Dear Jane,
I went to a tea held in honor of your birthday yesterday.
I wore the same gown as I did last year, which you would appreciate. You would also probably identify with the sensation I had after last year’s tea, when I realized that I had cut the gown’s hem too short and therefore had worn in public the 1790’s equivalent of what my generation would have called high waters (this is a term that came into use in the 1850’s, apparently, but it feels biblical, so I hope you will have a sense of what I mean).
This week was terrible. This past six months have been difficult, but this week before Easter felt like the climax of all that, and not in a good way.
Part of the reason it was bad is because it was bad, and part of it is because instead of letting all the feelings and experiences flow through, I let them take residence in my body.
Back in December, I commended my NYS rep online for calling for a ceasefire, and got trolled. I responded to the comment, and we went back and forth a few times. I was sick to my stomach for a couple of days over it. I was afraid to go online because my notifications no longer guaranteed good news. Every aspect of it felt terrible.
After that encounter, I came across the advice never to engage with trolls. I’m sure I’ve heard it before and forgot. I have a reputation for doing that. But since I had that recent experience, the advice imprinted this time.
Not sure where to start, because I have a lot on my mind, but maybe we could start with a good book?
At the Red Herring, there is exhaustive editing taking place behind the scenes. I read and reread my posts before publication to make sure I’ve gotten everything right. Even with every word forced through a fine tooth comb, I still regularly find errors after publication.
Sometimes, though, I miss the forest for the trees.
