The Journey We Take Together -- Part Four

Note: Susan Prisant is pictured at right in her front garden in Caesarea, Israel, where she lived with her husband, Sandy, some years back. The couple also lived in Barcelona and London and now make their home in Florida.

By Susan Prisant

Finally married, even if it took three times. From the beginning, it was clear our lives would not be taking a normal path.

Sandy went off to The Daily Cardinal everyday. Wisconsin’s college newspaper competed with Madison’s two dailies and got 20,000 regular readers. As sports editor and a member of the editorial board, The Cardinal left him no time to attend classes, nor energy to care about them.

That didn't stop him from acing tests, however. The night before an exam, he simply read the course syllabus and managed to graduate with honors.

Meanwhile, I was out to change the world, or at least a small part of it. I took a job teaching wayward girls how not to be wayward.

Almost from the beginning, we fell into a tempo that made travel and discovery a priority. So it was that in less than two years, in an effort to combine study with real work, we relocated to New York. We’ve since moved more than 25 times. We have always been free spirits with tremendous confidence.

In those years, “home” was never our postal address. It was the family “compound” in Kings Point, where Sandy’s father had designed a modern house with a swimming pool that came into the living room. There was a big garden where we played badminton, overlooking Long Island Sound. We took long walks along the beach with the dogs. It could have been a scene out of Ralph Lauren.

Friends were always welcome. It felt like everybody’s home.

Someone was usually playing the piano, others were singing along. And food came through the kitchen’s swinging doors, non-stop.

My parents became best of friends with the Prisants. The bigger family now became inseparable.

I gave up saving wayward girls and switched to saving Russian Jews. I managed to get in on the last major chapter of a centuries-old struggle. Sandy became a journalist at United Press International, covering his two favorite subjects---politics and sports. On occasion he became almost a little boy again, sitting in the press box with the guys and rooting, not writing.

Then one day, something happened -- it was one of those events that came out of left field to change people’s lives.

Sandy loved the writing, but one day he overhead a colleague say that if he’d had a child and made $2 less per week, he’d be eligible for welfare.

It was the first in a series of realizations that led Sandy out of journalism and eventually into a job in a Park Avenue ad agency.

Meanwhile, we were hellbent on our next adventure. Still in our early 20s, we wanted to discover whether things were different beyond America’s borders. We quickly learned that they were. We organized the trip around just two things. Transportation by land and by sea. The grand old cruise ships crossing the Atlantic were in their final hours. We would not be beaten by that clock. We promptly booked a crossing from New York to Southampton on the SS United States— the ship's very last crossing. We bought an open return from Le Havre to New York on the SS France.

By land, we ordered a five-speed MG convertible to be picked up in London. The ship had decided our timing; the car dictated our route, launching us from the UK.

We had driven only 50 feet out of the London parking lot, and we were stopped at a red light. Sandy was rolling an unlit cigar around in his mouth. A Rolls Royce pulled up next to us. The window next to Sandy rolled down; the driver casually opened his lighter and said, in the Queen’s English, “can I offer you a light?”

Stay tuned for more adventures with Susan and Sandy Prisant, writers whose intertwined stories are appearing in serial format here on MyStoryLives! Part Three of Susan Prisant's series, "The Journey We Take Together," -- the story of the couple's adventures together (starting with their elopement at age 18) ran on July 7, 2011. Sandy's on-going series -- "The Journey We Take Alone?" -- tells the story of his struggle to survive a very difficult kidney disorder that he's had since birth. Part Eleven in that series ran on July 17, 2011.

How Can You Expect a Person Looking for a Job to HAVE a Job?

Note: this post also appears today on the Huffington Post.

By Claudia Ricci

Beverly Bowne, who lives in the Bronx, worked for 28 years as a billing coordinator for a printing company in New York City. And then in 2009, she and a number of other employees at the company -- including her own supervisor -- were laid off.

