We milled around a small table. Suitcase, backpacks, bulky handbags on the floor around us. I was leaving and trying to hug everyone in my group. I left feeling dazed, not quite sure what I was feeling.
The suitcase rattled behind me, its wheels doing overtime as I walked on the cobbled walkways of Stiles college. For a moment, I wanted to stop, to turn back and embrace all of it in a giant hug goodbye. Instead, I soldiered on taking an Uber and getting to my train track a good fifteen minutes before my train arrived.
All morning we exchanged emails, friended each other on Facebook, noted phone numbers and took copious notes on how to make it as a writer. Everybody was generous sharing what worked for them and what did not.
On the train, I am tempted to pull out my folder, to look up the websites, to start the rewrite of the piece I workshopped. Instead, I blog.
Twelve days of constant intellectual stimulation has given way to a lull, a vacuum in my head that I am loathe to fill with anything else. In some sense I feel like I have to ease back into my life, to gently transition into being mommy and wife.
Until then, the pictures and banter on Facebook will have to suffice.
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