Our Lady of Sorrows by the Sea

So, as many of you know, the real Our Lady of Sorrows by the Sea is the name of the cottage my friend Morgan rents yearly in Rehoboth Beach. But I'm taking off tomorrow for a daughter-monastery, as it were, of the original O.L.S.S., at the Pines on Fire Island. Lucky poor graduate students that the b.f. and I are, we have friends who have had a little more experience in life as well as more time to have bought property.

I've been working pretty hard for the last two weeks so that I wouldn't feel guilty for doing nothing all weekend, and it seems to have paid off: I hammered out 27 pages of my next chapter in the past three days. Definitely a draft needing work, but a written draft and not an in-my-head-I-really-should-write-that-down draft. So I'm pooped, but ready for the beach. I've never been to Fire Island, but I'm sure I'll have lots of stories about the eradication of my already fragile body image and the long afternoons of medical mojitos consumed to alleviate that first symptom.

The image, btw, is courtesy of www.despair.com. I'm not actually that bitter...but I loves me my washed-away sandcastles...

1 comment:

David said...

Hope the time is/was restorative for both of you.

Fire Island played a role in the first months of our acquaintance as well. It would be fun one day to exchange stories across the decades.