Bowne's employer was hard hit by the recession. The company, like so many in the printing industry, is shriveling fast as internet communication replaces the need for printed materials.

For Bowne, the lay off was devastating. "I fell apart completely," she said. "You have to go through the grieving process." Bowne has spent the last two and a half years looking for work, sending out hundreds of resumes. Often, she gets the cold shoulder from prospective employers reacting to her grey hair and her age (she'll be 60 next month.)

Now, she's begun to see a new kind of snub -- job ads on Careerbuilder.com from companies saying that applicants must already be employed in order to apply for the job. Bowne calls the ads "outright discrimination," adding that these ads "remind me of the 'Irish need not apply' ads of our earlier history."

Bowne isn't the only one infuriated by the ads. The progressive activist orgranization USAction has now launched an on-line petition campaign to stop what they are calling an "outrageous" form of job discrimination.

"It's outrageous enough that 14 million Americans are out of work. But discriminating against jobless people who just want to feed their families and stay in their homes? Employers should not penalize applicants for a job status that they cannot control, especially when prohibiting the unemployed from applying only compounds the issue."

To say American's are job-hungry is an understatement. So many Americans are downright desperate. To those folks, some of whom were comfortably employed at the top of their fields before they got bounced, the idea that you can't apply for a job unless you have one may sound a bit Kafka-esque. Or downright cruel.

But to companies advertising in places like Careerbuilder, Craigslist and Monster.com, there is a certain evil logic. These days, it is clearly an employer's job market. With so many millions of people unemployed, and frantic to find jobs, companies are routinely flooded with applications for every open position.

That flood gives employers the privilege to be very, very picky. Some employers reason that people who were let go during the recession -- people like Bowne who still cannot find work -- tend to be less desirable employees. Those lucky folks who have managed to keep their jobs are the cream of the crop.

This logic seems to Bowne like just one more punch in the face as millions of jobless remain unemployed, through no fault of their own. "They treat like you don’t want to work," she says, which is absolutely not the case. "We want to go back to work, but basically there is nothing out there." Bowne has attended numerous job fairs, and she's also had extensive guidance from social services on how to get re-employed. One tip she's taken to heart: volunteer work. She now spends two days a week volunteering at a nearby nursing home, and while there, she took the initiative to reorganize and clean out the conference room. She also took charge of the nursing home's files, and got them all in order. Still, she's so discouraged by job hunting in the New York area that she is now planning to relocate in the next month or two to Mesa, Arizona, where she has family. Hopefully, there, she will have more luck finding work.

The job ads in question are particularly hard on older Americans, for whom job-hunting already has a cruel twist. The clock is ticking for these folks, as they pass out of their prime working years.

Bowne says that in the many seminars and job fairs that she's attended looking for work, she's met a slew of middle-aged men and women who are up a tree looking for jobs. "Anybody in their 50s or older is really having a tough time," she says. "I’ve seen executives who have been out two or three years. Many of them are in their early fifties, in their prime, they’ve been vice presidents, and still they're without jobs."

An article in the New York Times indicates that job ads telling unemployed people not to apply is a practice that technically doesn't break the law:

"Legal experts say that the practice probably does not violate discrimination laws because unemployment is not a protected status, like age or race. The Equal Employment Opportunity Commission recently held a hearing, though, on whether discriminating against the jobless might be illegal because it disproportionately hurts older people and blacks."

According to the Times, companies of all sizes and types are engaged in this advertising practice. The University of Phoenix removed their ads after the Times inquired about them. Other job categories included among those discriminating against unemployed workers include "hotel concierges, restaurant managers, teachers, I.T. specialists, business analysts, sales directors, account executives, orthopedics device salesmen, auditors and air-conditioning technicians."

