Feeling better

It’s now the ninth of December, and whatever ailment that has kept me from doing anything meaningful is finally starting to wane. Thank you antibiotics! I was trying my best no to have to visit the physician, but come Sunday – a week after I started to become sick – and I could feel the junk building up in my chest. I knew that I had no choice but to go in and get myself checked out.

So my congestion is starting to clear up, I’m no longer coughing like a smoker hacking up a lung, and my voice is almost back to normal. It just sucks that I have to keep up the course of antibiotics until I’m done. Seven more days. Whoop-whoop! Now I can get back to what’s important and do nothing about writing until next week.

Well, not nothing. I’ve opened up my word file on Jasmine and I’ve started reading. I almost feel ready to tackle the second half of the book, rewriting what doesn’t work, and making the story a little stronger. I’m trying to make as few changes as possible because I quickly discovered what a fragile tapestry a story is. You pull one string and suddenly the whole narrative begins to unravel. It’s a little scary.

I’m going to sit back and start a little today. I work tonight and tomorrow night and then I will be back on days for good. I’ll be able to get into some loose rhythm, and maybe make some progress. At least that’s my hope. Then I’ll have a long weekend and I’ll head out of town, a trip that was beginning to look doubtful even a few days ago, and maybe I’ll feel relaxed and ready to tackle my goal.

This week in My Silly Life

What a crappy week. My sojourn overnights is almost at an end. Tonight is my last night that I’m definite about. I’m scheduled two nights next week, on Tuesday and Wednesday, but our supervisor is adamant that he’s done working nights, so we’ll see what happens. I’m hoping tonight is the last night. I’m ready to get some sleep!

As for writing, like I said, I’m not doing any until I’m done overnights. I haven’t even read a single book. All I’ve done this week is lie around in a near catatonic state as this illness saps me of my strength, and my will to live. I feel better, but I’m not really getting well, at least not yet. Hopefully I will this weekend, which will begin tomorrow morning at 5:30 a.m.

At some point, I will have to force myself out of bed and drag myself to the local movie theater to watch Penguins of Madagascar. I mean I don’t want to, but my niece really wants to watch it. Who am I kidding? I want to watch it and I’m using my niece to keep myself from creepy myself and everyone out by watching a kids show by myself.

“Hey kids. I have Mild Duds.” 

“Umm….security!”

Not a good idea. I’ll take my niece, who’s stoked about it, and hopefully I won’t be hacking up a lung on the person sitting in front of me. That would be embarrassing.

So, I have this week and next week to enjoy not writing, but starting the 15th, I’ll be back to working on a project or another. Then Christmas will undoubtedly interfere with my writing, then New Years. No! No excuses. Two weeks is plenty to recuperate.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I want a nap.

Life balance

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My grand plans for taking time to write took a back seat to going out to the driving range. I had fun, though I still had to do some work prior to having fun. My project to clean up a ’93 Chevy pick-up is taking up a lot of my time, though where we are at now, my brother is doing the bulk of the work. I’m no good with body work, and he is. It’s been a slow and tedious task, but I think the end result will be awesome.

More than the truck, we had to unload some housing materials from a trailer, which may not have taken too much time at around an hour and a half, but the 4×4’s and siding material we had to move were not light. At the end of the day, after doing some work on the truck, and moving materials around, I felt great. Physical labor is good for the soul, and as a reward, me and my brothers headed to the driving range to hit some golf balls.

First I should tell you about my golfing skills: I have none. My ex-wife’s father took me golfing a couple of times, as did her grandfather. I had fun, but that was almost nine years ago. Crap, I can’t believe it’s been that long. Wow! Considering her grandfather stopped golfing around four or five years ago, that’s how long it’s been since I’ve been out. To put it succinctly, I sucked. It was rather embarrassing, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t laugh. It’s okay if you do, I did.

I did manage a few impressive drives, but nothing spectacular. My longest was around 150 yds, which isn’t very impressive, but compared to the others which only went a few feet, then yeah, very impressive indeed. I may not be very good, but at least I went out there willing to look like a fool, and it was good exercise. I hope to go out again soon.

So once again I let life get in the way of some quality writing time, though I’m not complaining. I spent almost three years not living by hiding behind the keyboard as I mourned the state of my life. Even if things are not as great as I would like it to be, I can’t hide behind that fact, bemoaning that my the women who did me wrong so long ago are doing better than me, especially since I have no clue as to how they’re doing. They don’t even factor into the equation anymore, nor will they again.

That’s life, and I’m living it in my fashion. I haven’t given up writing, just putting it into perspective in respect to my life. If I could, I would love to make it my number one priority, but until it pays the bills it remains a hobby and a dream. I just have to remember how important this dream is so that I don’t lose sight of my goals.

I plan to stay up a little longer so that I can get some writing done. I have a few problems to figure out as to how I will resolve the story. It’s moving in the right direction and I mustn’t lose that focus. It’s all about balance between the two opposing forces in the story, just as it’s about balance between life as it is and life as I would like it to be.

To write is my dream and my passion, but not at the cost of having fun, nor should fun come at the cost of my writing. I’m trying to find my equilibrium again, and as I teeter back and forth trying to find that balance, I’ll occasionally miss the mark, but again that too is a part of life. It’s just the price of being alive.

The cardboard sign

On my way to work yesterday, I happened upon a curious sign. I came across a panhandler on the side of the frontage road after I got off my exit. There, on the side of a busy intersection stood a relatively young man, with a beard and a wool a knit cap, holding a cardboard sign begging for money. What stood out to me was what he had written on the makeshift sign:

Ninjas kidnapped my wife. Need money for Kung Fu lessons.

I wish I would have had time to snap a picture of the guy and the sign, and I was tempted to spot him a few dollars just because the sign amused me. I didn’t give him anything, I was just tempted to do so. But the sign got me thinking about the improbability of the sign. What if his wife had really been abducted my ninjas, and what if he really needed to learn Kung Fu in order to save her?

It’s the ridiculousness of that thought that makes me want to laugh. There’s no way in hell his wife is being held hostage by a band of rogue ninjas, but the what if’s make me pause, if only for a moment.

When the light turned green, I continued on to my job, clocked in, and forgot about the panhandler at the intersection, but for a brief moment, it made me smile. I wonder if he’s homeless and begging to survive, if he’s mentally ill or otherwise incapable of holding down a job, or if he’s simply out there for the laughs. Now again, he gives me pause to think about the possibilities behind the cardboard sign.

I hope he is well.