OK, so there's one promise broken.
Last Thursday, I became aware that my hip hurt something fierce. I attributed that to my workout. And then I began shaking all over. I attributed that to not having eaten all day. Wait, I hadn't eaten all that day? How unusual. I grabbed a sandwich, tried to eat. I was now shaking all over and quite warm. I had a fever of 102. Divide that number by 2 and you have almost the exact number of women waiting for me at the Ivy Hotel, for a very cool ticketed event involving books and champagne.
In my head, I am a very healthy person. But looking back over my life on the road as a traveling author, I see laryngitis, flu, strep . . . last Thursday night, I sent my husband and daughter as my seconds. The next night, I decided to try to make my event in Chestertown, MD. My fever was gone, but I was still a wreck, shaky and fragile. After much thought, I have decided that the library administrator listening to the guest speaker dry-heaving in the bathroom is actually the more distressed person. I knew I would make it through. She had to rely on blind faith.
I couldn't travel, as planned, on Saturday, but the nimble folks at Books in Bloom in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, said I could make my speaking slot if I left early enough Sunday. Getting to Northwest Arkansas takes more time than a trip to Barcelona from New York, but it's a lovely place with lovely people. Bonus: Dinner with Amy Stewart, a remarkable writer with a second installment of her stellar series coming this fall.
Another day of travel. (It takes ten hours, door to door, to get from Eureka Springs to my house.) Then I had a day "off." On Wednesday, I made my first-ever visit to the public library in Jarrettsville, MD. There were 240 people and 1-in-3 bought books. Now I feel ever worse about waiting so long to visit. Then I had a bunch of media stuff on Thursday, Providence, RI, with the lovely Alison Gaylin Friday and today.
I'm still not 100 percent. Maybe I never was. Maybe I'm not as healthy as I think I am. Maybe if our delusions about ourselves are strong enough, they become real. "Isn't it pretty to think so?"