In a recent report, the Washington, D.C.-based National Employment Law Project called the job ads a "perverse catch-22 [which] is deepening our unemployment crisis by arbitrarily foreclosing job opportunities to many who are otherwise qualified for them. It dilutes the storehouse of talent in in America, by casting aside an untold number of skilled and dedicated workers who have the
misfortune of being unemployed in the worst downturn since the Great Depression. And it adds to the crisis that unemployed workers, their families and their communities face, as we try to crawl out of this deep recessionary hole."

THE STATE OF YOUR BED

By Judith England

"The state of your bed
is the state of your head,”
she said.

She, a Zen priest, her very being projecting
unruffled calm,
of course.

My own bed that morning looked like the scene
of some terrible struggle, or perhaps
alligator- or demon-wrestling
unsuccessfully

All night.

So, it’s morning now and I set about to smooth and tuck,
pat and fluff, pressing away with my hand
all that battle left behind,

In hopes that the state of my head can become
the state of my bed.

Writer Judith England is a certified massage therapist and yoga teacher who keeps the Holistic Health blog for the Albany Times Union.

My Friend David Seth Michaels' Blogpost Got Me Calling Congressman Chris Gibson

I just read the following amazing blogpost from my good friend and activist, lawyer David Seth Michaels. He was deeply frustrated trying to send an email to Congressman Chris Gibson's office, and so he called Gibson's office in Kinderhook, New York. Inspired by David's "exercise in participatory democracy," I picked up the phone and did what I almost never do, I also called Gibson's office and I told the young assistant who answered that the Republicans have to compromise. I told him that in last night's speech by House Majority leader John Boehner, he said the debt crisis situation was basically President Obama's doing, and that the situation could be easily resolved if the president would just agree to his, Boehner's, bill. Thank you very much Mr. Boehner, but that's not compromise. That's wanting things your way! I also called Gibson's Washington, D.C. office and after several tries -- apparently the lines are jammed throughout Congress -- I got through and left a message.

I want to thank David Michaels, who so often inspires me with his words on Dream Antilles. I also want to ask each of you who is reading this post to call your own congress person and tell him or her to get off the dime and come to some resolution as quickly as possible in order to avoid the disaster that is impending. Here is Gibson's phone number: (518) 610-8133 in Columbia County and in DC, it's (202) 225-5614. To find your own congress person's phone number in Washington, D.C., call the House switchboard at (202) 224-3121.

By David Seth Michaels

Last night after the President’s speech, I thought I would send a cheerful email to my Republican Congressman. The idea was simple: I want the debt ceiling raised without any preconditions so we won’t have a massive economic debacle. I’d ask him just to put the budget/debt/spending/taxation/deficit debate on hold to avoid a market and jobs and worldwide economic meltdown. It’s simple. Even the President didn’t ask for it though. So what. So I went to the trusty laptop, found Chris Gibson’s web site for Congress (and the ones that are still up from his November, 2010 election campaign) and tried to send an email. No can do. I get a message that says, “Server Too Busy.” No email page. Fine, I think. Millions of Americans are at this very moment trying to express themselves. I don’t care what they’re saying; it’s democracy at work. I’ll try again in the morning. I will be heard, I think. I will persevere.

It is now 8:30 am. First, because I have not had enough coffee, I mistakenly send an email to Chris Gibson at his site to be elected to Congress. After I send it I think, “That was great. And easy. On to today’s activities.” Then I realize what I did. I’m sure that was an utter waste of time and that nobody will retrieve, let alone read this email. I regroup. I again find his Congressional web page to send an email, http://gibson.house.gov/Forms/WriteYourRep/, and guess what? I wait. And I wait. And it doesn’t load. And I wait. And I wait some more. And finally after about 19 minutes I get the idea that it’s just not going to load. Ever. I’m just not going to be able to send this guy an email with my views about the impending default. The page will not load. Damn it, I say. I’m not going to let this obstacle prevent me from saying what I have to say. I’ve got too much invested in this project already. I’m going to have to use antiquated technology, the telephone, to call my Congressman’s local office.

