In Spite Of

Last Friday started out bad, got worse. Woke up late, rushed around trying to catch up. Actually did. Hallelujah, sang my mind, lifting my heart. I’ll get so much writing done today.

With the extra moment I decided to run downstairs to record the description of three afghans I made last month. (I keep track of the afghan’s I crochet and have been since I started the hobby at age twelve) When I stepped off the bottom stair, my foot sank into an inch of water.

What the heck? And damn! Another Plan B moment. I spent the day sucking up water, dealing with plumbers, disaster workers, insurance and a husband, who had worked all night. Truth is the husband did a lot of the work, other than the phone calls. Still, a river ran through our basement. We were lucky nothing important was ruined. Damaged carpet, (shampooed just two weeks ago) ruined footlocker, rugs, ironing board and lost writing time. In the scheme of things, nothing.

Then today, a snafu with my 92 year-old mother's medicine. More interruptions along with the on-going ones to do with the disaster.

Could have been worse. Much. It was the lost writing time that snapped at my neck like an angry goose. I had such high hopes for the week, but there has been one interruption after another. I was determined not to complain or stress. (I’m not supposed to stress. Huh! Life=stress, stress=life)

Things were finally turning around in my writing. Had a short story coming together, a poem haunting me, a few ideas for this blog I wanted to get down and some other ideas growing in my head. I didn't need interruptions, problems or disasters.

Thing is, it is such a relief the ideas are coming. Not muddled or hazy like they had been. They actually stick around long enough for me to write them down and work with them. A very few months ago I worried that I'd lost that.

I feel next to normal now (my kids would say that will never happen), better, optimistic even. (I’m being slowly weaned off the prednisone) Now, all this…

Wait a minute, a little shaky voice my head whispered. The voice grew louder, firmer, more determined. "Sometimes we write in spite of—we must."

And so I will.