This is the first entry in the Boomer Babe Blog. I'm intimidated by the firstness of it, but there is something that has been on my mind. Well, more like IN my mind than ON it. I just finished a wonderful book called The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard. Early on, she talks about inchworms. Any of us who were children and played outside have seen them... skinny, light green, about an inch long. They scoot blindly along a blade of grass then suddenly they hang out into the air, waving around from side to side, looking for footing. Her description of the stupid inchworm flailing around searching for the next blade of grass is sort of a comparison to the writer who meets the moment where the next sentence doesn't appear right away. What?! No next sentence? Where is it? Where is it?
Anyway, I've been thinking about the inchworm for a few days, since I finished her book. The worm is having a panic, waving around in all directions, but really.... the next step is very close by. That's me tonite, at a crossroads.
Quit the hateful boring job? Is there another blade of grass to step onto? Should I spend the years I have left clinging to this spot? Take a leap of faith in myself? I'm planning to give two weeks notice in the morning. Wish me luck, I'll try not to wave around too much.