Lately I have been wondering why the very idea of writing, which I love, makes me feel blank and stalled and like weeping. I stare out the window and finally jump up and grab a mop or my camera or my car keys and head anyplace but the keyboard.
Looking at my life at the moment however, reveals a simple answer and gives me permission to tell myself that this is temporary and I can relax about it.
I usually substitute teach, and yet I have been subbing full time for the last quarter of this school year, in a very difficult class with 8 students and 7 assistants to deal with. I love the kids, but they kick, pinch, bite and spit on me. I love the assistants but they need directing, and have schedules to balance and inter-relationships that work or not as the situations come up.
I have been struggling to create situations at school where everyone gets along without feeling stressed to the point of exploding and honestly, that requires a lot of imagination. And I have been creating art projects to teach them and doing my own 365Project photography, and dealing with a very broke time of our life. Money and old everything, house, cars, clothing add stress and require more creative solutions.
My husband and I just had our 29th anniversary and our hundredth battle over my own agoraphobic tendencies. I love that guy and his patience with me, but his patience tends to evaporate just when wqe are most overwhelmed and my courage is at its lowest, of course.
Then I have aging Mom and aging friends and suddenly everyone I care about seems to have health issues to deal with, and my kids are young, just post high school adults who need support as the parents also need it, and that requires more imagination and a lot of love and patience, and exhaustion.
Yeah, I know, It is not called the sandwich generation without cause. I just wish my sandwich had less jam right now.
Some days I don't even consider writing, or promoting the three books that are out there neglected, on the shelf. Then I feel guilty. Everything makes me feel guilty lately. Then I get a exhausting day, and I'm walking out to my car and a teacher tells me, "Hey, our bookclub wants to pick your book to read. The Oregon Trail one? Would you be up for coming to talk to us, Say in October?"
I smile, and laugh and say, "I'd be honored."
and realize once again, that everything that exhausts me, also recharges me in a wonderful cycle.
Life IS Good.
I hope that if you read about poor, Bullied Duffy struggling with his Cerebral Palsy and his crutches and a school shooting, that you will stick with him until the end when he shows that there is a voice singing in the darkness and it will lead you home.
