I’m not letting myself off the hook. I wrote a couple paragraphs about a thought I had this morning linking September to a new year. I wanted to say that’s absurd. Who thinks of September as a new year? The (painfully obvious)answer is: every student and teacher and parent out there. So much for that. I deleted the whole thing and opened my poem file. Nothing there worth working on (at least nothing I’m inclined to start working on at this point in the day). There is one poem there that’s been sitting for over a month, but I still can’t bring myself to post it. I just don’t like it, but I haven’t been able to fix it. I open it every so often, read it through, and go grab a snack. It’s that kind of poem—the one that demands comfort food because it’s just so bad, but the idea is good. (At least I think the idea is good. Maybe it’s not, and that’s the real problem. I’m not ready to accept that yet.)
It’s all in the execution (of the poem, not the poet—though there are days I think I should put myself out of my misery…as a poet, that is…purely figuratively (the times I mean that literally demand a blog post of their own, but can already be found in several poems I’ve posted)). I thought for a moment about turning my morning musings on how I equate this time of year, when everything is starting to die back, with the birth of a new cycle into a poem instead. Nope. Not happening.
I could skip posting. No one says I have to post every day. My blog, my rules. But the whole point of this day, these musings, this blog, is to push myself a bit, to notice those strange thoughts when they arise and try my best to write about them. Daily. Posting just keeps me honest. If I don’t write, I can’t post. There’s a record now, and a deadline. If I want to let myself off the hook, I need to examine why I feel that way. I have excuses (don’t we all?). This week has been especially tiring, but if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that I could have kept going on what I had started and managed to bring it around to what I wanted to say. It would have taken more work, more editing, more thought, and I just didn’t want to bother. That’s the truth. I lost my oomph. It happens. I want to put my feet up, turn on the T.V., and watch last night’s Colbert, not think about how depression and death lead to new life (still not being literal here).
So this will have to suffice. Trivial for sure, but done. I wish I could say the same for this month. This week we packed in three of the seven medical appointments my granddaughter has had so far this month. The eighth is scheduled for Monday. Each is at least an hour’s drive away (for some we’re in the car over two hours each way). Today I listened to her say, “What would happen if [insert oddball scenario]…” over and over and over for the entire ride. Both ways. Nonstop. She’d reach an arbitrary point and start over. Same loop. I’ve had enough words for one day.
Tomorrow’s a new day. A free day. A day off from writing and driving and listening and posting. I have a simple To-Do List (just the essentials):
1. Decorate the house for Fall.
2. Remember to breathe.
3. Stock up on snacks.
The month’s not over. The year’s not over. I’m going to need them.