Meanwhile, while I’m wondering how the United States Congress can have such crummy servers and whether that is in fact a metaphor for the entire US infrastructure, if not the alienation of the voters, I get a disquieting, automated response from the Chris Gibson Campaign which ended in November, 2010. It says:

Our campaign is dedicated to restoring a free, prosperous and safe America. We believe that by reducing taxes, spending and borrowing, we can unleash the private sector‚s ability to create jobs and provide economic security for local families.

Ut oh. It doesn’t sound like Congressman Chris Gibson is in favor of just raising the debt ceiling to avoid an economic meltdown. Sounds like he might have some other agenda, one that sounds all Tea Partyish. Is he an acolyte of the Orange Guy? Of the T-publicans? I shrug. I’m will not be deterred. I don’t care what he said when he ran. We all know that most of that campaign, just like very other campaign, was complete nonsense, just political garbage, no matter who the candidate was. Just look, for example, at President Obama. Yes, I say, just look. That turns out to be a very depressing, disillusioning idea to pursue. I stop thinking about it and tell myself to get back on task.

Undeterred, I try to shake off the bipartisan gloom and find the Congressman’s local phone number. Great idea. His web site still will not load the office information so I cannot get a phone number for the Hudson office from the web. I wait. Meanwhile, I wonder whether Obama is ever going to close Gitmo, or tax the fat cats, or do any of the other great Hope and Change mambo I enjoyed so much. I start to muse about Universal Health Care. Impeachment of Cheney I’m getting very depressed. After about ten minutes of totally dispiriting self talk, and trying figure out how to get a number, the website loads, and I find a number in Kinderhook, (518) 610-8133. Ah. The day will not be a complete waste, I think.

I dial. To my surprise, the number is answered. Immediately. I tell the woman on the other end that I’m a constituent, that the nation and I cannot afford a default, and that I want the Congressman to do whatever has to be done, including caving in completely to the President, hoisting the white flag of surrender, to avoid a default. The debate on taxes, debt, spending, the deficit, all of that stuff, can wait for another day. Just prevent a default. Just avert the economic disaster. Do whatever has to be done to prevent a worldwide economic collapse. She says she’ll tell the Congressman. I think her, give her my contact information, and hang up.

Thank goodness. I was beginning to think it was going to take all day to unburden myself and get this modest message through to my representative. I was beginning to reconcile myself to wasting hours to accomplish just that. This only took 45 minutes. Great. But now I’m thinking that what happened is that they have a score sheet at the Congressman’s office with two columns on it: Column 1 says, “Boehner,” Column 2, “Obama.” It took me 45 minutes to be a line, like “/”, in the “Obama” column. Yes, they’ll tell the Congressman all right. They’ll tell him at the end of the morning, 106 for this and 102 for that. Then he’ll do whatever the people who wrote their opinion on the back of a $1000 check told him to do.

This thought leads to frowning. Where, I wonder, where is all of the Hope. And the Change. And that strong safety net. And our caring about the people who most need assistance. I have no idea. And why, I wonder, isn’t the President on board with, “Give me a clean bill, one that avoids the default until 2013, and we can debate all the rest of this afterwards. This is an emergency.” Why indeed. Why is everything I want always, yes, always “off the table” before the discussions begin. How sad. It feels like electoral politics business as usual.

OBAMA SPEAKS, NOW I'M LOOKING FOR A RALLY TO GO TO

NOTE: This post also appeared today on the Huffington Post.

By Claudia Ricci

It's been more than a year since I sat up and really listened to something that the President of the United States was saying. It's been at least that long since something President Obama has said moved me in any way or made me particularly proud that he's the Guy in Charge.

But Friday evening when he spoke to reporters after talks on the debt ceiling agreement fell apart -- because the rockhead Republicans refused to move off their position on raising taxes -- something happened. For a few minutes, I felt like I was watching the Obama of the old days, when he was campaigning, when he could muster an electrical response in audiences with his supreme rhetorical gifts. In those old days, Obama seemed to have what it takes to bring the country together to move forward.

