I like poetry. It’s quick and to the point, weaving magic and words together to paint a picture. But some days I just need to write something else in my blog. Notes to the world, I guess you could call them, to say “here I am” or “look at me” or something.
This week kicked my ass. Like so many things that knock us down, I had no idea it was hiding around the corner waiting to spring into life. And yet, there it was, baring teeth, growling ferociously. The last time I had this bad of a week … well, there’s been many of those, especially last year …
It just wasn’t supposed to happen this week.
I started a short story course with author/editor Richard Thomas through LitReactor. If you want to look it up, here’s a link: Short Story Mechanics
He’s an amazing author and he edited my first novella that I self-published on Amazon, so I was ready to work with him to learn all about writing short stories. Novels, I have no issue with. I “get” them. I can write them, time consuming as they may be. But short stories? Mine are always lacking something and I can never figure out what or how to fix them. Thus, I’ve been looking forward to this class for some time. I had to save up for it, too.
So, I eagerly opened my first lecture and assignment, read through them, pondered the words, thought about my assignment, and was working on it when the ball dropped. My husband lost his job and then the gas company discovered a leak and had to turn off our gas.
Honestly, I could live without electricity easier than I can live without gas. My whole house is gas. I cook with gas, my hot water is gas, my heating is gas. Here I am supposed to be learning how to fix my problem with writing short stories and suddenly out of nowhere my income dies, I can’t cook at home, I can’t take a shower, it’s 34 degrees outside and I have no heat, and the gas company tells us we have to replace the supply line to our house which will cost over $2000.
What the hell?!?
The last thing I even cared about at that point was writing anything, let alone a short story … but I’d paid my money, and I had deadlines to meet. Needless to say, I pushed through aided by the support of my friends. I couldn’t let myself fall apart like I wanted to. And I’ve continued to push through all week and weekend, but as Monday rolls into view once more, I’m fading fast. I’m ready to crash and burn, curl up in a little ball and cry for hours on end, something, anything other than be the responsible adult all my friends think I am.
I read something over the weekend. Not even sure where now but it said something about how there are no real adults in the world, that we are all still children but in overgrown bodies, that the essence of who we were as a 4 year old is the same person we still are today. I kind of like that thought. I like thinking of other people that way, at least. I mean, children you can forgive when they do odd or crazy things because they don’t know any better. They are just trying things out and making mistakes is part of it.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we viewed other adults in the same way? Someone makes a mistake and we just forgive and forget, chalk it up to a mistake and move on?
It just seems in our world we are so bent on punishment and rules that we forget none of us are perfect and we all need compassion to get by.
And on top of everything else, or maybe because of everything else, I found myself missing someone this week. I won’t say who here because it’s private, as some things in life must be. I wished I could talk to them, wished I had their ear to listen to me, needed their cool head and determination to drive me through and keep me going. But since I couldn’t have that, I had to rely on myself. Push myself through it, do what needed to be done.
I guess I should be proud that I made it through the week without falling apart. But as I said earlier, I’m fading. The worries are creeping in, the anger is ratcheting into place, the sadness is overwhelming, …