A writer writes about writing
Another writer posted this picture from a writing prompt. Where does your mind take you? Why is a man leading around that horse every Sunday? What happened? Where are the missing pieces? If this inspires you, write a paragraph or two about the story in your mind.
Whew! I’m tired. Do you ever feel that way? You’re just tired and there’s no bones about it. I’m a nap-taker. When I’m able, I like to take a nap. Just thirty minutes or so, enough that I get relaxed, I fall into limbo, and suddenly my head pops up because the alarm goes off. It’s great. Most of the time, I only get 10-12 minutes. You laugh, but I used to drop on my bed, set the alarm for 7 minutes, and that was all I had before rushing off to my next job. I trained my body to sleep within a minute if I needed it. Now I get 45 minutes before jobs, and I can’t imagine how I used to manage those 7 minutes.
This wasn’t going to turn into a post about my schedule, but there you go.
I’m just tired. All around tired. Looking forward to my nap tonight before I have to face the greedy, insolent masses of retail.
This week, I had the chance to spend a few nights at home. Now, you may look at that sentence again, scratch your head, and wonder if you read it wrong, but I assure you, it is correct. My schedule is very busy. I have a night job, Bible studies, coffee dates, and other such commitments which fill up my calender. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed and start canceling events and shutting off my phone so people can’t call me. I never used to be like this. In college, I couldn’t do enough to get out of the house. Then again, back then I had a very bad relationship with my father. But I digress, hakuna matata.
It was refreshing to go home after my day job and sit on the couch. The television was off, the Internet was off, and the house was quiet. It took awhile to decompress, but eventually I was able to find my creative place again. I pulled out my next writing project, a book series about a girl who finds a magical locket and gets transported to an entirely different world. I wrote these stories in high school. Now I’m rewriting them because what I wrote in high school was crap. I say that with the best of authority on the matter.
Today I step back into twelve hour shifts, but I notice the difference. I don’t think about my schedule with the same loathing as before. I’m calmer, more relaxed. I know it won’t last forever and it won’t kill me in the meantime. I’ve had the chance to refocus on my dreams and get back to the Plan. I can breathe again.
Europeans are doing something right. They don’t work from morning to night. They are guaranteed a month of vacation time. They take time to garden, or sip coffee on the porch, or travel. Most grocery stores close at 9pm. 9pm, people! Think how much more writing we would get done if we couldn’t run to Walmart at midnight for munchies! But in America, our employers make us feel guilty for taking a sick day. We lose pay. We’re terrified of we use our vacation time, we might lose our jobs. We put our heads down and trudge on, never looking up, never looking back at what we hoped the world would be like.
We forget to breathe.
We trap ourselves in this lifestyle of materialism. We have to work more to make more money to support our electronics and toys. Listen, I don’t have cable or Internet or memberships for anything and I DON’T HAVE A CREDIT CARD PAYMENT. I pay for my electric and water bills. I pay my rent. And I feed myself. I budget for whatever else I might want. But if the money isn’t there, I don’t need it.
Since when did TV become a necessity?
People,…Breathe.
Last year I had determined to take up yoga seriously after realizing I had exercise-induced asthma. Discovered that golden nugget while taking kickboxing classes. I loved it and the strength I gained…until I couldn’t breathe after a short jog. Week by week, it progressively got worse, so that every time my heartrate increased, my body would overheat and my throat closed up. I opted to get out of kickboxing, at least for the time being.
I did a little YouTube research. There weren’t many yoga studios close to home, and the ones that were did not fit into my busy schedule. But YouTube is a plethora (apparently plethora is my word of the month) of free information. I came across a Yogi who called herself YogiNora. She has hour long videos of her yoga regiment and a few broken-down classes, and if you want to be amazed, you can watch her full workout. Can you say “flexible”? I fell in love with her because–obviously–she knows what she’s doing. She practices up to five hours a day and also teaches yoga classes. She’s pretty legit.
I started out really strong. I practiced five times a week and had worked myself up to an hour. I felt amazing! I was stronger, more flexible, calmer, more positive, but then I petered out. Typical of me. I continued on and off all year. It’s frustrating how swiftly you lose everything you had built up. That’s what gets me. You work and work and sweat and put the time in, and in a month, it fades. So frustrating.
Anyway, I’ve been trying to practice more. It truly helps, and even if I only do 20 minutes at a time, I notice the difference. Yesterday, I was feeling really good and did a whole hour.
MISTAKE
I think I pulled….every muscle….in my body. So today I’m paying for it. I’m going to lie low for a few days, then work myself up from 20 minutes again. But if you’re looking for a relaxing, steady workout without cardio, check out YogiNora. She’s amazing.
For as long as I can remember, Mother canned sweet and sour beets. Beets are a purplish red tuber which grow just beneath the soil. On their own, they are tough and woody to chew with a bland, but faintly sweet flavor. When we lived in the city, I remember the neighbor girl thought we were absolutely crazy for enjoying this simple delight–we ate them like candy! Years after we moved into the country, Momma still canned beets, and we would occasionally open a jar over dinner.
But she gave it up as we grew older. The process of canning became too much of a chore for a housewife raising five kids and working on computer software from home. I hardly gave another thought to these treats. It was something that faded into the past. Then, one day, a friend introduce me to this lovely all-natural, organic-based cafe and market.
On the rack of canned goods, I found my old love.
Cracking open the sealed lid, an aroma of familiar spices wafted toward me. I breathed them in; the almost fruity, earthen smell of the beets, the sharpness of the spice and vinegar, and that sweet and tangy juice. It tasted just like Mother made, and it felt like home.
Recall a favorite food passion you discovered after leaving home. What did you feel? Write about it in the comments. Try to be descriptive.
Written Things 