Now of course the love affair is long since over and it's not clear the President has the audacity of hope or the political talent or willpower to propel us out of a first-class mess.The past few weeks have brought into sharp focus the desperate political and economic straights that we face as a nation. With Republicans unable as the President pointed out "to say yes to anything," and the right-wing Tea Party crowd willing to see the country go up in smoke to prove some kind of ideological (did I say idiot-logical?) point, we are fabulously stuck. And it's frightening.

What impressed me Friday evening was the fact that Obama looked and sounded authentically pissed off. He was angry in part that he had been "willing to take a lot of heat from my party" to call for cuts in entitlement programs. Indeed, he totally infuriated Democrats with his willingness to cave into right-wing demands for cuts in Medicaid and Medicare, government programs that serve the poor and the middle class.

But even as he showed this flexibility (some would say weakness,) the Republicans led by Majority Leader John Boehner still refused to compromise. They refused to consider raising taxes to help close the deficit. Without tax increases, Obama pointed out, "the entire thing ends up being tilted on the backs of the poor and middle-class families." That is, we squeeze the people most in need for the money.

It was when he laid this out, and when he made this point rather elegantly in his press briefing, that I found myself sitting up and paying attention. It was when Obama stood up and spoke out on behalf of working families and seniors -- for the American middle class -- that I said, finally! Thank you Mr. President. This is what I wanted to hear:

"The hard part is actually dealing with the underlying debt and deficits, and doing it in a way that’s fair. That’s all the American people are looking for — some fairness. I can’t tell you how many letters and emails I get, including from Republican voters, who say, look, we know that neither party is blameless when it comes to how this deft and deficit developed — there’s been a lot of blame to spread around — but we sure hope you don’t just balance the budget on the backs of seniors. We sure hope that we’re not slashing our commitment to make sure kids can go to college. We sure hope that we’re not suddenly throwing a bunch of poor kids off the Medicaid rolls so they can’t get basic preventative services that keep them out of the emergency room. That’s all they’re looking for, is some fairness."

As someone who teaches in a university program that serves hundreds and hundreds of poor kids who come from inner city neighborhoods, I know a lot about how much government services mean. I know that most of my students wouldn't be where they are today, going to college to get ahead, if they hadn't had these vital services. I know how much their lives have depended on Medicaid and food stamps and welfare checks. I know how much these students continue to depend on government loans in order to stay in college. I know that without all of these government programs, these same students might very well end up going nowhere.

So when the President stood before reporters in the White House on Friday and said that legislators have a moral duty to protect ordinary people -- those "working stiffs" he hears from in the bundles of mail that come to him daily -- I found my heart beating a little bit faster.

He said:

"It turns out, actually, that the plan that Speaker Boehner and I were talking about was comparable in terms of deficit reduction. The difference was that we didn’t put all the burden on the people who are least able to protect themselves, who don’t have lobbyists in this town, who don’t have lawyers working on the tax code for them — working stiffs out there, ordinary folks who are struggling every day. And they know they’re getting a raw deal, and they’re mad at everybody about it. They’re mad at Democrats and they’re mad at Republicans, because they know somehow, no matter how hard they work, they don’t seem to be able to keep up. And what they’re looking for is somebody who’s willing to look out for them. That’s all they’re looking for."

He concluded the briefing by saying something very important: "At some point, I think if you want to be a leader, then you've got to lead."

By this point, I was standing in front of the the TV. I turned to my husband and said, "I swear, if there was a march somewhere tomorrow to support Obama's position on this debt ceiling deficit reduction mess, I would go."

OK, so when and where is the rally?

"What's Really Going On, America?"

By Alexander “Sandy” Prisant

Note: Writer Sandy Prisant was formerly an adviser to Britain's Department of Trade and Industry and the British Overseas Development Agency. This post appeared first on Wordsmith Wars, a blog on the UK's Telegraph.co.uk, an online version of The Daily Telegraph.

