Is the world against us writers? It seems that each time things are going well, something happens to hinder the writing process. It may be mental, physical, or something outside of the body totally.
With me, this past little while has been a mixture of it all.
Twice an injury slowed me down. Still sore, but I can write. I think I mentioned my mother moved in with me, my kids have seemed to stop thinking I have any authority over them. Then the inlaws seem to think my house is a hotel and that my husband and I are their maids/cooks/babysitters.
Ugh.
Mentally, I am exhausted. Being a wife, mother, and daughter is so much work in itself that trying to add the writing for a living is darn near impossible. I hear over and over from friends of mine about how strong I am, what a wonderful person I am for doing what I do, and so on...it drives me crazy.
Here's the lowdown. I'm not a saint. I hate this life. I am ugly and resentful inside, though I try not to show it to the ones I am caring for. I yell at times, brought to the breaking point by everything around me. I feel as if I am in a bad dream, drowning, while slippery dark things grab me by the ankles and drag me into the deep.
Yes. I am hateful.
But yet, I go on. Someone once asked me how I do it all. I honestly don't know. Perhaps working in a nursing home prepared me for part of this, but years ago I worked as a farm hand under a man who refused to accept any work be done less than perfect. I learned to live with it and force myself to do the task at hand no matter how distasteful. To see things things through to the end. No matter what.
I just go on. And on.
But, my ramblings aside, there has been a bright spot. I had my first magazine article published in Western New York Family Magazine. I was so thrilled. I wanted to run through the store and parking lot pointing to the open pages yelling "That's me, that's me!"
I'm silly.
Oh, my daughter burned her hand on our smooth cooktop stove, so if you have one of those, watch your kids. Those things get so hot and stay that way. Her entire palm is blistered. It hasn't stopped her or her sister from fighting and trying to kill one another.
A funny thing happened to me yesterday. I found I need to have a back tooth pulled. That's not the funny part, k? But, I called a dentist office and during the course of conversation I mentioned I was a writer, hence I was paid at odd times. The lady said she'd love to meet me and that they should be able to do something for me. She was more enthusiastic than what I just wrote, but hey, the kids just decided to have a meltdown.
Lord. Someone save me.
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