So my bestie, Kelly, tells me I need to stop slaving over each blog post and just simply write down what I do on any given day.
She says, “It doesn't have to be perfect. Just write this: 'Today I' and fill in the blank.”
“You don't get it,” I say. “I can't. I really can't. It's physically impossible.”
“You're a jerk,” She says.
I tell her, “You don't understand. I'm a sensitive, fragile writer. I’m like a slug, I have no natural defenses. Now shut your face, or I'll shut it for you.”
I find myself rewriting and revising emails, journal entries, and texts. I even edit and revise TO DO lists that I write on little pieces of paper and keep in the right-hand pocket of my scrubs. I can’t write a sentence without painstakingly re-reading for clarity and voice. Those last two sentences? A total of four rewrites. I do it without wanting to, the same way a swimmer must come to the surface for a gulp of air. It’s my oxygen, this revision. I wish I could refrain from it, hold my breath and just keep diving for the unknown depths below, but I can’t. After a few seconds, my lungs burn and my fingers ache to swim back. Of course it doesn’t hurt to keep trying.
Today I:
- Managed to not cry when the alarm clock went off. (No combination of favorite tunes and snooze buttoning makes the morning easier.)
- Sent a series of prayers heavenward like devotional smoke signals. (Will God accept code?)
- Chewed caramels until my teeth hurt. (Eating sticky candy is like whistling through the dental graveyard.)
- Thought and thought and thought until it hurt. (Is reflection supposed to be painful?)
- Rewrote my TO DO list: do the laundry, wash the mini blinds, clean the stove, order more ink for my Pilot Plumix fountain pen, borrow Gorilla Glue from Mom, look for a job. (No matter what I cross off, something new always fills its place.)
- Ate pasta, drank wine. (Isn’t it wonderful?)
Yes, Kelly that was hard. If I told you how much, you’d probably punch me in the neck. Nathaniel Hawthorne said, “Easy reading is damn hard writing.” Good Ol’ Natty Hawthorne
You don’t have to say it, Kelly—I love you, too.
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| Reason I Didn't Write Yesterday: Morning Moodiness |