Does any American really think a higher debt ceiling will save the nation? If you thought that, you'd be wrong.

The debt ceiling debate is merely a stalking horse for the back story – the attempt to eviscerate America’s middle class by eliminating even the flimsy social floor the country has now. That would pretty much finish off anyone not rich enough to pay for their own health care, education or social services.

Already, income equality has fallen through a black hole. We are back to the same gap between rich and poor that existed in the US in 1910. That means all the equality gains of the past 100 years have been wiped out in just a decade. America’s income profile now looks little better than that of Paraguay, where a few super rich and tens of millions are struggling to live a decent life.

As the rich and the Tea Party, now blatantly overtaking the Republican Party, fight to grab the remaining 10% of our country’s assets from the other 90% of the population, the back story is the fight to hold off the steps Republicans are taking to cut the legs out of unions, middle class households and ordinary workers. Here is one small part of that back story.

When Wisconsin’s new governor took away collective bargaining for state unions, it was just the first dagger to the heart of the people. Now those people are fighting back. Six Republican state legislators are now faced with recall elections, in the hope that Democrats could take those seats and stop the Governor cold from further shenanigans.

While we as a nation are watching the debt debate theater in Washington, this is the sort of TV ad that the good people of Wisconsin are watching. Take a look.

Indiana Writer Emily Suess Reviews Seeing Red!

By Emily Suess

In the novel Seeing Red by Claudia Ricci, readers follow Ronda on her adventures of love, passion and self-discovery. Sounds hokey and unoriginal on the surface, doesn’t it? But let me just say that Ronda has issues, and they are very interesting issues. Instead of pursuing a career in dance at the age of 19, Ronda got caught up in a relationship with her college professor, got married, and raised two boys.

Now 18 years later, Ronda is newly divorced and dealing with her sons’ transition into adulthood. Life is forcing her to examine her marriage, her unfaithfulness, and her changing relationship with her children.

At the same time she must come to terms with these changes and her own infidelity, Ronda finds a renewed passion for dance and gives herself over to the study of flamenco. However, her life takes a twist when her lover, Jesus, disappears in Spain.

With a book as artfully written as Seeing Red, it only takes a few pages to become immersed in Ronda’s world. For a time you won’t even know you’re reading; you’ll just feel like you’re there.

Emily Suess is a freelance writer based in Indianapolis, Indiana. This piece appeared first on her blog, Suess' Pieces.

At the Top of the List of Things to be Grateful for: Splashing in a Pond

Has it EVER been this hot?

Maybe maybe not.

But I know one thing for sure. I've never appreciated the pond as much as this morning. Because of all the rain this summer, the pond is pretty full (usually it's shriveled into a mud puddle by this point in the summer.)

Not today.

Splashing in that cool water -- which feels like it's clean enough to drink -- was just heavenly. It made me feel as grateful as I could be.

If you are hot, and you happen to be passing through Spencertown, N.Y., and you want to jump into my pond, you are welcome. Just email me for directions, and bring your own towel. My house is the one with the blue tree in front.

Artsy Fartsy and Look What's Come of It -- An On-line Book!

Note to Readers: Earlier this year, I experimented by serializing chapters of my new novel "Seeing Red" on the Huffington Post. Meanwhile, I have also been writing "Sister Mysteries," a crazy time-travel murder mystery, on-line. One email I received in response was from a couple named "K & J." They explained that they had written, illustrated and constructed a full website for an online serial called "Impeccable Petunia." Said K: "It's a series about a backyard chicken of the same name and we just released it a few weeks ago. We're new at this and we thought we'd write and say "hello."

Well, so, here is K, writing about how this beautiful project came to be! Good luck K and J!

By "K"

"Impeccable Petunia" started as an unpublished blog project. We loved the blog idea, yet we found storytelling exciting and wanted to explore where we could go with it. A few weeks after scrapping the blog, we grappled with where to go next.

