A Thousand Minor Annoyances

I think it's human nature. I have some major stress going on in my life right now. My father's blindness has advanced rapidly, and we found out yesterday that the vision loss of this week, to near-total blindness, is irreversible. So that's it. What we thought would happen gradually over the next couple of years instead happened in one awful week. There's other stuff going on . . . and so I can't sleep. Thank God for my best friend who is also an insomniac. I can chat with her until I do get sleepy. But, oddly enough, in my waking life, I'm holding together well. I'm getting ready to go visit my father for a week or so, I am mobilizing friends to find the best eye doctors here, and so on. In a crisis, I'm your woman. I don't react, I don't cry, I don't panic (usually).

It's the thousand petty and minor annoyances that get to me. Like last night. Why do I have a picture of gallon jugs of Mrs. Butterworth's syrup, you may ask? Because that monster-sized Costco container of syrup is what my two-year-old (a.k.a. Demon Child) decided to throw from the TOP stair all the way down to the first floor of the house, where it smashed against a wall and all over his older brother's horn (big brother plays electric guitar and also a horn). Yes, I cleaned it up, but what does syrup attract?

Ants.

Which greeted me this a.m., swarming.

But that wasn't all. The Demon Seed also took the ONE piece of skincare that has worked miracles for me--and costs $60 for a little jar--and while I was talking on the phone with my father and was distracted, he opened it and flung the medicated powder all over the floor of the bathroom.

Then, this a.m., I tried FOUR pens before finding one that wasn't out of ink. (Note to family: when you discover a pen is out of ink, throw it out, don't stick it BACK into my jar of pens.)

None of this is a big deal--not the syrup, the ants, or the jar--but I found myself bawling my eyes out over ants and a sticky horn and not the bigger issues. I know I am transferring. I spoke to a friend who has been sobbing over his cat's death--but was dry-eyed at a family funeral.

So I get the process, but now I have to let go of the thousand minor annoyances and focus on my story. On days like this, I love disappearing into my work.

So tell me . . . is it the big stuff or the petty stuff? Ever have days where you just want to throw your hands up and quit--when you know it's all just silly things forgotten in a day or so? Time to exhale. Time to go within.

Peace,
E

Writing with Spiderman

I am writing this blog post sort of one-handed. No, I didn't break an arm, but I have a squirmy two-year-old in Spiderman pjs on my lap. He is babbling on about "Loola"--the dog next door (whose actual name is Lily, but don't tell Baby #4 that).

And I write anyway.

A long time ago--about four kids ago--I gave up the myth that I needed certain things in order to be able to create. Quiet. Long stretches of solitude. Coffee (gave it up for geen tea). My desk in a certain order. My lucky bathrobe. Candles burning. Two hands.

Believe me, I sometimes fantasize--not about my not-so-secret infatuation, Anthony Bourdain, but about a quiet retreat, a mountain cabin or a beach cottage, all by myself, where I can write.

But I realized, a long time ago, that writers simply write. The ones who produce write when they are sick, when they are inspired, when they are not inspired. When they have only one hand and Spiderman on their lap.

So how about you? What illusion about what you need have you given up--and write anyway?

Peace,

E