I’m losing track of time.
My Facebook reminded me today that it was time to celebrate the anniversary
of My Year Without Sex. I can hardly remember when it started. My life is as polar opposite as it possibly
could be… in all the best ways. It has
now been four years since I started this whole journey. Back then, I felt as broken and lost as any
person could. Now, I’m whole, confident and
happy. I have a sense of where I’m
sailing, but more than anything, I’m just happy to be on the water at the helm
of my own ship. I’m at peace.
Two pretty big events have occurred recently. Firstly, I finished the initial draft of my first
novel. The biggest struggle was
overcoming the voices in my head that told me I can’t. It took me nearly six months to tackle the
final fifteen thousand words and three months to do the first eighty-five
thousand. There was a block. I couldn’t do it. Finally, I gave myself a drop dead date of
the July 31st. If I didn’t
finish by then, I was never going to do it.
That set the stage for the final battle with myself. Did I give up on myself? Did I give in to the voice saying it was just
a pipe dream? Fortunately, I wasn’t
ready to lay down and die just yet and I pumped out the last fifteen thousand in
four days, like I was possessed. I came
through for me. That was the lesson that
became really clear this week – I can always count on me. That’s nice to know. It’s hard to know.
The second major event, is that I have a boyfriend. For real!! For purposes of this blog, I will call him
Angus. He is wonderful. And everything happened at the right time and
everything has been really simple… for the most part – battling personal demons
aside, but I will get into those in another post. I’m so unbelievably happy that it is almost
too much to bear… almost…
Which brings me to last night, when I had the strangest
dream…
