About a year ago, I wrote a blog post about how I have ambivalent, sometimes downright angry feelings about Elizabeth Gilbert’s travelogue-turned-best seller Eat, Pray, Love.
I’ve been having dreams lately where I’m off somewhere sultry and tropical, relaxing and writing. Just..writing and writing and drinking margaritas and writing some more and then lying on a beach chair with a trashy dimestore bodice ripper novel in my hands while I’m drinking yet another margarita and wearing a white bathing suit with an absolutely huge pair of sunglasses.
And I’m always so SAD when I wake up, because I know that in real life, that is NEVER EVER EVER going to happen. I don’t have the kind of money to just..run away…for a year to write and sit on the beach wearing ridiculously oversized sunglasses while sipping on margaritas.
I mean..I’d love to think that if I did, I would write the most awesome book EVER. Something so profound and amazing, the world would collectively gasp, Oprah would want to interview me and Kathy Lee and Hoda Kotb would drink much shitty wine and gush about how truly life-changing my book is and how it’s made them SUCH better (and possibly less drunk) people.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Which is why when I’m woken up by the alarm blaring in my ear and two hungry kittens meowing in my face, I’m so depressed and disappointed. Because that is not my life. That will never BE my life. Even if I won a million dollars it wouldn’t be my life. Mostly because I have a husband and son to take care of. So I’m stuck, drowning in “American Housewife”-ness, trying to work and keep up the house and keep up with the laundry and make sure my son is taken care of in every possible way while keeping my husband satisfied all at the same damn time.
I want to be a writer..but I only have small, stolen moments. And the stuff I write isn’t “commercial” (whatever that means) enough to sell. And I wouldn’t even know where to BEGIN finding an agent to peddle my weirdness to publishing houses.
I hate you, Elizabeth Gilbert. I really really REALLY do. Because you have had everything that I’ve ever wanted and will never ever get to have because I’m not half as lucky or fucking talented as you are. I hope you appreciate your luck and talents. I really do.