Thrown Caution (To Dec. Winds)

29. December 2008 by PB Rippey.

I finished my novel. I mean writing it. Let the editing begin, but I finished it. Four years, two moves, one break-up, one Big Love, one engagement on a rock, one beachy wedding and one baby later, I finished the f*****. I mean, my joy-project. If I wasn’t down with the cold/flu for the second time this holiday season, I’d split a split of more-than-marginal champagne with my husband. Instead, I’m going to limp to the bathroom and hold a towel wide as my husband hands me my son from their bath. I never thought I’d finish it, then bam, right when I’m sick, I do just that. In fact, since I’ve been sick and lying in agony in the king sized bed forever dominating our living room, surrounded by passed-out, blissed-out cats keeping my limbs pinned under the covers, I’ve been living, breathing, dreaming and writing my novel, COMPLETING COMPLETING COMPLETING. I think I’ve gone a little (more) mad. I think I’m happy. I think I need a roasted chicken sandwich from Pit Fire after my son is asleep. Want to know how It ends? It ends on a beach. Happy frikkin New Year! Now back to work.