Spaghetti on the Walls

I am sitting here feeling overwhelmed. You see, I am applying for a title change at the college where I teach and that requires a letter to the Provost detailing the reasons I think I qualify for this title. I am not overwhelmed at the task at hand, in fact, I'd rather communicate this want in a letter, but it's the vast list of possibilities that has me weighed down. So many steps are required to reach so many goals. I read Facebook updates, travel blogs, twitter tweets and feel I'm just not doing enough. This one is a Neiman Fellow while that one won a grant to study art in Florence. Meanwhile this one (me) teaches twice a week, writes, swims and dances. The most recent fellowship I applied for (4 weeks in a castle in France) had me number one on the wait list, so should anyone drop out I'd be next in line. No one dropped out. I look back on my college days and have foggy memories of working at the radio station, interning at a local newspaper, a production company and later planning a trip around Europe, living in London for a year, applying to graduate school. Huh? Who was that energizer bunny who now sighs at the thought of listing all the courses I've created over the past three years? I suppose I've "applied" to the thing I want most, which is the publication of my second book. But as usual, so much is out of my control. As publishing companies downsize, scrutinize, and make choices based on consensus, I can only sit back and wait for news from my agent. It's not all as 'ho hum' as I'm making it sound. I applied for a teaching spot at Esalen and will be heading there in October for my workshop, and I'm thoroughly enjoying the writing process of my third book, a huge departure from the others (think true crime). I suppose living a creative life involves throwing lots of spaghetti against the wall and seeing what sticks. My walls are full of marinara sauce, with a few strands sticking proud.