The Writing Contest

Date: April 17, 2005
      The Writing Contest.
      I am signed up for a writing challenge.
      This is because my younger son had literally yelled at me for not writing, not getting published and not starting my publishing business. This a week before he went into the hospital for the last time.
      I was to "stop using me as an excuse" as he put it.
      I stopped him cold turkey and reminded him that he was the center of my world and that I was going to see him cured and we didn't mention the alternative although it hung in the air before I worried about the rest of it. He was my concern. I could not write while he was ill. And especially while he was so seriously ill.
      Like losing over 80 pounds (him, not me).
      Like not being able to eat (we did not yet know why).
      Like having such severe leg pain even he, with his high pain threshold, could barely stand it.
      So we went on fighting the leukemia that killed him (that and too much chemo), until it was over.
      He was concerned about me.
      He was adamant that I would write.
      So I went to my writing group, this month because I know he watches me.
      I took a Saturday seminar and banged up the truck. (That's another story).
      And entered a writing challenge - Book in a Week.
      So here I am, glued to my computer on a sunny day, the yard work on hold, the closet cleaning on hold, so what if I step over strewn clothing and the box for my sister to sell on eBay sits in the third bedroom, blocking access to the washing machine.
      I manage dishes - since I only do them once or twice a week.
      And laundry - since I hadn't done my sheets in two weeks and was running out of underwear.
      Never mind the pile of stuff dumped out of the underwear draw and residing on the bedroom floor.
      You see, I am slowly removing myself from the house.
      Not just his clothes. Mine too.
      Streamlining.
      My life must have a drastic change.
      Piece at a time.
      Time to get rid of the hundreds of videos and some of the DVDs.
      Time to toss magazines.
      Time to get rid of excess furniture and kitchen stuff, because I am no longer getting ready to set up his apartment.
      I was ready.
      It just never got to happen.
      So here I sit, trying to write.
      I cannot do 35,000 words a day.
      I never have.
      I am happy with 5,000 words a day since I type at work and since I am nursing mild to moderate carpel tunnel and do not want to set it off.
      I am starting with 26,000 words on a Regency novel that has humor and twists and just flew into my head one day, before he got really sick. I decided that it would be the one to finish first.
      35,880 words so far on this the second day.
      That's not bad.
      I even got up early, as I was wont to do in the past.
      I typed diligently, sort of, taking time to stand and break, drink something, turn on a machine, burn eggs, etc.
      But at around 12:30PM, the time that my son would have wandered into the house from his "clean" room, letting me know he was up by flushing the toilet, and then requesting food, drink, when he could eat food and drink.
      He will never do that again.
      And at 12:30 PM it was very, very difficult to go on.
      I watched the end of Sense and Sensibility, the end of 7 brides for 7 brothers, the end of the Canterville ghost, modern remake.
      I stood in the center of the old family room and stared out at blooming roses and sunshine and I just felt hurt.
      I feel discombobulated.
      I went to the store.
      I got my pills (Synthroid and Singulair) and ordered progesterone since I had forgotten I was out.
      Then I walked over to OfficeMax.
      Last time he and I were there we had picked out a chair he wanted and they could not find it! He was fading after a near hour wait so we got one to match mine and went home and built them.
      I never got back for that other chair.
      I never forgave them for being so disorganized.
      They have rearranged the store.
      I wandered about and found they did not have the notebook I wanted (small spiral - not an expensive thing - the office kind).
      It took some time to find the Zip disks. I got a package of four 250s.
      It was difficult to be there.
      It is part of the go everywhere you were with him therapy.
      It is not helping me.
      I came home and made a cup of French Vanilla coffee - the kind that more than two cups will give you "rectal leakage" since they have snuck Olestra or a near relative in there. One will not hurt you. Two and you need a diaper.
      I have already had a Wolfgang Puck 9-carb mocha.
      It's a bad day.
      I sat in the sun for a few minutes after banishing a few weeks worth of cherry blossoms and leaves from the swing seat.
      Spiders are everywhere, of course.
      And my chimes are blowing in the wind and playing me music. I have four sets now. I got a new big one and repaired the other big one.
      I now have a headache (tears will do that to you) and still feel discombobulated.
      Perhaps I should sit in the spa.
      Perhaps I should put in another DVD and get on with writing.
      I sat in the spa.