High expectations...

Here's my medical marijuana story...(anybody recognize the "anonymous" person holding their I.D. card in the photo?)

It was one of those stories that I'd really wanted to do well, for obvious reasons--my dearest friends Thespian and Elan have been fighting the good fight in the East Bay med-cannabis movement for awhile now, and have included me in so much of their organization's events, introducing me to the prominent people involved, etc. And, knowing this, my kindly editor gave me plenty of time to work on the piece. So I approached it (I thought) methodically, accumulating pages of notes, stacks of reference material, hours of speeches and interviews, and several documentaries on the subject. But then, as it became closer to the time I should actually roll up my sleeves and get to the writing, I put it off and put it off, somewhat overwhelmed by the mass of info and the pressure of my, ultimately, ever-so-high (pun not intended but appreciated anyway) expectations.

But when it came down to the very LAST few days I could work on it, I got really sick--partially from sharing a vehicle with someone who didn't know he was ill, but more likely exacerbated by the stress of having to undertake such a project with little time and a whole lotta self-imposed pressure. And I did that whole writerly mental-sadomasochistic bit, torturing myself with doubt and worry. I seriously didn't think I could pull it off; wondered if I was even cut out for writing at all.

And how long have I been doing this? Six years is not that long in the big scheme of things, but certainly long enough to know that I will get it done, and it will be fine, and maybe a few people will read it, and then it will be quickly forgotten and it's on to the next deadline.