Alone in a hotel

Well, I guess I'm not ever really alone anymore, am I? I would still call what I'm feeling more like squiggles than anything else. And I guess I probably feel them each day, but still nothing that is unmistakable shouting, "I am here and I am for real! We are two!"

I have been trying to work toward some writing goals to reach before July, and in the midst of February (never my favorite month) and on the rebound from two weeks of being snowbound, I almost thought it was silly to come to this writing conference. I should just sit and write, I thought, not go to yet another thing to learn to be a better writer. ("Because you're not very good?" my son asked when I explained the reason for me taking off for a day and two nights. Guess I didn't explain that very well.)

And then I felt guilty that the other writing mamas coming with me wanted to stay a second night, which I just can't swing. But I am warming to the idea of a different locale for a non-conference writing getaway. I wouldn't mind paying two nights in a hotel if I knew I would be in the room a lot to write and could use a fitness center, walk to a decent restaurant or two, take a break to walk on a beach or just somewhere interesting.

That sounds lovely, and probably a good idea to make happen in the remaining 5.5 months I have with the baby on the inside.