I woke up this morning feeling a little off. I hurt. I decided to head to school. I thought, “I can do this.”
By 8 a.m. I couldn’t sit, stand, or do anything without being in a great deal of pain. I knew what it was….an infection. I had them before and knew I needed to get medicine. Today.
I walked to the phone as my class went to specials, and acquired the necessary substitute instructions, (nobody showed) so I white knuckled it until my appointment, while my team took my class.I got my medication. I am resting now.
I sit down to read some slices, and to write mine for the day. I feel terrible. I look at the bandaid post, and while I realize it is meant to stretch us, I am a non-practicing writer, since high school when I wasn’t bookish enough to be the writing type Since then I have been one who defines myself as a writer, but rarely posts. It is highly personal to me.
Lists are a way to start. I felt the greatest joy when I got a comment my first day, on March 1st. Someone was finally following, listening and sharing the joy of my craft. Before now, even posting at all was a challenge. I didn’t think my posts were blog-worthy.
Tears start to roll down my face. Small slow tears. The pain has started it, the post has tweaked it. How did others start, not listing or band-aiding? How does it hurt the challenge? I write about characters and stories I develop also, but all of these are highly personal to me.
I thought I was doing well. I thought people enjoyed reading my posts for what they were. Me, sharing myself, stepping out of my own box and expanding my own boundaries.
Maybe it was just my day. Maybe I am not the writer I thought I am. Maybe this is not the challenge I should be a part of.
Maybe I will start again tomorrow…who knows if it will be a drive by or a bandaid. Maybe I will feel better.