Runners run, chefs cook, writers write. I’ve been off my writer’s game since before Christmas. I used to write 500 words a day, no excuses, no exceptions.
However, cancer pulled me into wanting to just sit, and not try to carve out words. Additionally, I felt dried up. Now some people think, “Hey, writers block. Take a break.” However I believe there’s writers’ will, and there’s writers’ won’t. Block is a place holder, a convenient way to excuse not pushing the brain to pull out thoughts and put them together in some new form.
I could write about not getting to do chemo today because my white blood cell count was too low. I could also write about multiple people in my family catching Covid including me. I’m annoyed at this because we’ve been so careful up to now, but now, we’re part of that statistic about how fast it is spreading. I could write about snow days on Monday and Tuesday and how wonderful they were or about how my non sick children are pulling together, rallying to keep it together. They’ve also opted for McDonald’s for dinner and we’re in no position to stop them.
The chefs in the house are down to three healthy ones, and three who can make cereal and operate the toaster. I’ll let you know when we’re reduced to eating only microwavables and frozen waffles.
The laundry will be done when I return to civic duty.
Somehow, getting the oil changed yesterday seems like a colossal waste of my time and temporary freedom. I could have gone shopping or to the book store or seen “Spiderman No Way Home” again. My world shrunk back to my computer, phone and bedroom. Boring.
Now I’m thinking, how will I survive the next ten days? Well, I know one thing. I won’t have any excuse not to get to 500 words.
How many words do I have? Three hundred twenty-eight? Nuts. I am out of practice.
So I’m here plotting out my day, how to ensure the time gets used well. Read. Write. Pray. Plan. Rest. Research. Grade. Organize. Exercise if I can. Call. Thank God for all the craziness and press on. Why? Because life has these sorts of stories in them, and we sign up for this reality when we say things like, “Embrace the cross.” or renounce the prosperity Gospel. We climb into the boat with Jesus, we should expect storms. Some of them will be calmed. Others we will simply weather until the storms peter out. Storms do. We just never quite believe it until it happens.
Still, I’d like a bit more of the healthy as opposed to in sickness clause if that’s okay. I’d like the waves to be stilled.
And then I remember, tomorrow is also supposed to be a snow day. The day might be stilled if nothing else.
The promise of a free day lets me think of all the organizational things I could be doing that I’m not…and I schedule a doctor’s appointment online. That’s something. Maybe I’ll thin out my dresser and closet since I’m stuck here… hope of the better angels of my manic energy nature defying covid, cancer, sloth and sleep over the course of tomorrow. My ambitions for tomorrow always seem very impressive until it gets to be tomorrow and then I’m thinking, “Man, that’s a load of work. Why did I sign up for that?” Still, having a plan for tomorrow even if only some gets done feels like a form of defiance over Covid and I’ll take it.
Wrote six hundred six words…now I just have to do it again tomorrow and every day going forward. Another form of defiance of the world’s waves. Part of me wants to say, “Bring it.” but the rest of me knows better.
Praying for all of you.
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