J suggested that I try free writing, to which I replied, "I don't free write." He gave me that searing look that he gives when he's determined to get me to do something, and though I knew I was going to lose in the end, I fought anyway. "I come from a policy and research writing background," I replied, "If I write, it's with an objective or a goal. This open-ended artsy-fartsy nonsense is not for me."

After exhausting all my excuses I sat down, and to my surprise I wrote a silly little story about forest animals.

J read it, laughed, and said, "Do more."

"More?" I complained.

"It's good. More."

Back to the blank screen I went and one day a few weeks later, J, as he often does, enlightened me with an interesting factoid he'd read that day: "Did you know chickens can see more colors than people?" An hour later, "Petunia" was born. It was a one-page anecdote that has evolved into a serial about a backyard chicken who discovers her talent for interior design and how that impacts her life and the life of her flock.

To my astonishment, J loved it and "Petunia" has since taken over our lives.

J has always been an artist. In college he would draw, paint and arrange bits and pieces of colored paper into beautiful creations that amaze me to this day. After college we moved from Southern California to Seattle where he started his own web design business.

I, on the other hand, have had a much less direct route to this point. My undergraduate training is on the research science side and I have a master's degree in public policy analysis. I started in politics, then moved into consulting work. I'd enjoyed writing stories when I was younger, but it had never progressed beyond that point.

When our economy changed a few years ago and work dried up, we decided we had to try something new. As we are children of the Internet, it just made sense for us to use our skills in that direction.

Little did we know that what would come out of it was "Petunia." While I have always loved a good story, I have never written fiction, so what you see here is about five drafts, months of work, and a little help from a kind friend with the proofreading and editing. I was completely terrified at first, but as I kept working at it, I found it to be more gratifying than anything else I've ever done before.

We thought about a more traditional publishing route but decided to utilize the medium we know best. Our desire for the project has been to create something fun and enjoyable that people could read on their lunch breaks, on an iPad while curled up on an easy chair or on a smart phone while waiting to pick the kids up from soccer practice.

As for the rest, well, we're still not sure yet. All we know is that we love our chickens and we hope other people do too.

"A Good Night's Sleep"

By Lynn Biederstadt

Some writers thrive, living close to the edge. I’m not one of them.

I’m like a cat, that way. I cherish a certain amount of order. Predictability. Quiet. Unlike writers who live happily in excess and turmoil, I am a sailor in my head; I favor calm waters of circumstance upon which the ideas can sail.

Calm has been hard to come by, lately. Balance has been available in minutes, only. I am beset by much uncertainty. Body blows to an admittedly unsteady ego. Job searches. Homes disrupted in the craziness of water and demolition damage and an imminent move. My brain grabs a couple of intense, dreamless hours a night, then wakes busy and holds sleep at a distance.

This is not productive time, this insomniac-attempt to plan Step A to Step B to Step C. It is racket, buzz, noise in the mental attic. And the work has suffered for it. I have found it impossible to trust my choices from sentence to sentence. I haven’t been able to hold anything in my head for more than a minute. I barely have two brain cells to rub against one another.

Even so, I turn to the page with gratitude. Despite the writerly ADD that sent me to check for new leaks every ten minutes, I got a chapter finished. And another. And notes assembled for more…and a possible decision about combining two chapters into one. The return of balance in small steps. At least for now.

Tylenol PM is a gift to writers. And maybe exhaustion is, too. I woke looking forward to the day, whatever it might hold. Maybe the calm won’t last the day. Maybe it won’t last the hour. For now, the good night has given me a good day. For the writer, whose life unspools out of a steady head, I’ll take it. Whatever it turns out to be.

Writer Lynn Biederstadt, who lived for 32 years in New York City, is now living in Missouri. She is the author of several novels, including "The Spiritkeeper," portions of which have appeared here on MyStoryLives. Her books have been translated into four languages. She blogs about writing at skydiaries.wordpress.com, where this piece appeared first.