So, just know, my dear readers - The problems I had after the first wonderful ten days had nothing to do with Asheville, and everything to do with me. Asheville is full of WIN.
And considering how well my routine worked, it was also clearly the place I should settle for a long, happy life of bookwriting, right?
THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT TOO!!!
Halfway through, I started seriously considering moving there. The writing was going so well. I sometimes managed to crank out a whole chapter in a day, and Asheville had so many lovely things.
BUT--
You were sensing that But, weren't you?
Okay, people - this is where I get a little weird. Feel free to skip this post if it gives you the willies.
Do you believe in Signs from the Universe? Because I do. I believe that if something isn't quite right, you'll get a feeling - a creeptastic one that nags at you like that thing you forgot to do but you can't completely remember. I believe it especially now that Asheville told me in No Uncertain Terms not to wear out my welcome.
As soon as I started seriously considering relocating to Asheville, weird things started making me feel uncomfortable.
Exhibit A: Sleep abandons me.
I was staying in an older, stately home I found on Craigslist - under renovation by the owner. Very nice place. It had two rooms upstairs, and I took one. About halfway through my visit, the second room was rented out, and something changed.
I think it was, because my roommate had completely different hours than I did. And sometimes, she would call for delivery at 4AM.
I hear you out there. You're like, so? Just find a new place where you choose your roommate.
I thought that too.
Exhibit B: The writing began to dry up.
This made me cranky. I blamed the sleep situation, but I wonder now... Maybe my writing retreats should never be longer than ten days. I mean, there's a limit
Exhibit C: I got food poisoning, which was v embarrassing and uncomfortable when you're sharing a bathroom. (The restaurant in question - though delicious - has not been named on this blog.)
Exhibit D: A dog bit me. Hard enough to draw blood but not bad enough to need stitches.
She wasn't rabid or anything. The pooch belonged to the houseowner, and when she saw a stranger (ie. me), she defended her territory.
It was just so random. I haven't been bitten by a dog since elementary school. The weirdness shook me up and made me wonder if I was missing something very obvious.
Exhibit E: A bird pooped on me.
I really WISH I was kidding, because it's kind of gross to sit down to lunch outside, scaring off a flock of little sparrows -- and discover that one of those cute birdies left a thumb-shaped present of white caca on the left thigh of your jeans.
That finally made it very clear: enjoy yourself here, but don't get too comfortable. Stay for too long, and dogs will bite and birds will s**t.
So, I made a firm decision then NOT to relocate to Asheville.
And then, like someone had flipped a switch, the city was my friend again, and seriously awesome things happened.
To Be Continued in Part III.
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