“Now the bricks lay on Grand Street Where the neon madmen climb. They all fall there so perfectly, It all seems so well timed. An' here I sit so patiently Waiting to find out what price You have to pay to get out of Going through all these things twice. Oh, Mama, can this really be the end, To be stuck inside of Mobile With the Memphis blues again.”

--Bob Dylan; Stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again

Yeah, so I know: I haven’t blogged in a very long time. No excuses. The Muse just didn’t speak to me.

But, yeah, the Muse spoke to me this morning, and laid a burden on my heart, a big heavy burden, and I knew I’d felt this way before, a long long time ago, when I was young and foolish. “And I sit here so patiently/Waiting to find out what price/You have to pay to get out of/Going through all these things twice.”

See, I did something that for me is a risk; I submitted a story to that doggone Christmas story contest. And it’s personal, really personal. And it’s true. And I spent hours and hours on it, more than on anything I’ve done in a very long time. And now I’m fretting. What if he doesn’t like it? What if I don’t make the cut? What if it’s just a piece of crap that nobody wants to hear? Correction: What if it’s just a piece of crap that CLAY doesn’t want to hear?

Maybe I’ve convinced myself I really am quite good, And I’ve been wrong All along.

So, my heart feels heavy, like someone filled it with sand. How odd is that? I, the one who doesn’t feel much of anything anymore, am upset over this story contest? How stupid is that?

Then it hit me. I am living out my story. See, the story is about, in part, writing a letter, but postponing it for fear that there would be no response. If I didn’t try, I would lose nothing; if I didn’t try, I would gain nothing. In my youth, I held back from writing, and this time, I did too.

Then I remembered the rest of the story. Eventually I gave in. Back in my youth, I tried, I dared, and nothing has been the same.

The story is about the great love of my life. I didn’t marry him, but he is still a strong presence. When I saw Clay in NY at Lincoln Center, I had lunch with this man on that very day. I don’t feel the same intensity of emotion I once did, but when I travel back in time, in my thoughts and in my dreams, the years drop away, and there I am, exposed in all my youthful vulnerability.

And here I am, today, fretting about that story. Will he like it? Will he call? If he doesn’t, am I a big loser?

Geesh. I need to grow up!