It has been over 100 degrees here for umpty-nine days in a row, and I am done with it. It was not like this last summer. I feel betrayed by Kansas.
I love it that my daughter says “sonnet” instead of “Sonic.”
I have turned into a total gym rat. I am there five mornings a week, and I have my special little cadre of gym friends. I do the classes, I use the machines, I get beaten to a pulp by my trainer. I love it. I feel so energized and happy all the time, thanks to my getting routine exercise and having a place for my children to play--quite happily--while I sweat it out.
I recently had a discussion with my friend Libby about whether I have ever enjoyed exercise, and my answer was a resounding no. I told her that while I had never enjoyed the actual exercising, I have often enjoyed that great feeling you get after having done it. But I think that is changing. I think I am enjoying the actual exercise, and I think--nay, I know for sure--that I have had this feeling before. I had just forgotten.
Now I feel proud of what I can accomplish while whirling through the air with cheesy jazz hands, the Lady GaGa blaring, propelling myself over not one, but two steps. (Thank God for an incredibly talented instructor who offers a Double Step class.*) And I remember why I once, in college, decided to become certified to teach step. (Which I did. I enrolled in the course, studied the books, took the exams, and bam! I was a real, live aerobics instructor! I know, I know. This is either shattering your image of the Gutsy Mom or boring you to tears.) At any rate, I have been doing step aerobics, off and on, for nearly twenty years, and I still love it.
Do you ever feel like a moron when you do something you once loved, realize you love it still, and wonder why in the world you haven’t been doing it all along? That’s what this year has been like for me. First the choir singing, then the step aerobics, and now...
The word nerd. Oh yes, dear readers, she’s back and ready to geek you out. I am now officially, unofficially self-employed as a freelance editor and proofreader.
On somewhat of a whim, I put some fliers up at a local college advertising my mad skills as a proofreader, and lo and behold, I now have three clients. (Okay, so I’ve always had the one client. But he doesn’t pay me for my services.) So now I have two paying clients, and one who bribes me with back rubs.
It makes me SO HAPPY to help people improve their writing. I had forgotten that feeling, too. I had forgotten that one of my favorite parts about grad school was critiquing the work of other writers. Welcome back, Gutsy Editor, I have missed you!
You know what else makes me happy? The gratitude and excitement my clients have displayed when they get their papers back from me. It makes me so happy that something I do (and enjoy doing) pleases them so.
And you know what else makes me happy? I can do this work any time of day and from anywhere, as long as I have my computer, an internet connection, and relative peace.
And you know what else makes me happy? GETTING PAID! Watch out, Lu’s, here I come! (Incidentally, I am reading a fantastic book called My So-Called Freelance Life: How to Survive and Thrive as a Creative Professional for Hire which I highly recommend, along with the author's website. These have helped me at least start with a vaguely professional frame of reference. I’ve also been rereading The Grouchy Grammarian as well as Eats, Shoots & Leaves and my all-time favorite, Woe is I. I'm in nerd heaven!)
I am now extremely self-conscious about every word I type for this blog, because I fear each sentence will come under scrutiny. Who does she think she is, calling herself an editor? Does she not see those misplaced modifiers? And don’t get me started about her comma usage...
While I always maintain that a great deal of comma usage is an art form and subject to interpretation, I’m just going to say right now (with apologies to my mother): I am not perfect.
Covert Affairs is no Alias, but I am watching it anyway. I do appreciate Chris Gorham on several levels.
It’s five o’clock somewhere (here) and, therefore, cocktail time. I’m thinking G&T.
Have a marvelous weekend,
* Let me bust myself by explaining that when said awesome instructor informed us one day in class that she would be staying here another year, since her husband, alas, would be going on a Ridiculously Long Business Trip, I blurted out “YAY!” and thus revealed myself to be a completely insensitive, self-centered idiot. I tried to recover, but really, you can’t take back a “yay.” Let us all just remember that when someone tells you his or her spouse is headed out on an RLBT, the ONLY acceptable response is “Oh, I am so sorry to hear that.” Woopsie.