The Seventh Letter

 
Monday, July 30, 2001                                                                                 
3:24 PM
Dear Ducky,
            You will never guess…I have not had a day off in about 65 days.  I mean a scheduled day off.  I have missed one day at each job only right after I found out that Eleanor died, which was on July 7th.  So I guess it happened right on schedule.  The lack of time for myself is starting to catch up with me.  But I need to make up for the fact that I didn’t work much while I was in school.  But I don’t want to be a whiner.  I think a lot of people think that I am…the lack of time to myself has affected my writing.  I have not written anything since the very end of May.  I am the writer who never writes!!!  Oh Ducky, sometimes I feel that this is not what I am meant to do.  Why can’t I just buckle down and get it done?  I have neglected to write to you too, which saddens me.  There are so many times that I wanted to write, but I couldn’t find any time to spend.  Now I feel as if you are slipping away from me again.  Your face has lost its definition; its color is fading.  Where are you Ducky?  Why can’t I find you?  I wonder if I really have anything of value to say to you, as if my stories may be meaningless—or even dangerous.