk planchette. When I looked at myself, I looked exactly the way I wanted to look for this – not too formal, not too goth, like myself. I walked out to “Absolutely Me” and read passages I had selected. R. teased me relentlessly about it after, how everyone came to listen and no one used their cell except to take pictures and we laughed as he fussed with the thyme in the drinks. My mom buzzed and fluttered about the party, giggling with all my friends and my sister posed in her burgundy lace dress and black boots she wore just for the party. Miss Spice came after sitting in traffic for hours and we all threw our arms around her and she laughed and got everyone shots of Patron. I grabbed everyone’s hands and dragged them all out to the dance floor and I danced all night with all my nearest and dearest until I was too exhausted to go on anymore at 2a and then Jow took to me to QuikChek for forbidden food to eat in bed.
I’m so used to being onto the next, I don’t know how to sit with this. This accomplishment, this finish. I don’t know what to blog about. I don’t know what comes next. And it makes me feel uncertain and cast adrift. I’ve been so tired, it’s been hard to focus on much past work and sleep.
So I tell you. Because I know you’ll get it. And I’m grateful for your company and your love. And maybe when I get back, I’ll know what to do next.
I love you, sister queens.