It’s Monday. It’s Martin Luther King Day. Wow. I haven’t written anything since November 11, 2015. That is a long time. Do I even still remember how to write? We will see, won’t we? Where have I been? Sick. I have been sick with pneumonia all this time. My husband had pneumonia which led to him being unable to work for two weeks. The only blessing was that the kids never got sick once. He got better. I didn’t. Go figure. I mean, I have no trains to catch, no job outside the home, so who truly gives a rat’s ass if I ever get well? It has been a long, depressing road. We survived the holidays. The internet was off at our house all this time. I had the internet on my phone, but nowhere else. Honestly, I didn’t feel well enough to waddle from my bed to the bathroom, let alone write. I kept a low profile and flew under the radar battling depression, my own demons, and making a minute by minute attempt to literally cough up my vagina and every bodily fluid I could possibly possess. Have you ever coughed so hard that you literally peed your pants? Or worse? I have been there and done that and, this time, didn’t even have the joyous excuse of being pregnant.
So here I am! For those of you that wondered if I died, you didn’t get that lucky. I am still struggling along somehow with my messed up humor and special brand of sarcasm very much intact. With that said I’ll be giving this writing thing another go. I am older, struggling with mental-pause hormones. The up- side is that my doctor finally figured out that perhaps I needed a bit of medicinal help with that situation when I shared that I normally step out on my back stoop in subzero temps in my underwear, barefoot…in the snow, because I am sweating my ass off. Behavior like that doesn’t really help the whole attempt to get over pneumonia.
I have discovered a few things about myself during this time period, though. The first, and perhaps the most important is that I giggle when I am nervous and uncomfortable. It isn’t because I am particularly happy. I also laugh hysterically when I am amused, which still happens quite regularly. I talk entirely too much when prompted. I probably share things I relate with and am amused by entirely too much on Facebook. I am perhaps a bit too honest for most people’s tastes and probably a whole lot inappropriate. I am convinced that it is a public service for me to isolate myself as much as possible which is why I hide behind writing fiction and haiku. I also realize that I am just not that great of a writer, but I am OK with that now. I will write for the fun of it and see how it goes and have absolutely no illusions that I belong at the top of any writing heap. Sometimes you just need to let it out and vent. Sometimes you simply have to realize that God never abandoned you after all and you are OK. And then sometimes, you need to quit caring so much, and simply try again. That is what I am attempting to do.
Pulsating within me, throughout life pieces are given. Sealed with a kiss, I promised forever to my husband. Unconditional pieces given at first glimpse to my daughter, then to my son. Each piece pulsating deep within them, living again through their memories.