Thursday, September 27, 2012

A Jump Start that Never Got Started

The Republican candidate for President—whose name shall not be invoked—thinks I'm a victim. Ha! Talk about projecting and being judgmental. No, no, come back. I'm not going to muse about politics today. Bleah. Today, I give you a look into this writer's belfry, as in bats in.

The other day I found a file on my desktop with the title 88888...8887.doc. Of course curiosity got me and I opened it. Ha ha! on me. The Word file was my writing journal, the one I had started a few months ago with good intentions.
Uh-huh. I was fishing around in my head for a story to latch onto. It had (and has) been a long while since I tried.
The narrator a woman in her late 50s. A lot of ways I could go with that. A lot of ways. Did I? No. Will I? I don't know.
 

 See. This became a post. Ha! Sorry for the blurriness of the photos of the scribbles. Hmmm, maybe that's a projection of my imagination right now.
What you read is actually less than 855 words. I left out a couple of passages—my thinking about Molly and Dakota, in the event that I do something with it—and edited a bit as I turned my scribbling into jpgs. 

I didn't write the second day. I remembered about it after midnight. The third day was my last day. That entry was a hoot. I talked about how miserable my body was feeling. The following several days, I remained in misery and never got back to trying to find a groove. At least, in that Word file. 

So, there you go. A peek into the mind of a writer who doesn't write fiction for a living. For now.

© 2012 Su-sieee! Mac. All rights reserved.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Seven Random Thoughts


Pain.
We take painkillers for the pain. My question is this: Is the pain still there even though we no longer feel it because we're on the painkiller? Okay, another question. How does the painkiller know which particular spot to de-pain? Or, is it just our whole body has become numb? What, still another question?

Molly the Cat. She's a bed hogger. Sometimes, by the time I go to bed, Molly is  sleeping in the middle of my side of the bed. She likes to sleep on my side because I drape an extra blanket over me. It's  a fleece blanket. Ah. Just got it. The softness and warmth of fleece must remind her of her Mommy-Cat. Molly likes to knead it into that perfect now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep spot. Doesn't matter if I happen to be under the blankets.

The Mama. Two weeks ago, the Mama was in the hospital for dehydration and pneumonia. The bacterial infection had jut begun, but because her body was dehydrated, it couldn't tackle the infection. The Mama had gotten the bug from the Husband who was in the beginning stage. I have a feeling that even if Mama was not dehydrated, she would have had a tough time with the virus. She would probably still be in bed fending it off. So, on one hand, you could say that her being dehydrated worked out for the best. Her all-of-a-sudden uncontrollable shaking and inability to move her legs and arms, which was due to the dehydration, set everything in motion to get her to the hospital pronto.

It was very scary. It'll take me awhile to stop re-living it. She is, after all, on her feet doing many of her regular activities.

The whole "moment" from first hearing a thud from the living room to finding her, calling the doctor, trying to get her to stand up to go to the doctor, calling 911, and the ambulance arriving was less than 10 minutes.  Through it all, she had one goal in mind: To get up and go to the bathroom. The Mama said later that she doesn't remember the ambulance ride. The Mama is one very small, tough broad. I hope I have not screwed up the genes I've inherited from her.

The Husband. The nasty bug hit him big-time the day before the Mama's birthday. He felt bad that we couldn't go out for her day. And when she went down with the bug the day after her birthday, he felt extra bad for giving it to her. "It's not your fault you're sick," I said. "The person to blame is the one who had the virus and went out in public and spread the germs where you somehow got them." 

The Husband was a trooper going through his own mending and healing. I gave him minimal attention, or nagging, depending on how you want to look at it.  Fortunately, he is the kind of person who sees the bigger issues and understands the needs of others (Me, in this case) to prioritize their energies. I am married to a wonderful guy.

Taking Forever. This morning, after cleaning up for the day,  he said, "That took forever. Did it seem like it to you?"

"I don't know," I said, as I glanced at the clock. It had only been 20 minutes. I had just come back upstairs after prepping something for lunch, which seemed to take a long while to do. "Everything seems to take forever."

"It seems forever until it's done," said the Husband, sitting down at his computer. "Then it seems like it went by too quickly."

I think that every Wednesday evening when I realize it's time to put out the garbage cans.

10, 5, 3. Have you ever noticed that most articles or blog posts featuring lists usually have 10, five, or three items? To be contrary, I am writing about seven things. When I was thinking about this post, several random thoughts were pushing each other to be first in my thoughts. Alas, by the time I sat down to write, I couldn't remember them all. So, this is my sixth item.

Lemons. The Mama's lemon tree now and then produces weird shaped lemons such as the ones in the photo above. The lemons are actually Buddha's Hands or citrons.   They're supposedly the best type of fruit for lemon zest. These days, picking the fallen citrons—and the regular lemons—from the ground is one of my daily exercises. 

Picking up lemons is what the Mama did every day until she got sick. And, I mean every day. Most of the fruit is way up high where I, nor the Husband, can reach even while standing on our tallest ladder. The Mama still could do the daily bend down, pick up, and walk over to the basket full of other lemons. But, there are other gardening joys for her to spend her limited energy on. I'm just glad that so far, I have been able to get to that end of the garden before she does.


And, yeah, the Mama has already gotten up on her short ladder to do some pruning when I wasn't looking. She's like Molly the Cat. We turn around and within seconds she's up on the fence. It's a matter of time before she, Molly the Cat, climbs the lemon tree. For that matter, the Mama, too. Not climb the tree, but climb her ladder to cut off another branch.  And, just like Molly the Cat, the Mama will have a smile on her face.


© 2012 Su-sieee! Mac. All rights reserved.