Oh, the things I have started that are now sitting in the corners of my round brain, nestled in their own plastic Walmart bins just waiting and hoping I return to them.
I am Jack, and this is my trade.
I do it even with TV series. I have shows that I will watch until the very end, shows I love, shows I can’t stop thinking about, but I won’t, I don’t, watch the finale. This is Us, for example, which mirrors my own life, I have not seen the last episode of.
I am Jack.
My memoir sits almost complete in a sad blue document in Microsoft Word. She rests amongst the half-written poems about crispy tree leaves and notes called “What to Write About” and “Christmas List for the Boys.” It’s so sad to write it! I know it’s an important story so I will revisit soon. I just have to.
Jack is me.
I have a photo album in the works for the boys. There’s a photo of Roger wearing a white 49ers jersey, smiling, his hand on the stroller that Baby Max sat in. On one side of him stood Tyler, smiling, and the other, Sammy, smiling. I took the photo. Also in the album are memories of school plays and Sunday dinners and nighttime swims in our pool on Shamrock Drive.
He’s me. I’m him.
I suppose by writing this I am holding myself accountable, but I must also counteract this personal accusation with a small bulleted list of what I am finishing and continuing and not putting down:
- Maescribes is starting slowly, but starting, and I work on it every day.
- I am organizing and putting together recipes for a cookbook that I will not quit on.
- I stopped eating in bed after seven. Ok, it’s only been a few days but I already feel better.
- I went all-in on the garden this year, and preserved in many ways much of our loot.
- This 543-days of writing is going strong. I didn’t think I would keep up with it but we’re on day 428!
Maybe it’s genetic. Maybe it’s self-sabotage. But it’s all mine.
Teresa Forester Adams 