Motivation and Matching Shoes

The one good thing about being broken? Time to write (and play Skyrim, but we can talk about that later). But  after a month of scooting around on the "Wheels of Doom" and hobbling along like one of those landstriders from The Dark Crystal (which is still one of my favorite movies) I am now walking. I walk like a pimp, according to a 5 year old kid I saw at the grocery store last week.

(how does a 5 year old know how a pimp walks, I ask you?)

You know what I missed about being able to walk? 

• Getting up the stairs without the dogs chasing me. I appreciate the rewarding kisses when I reach the top of the stairs, but am grateful not to have my ass sniffed as I crawl up them.
• Driving (omg I can drive again!!!! Guess who is back to sleeping in?) I would like to state for the record that my road rage returned within seconds. 
• Getting to the bathroom before I feel like my bladder is going to explode (I think I was only partially potty-trained...sometimes I forget to go to the bathroom before the pee-pee dance starts. Stupid bladder).
• Cooking - David will tell you that I've not put this newfound kitchen freedom to much use, but my excuse is that I've got a fucking cold now...so I have made cookies, but not much else. 
• Freedom. 

But the one good thing about being broken was it made me focus on writing. I've been plotting (as a pantser, this is a big fucking deal) and trying to rework a short story I found on my iPad. There are little bits of story that float around in my digital devices that are just waiting for a bit of attention and time so they can grow up and into big, full stories. My attention span is shit, but those seeds are what keep me writing. Right now I'm low on story seeds. Remind me to write my ideas down more. 

So, bone prognosis. After getting frustrated with the care at one clinic, I moved my happy ass back to the hospital that helped with the broken arm. The broken fibula was worse than what was explained to me initially. It was, in fact, displaced. Not by much, but enough. I'm going to go ahead and blame the original clinic since they didn't have time to help me get anything on it, not a boot, not an aircast, for almost 4 days. Taking the Max with a broken leg wrapped in an Ace bandage = kind of dumb. But I had to get to work. They should have seen me earlier. 

I'm too trusting with this shit. 

So, after a month of sub-standard care, I'm seeing people who understand what I will expect from my bones, and my ankle. Good news? I'm on skates again in 4 weeks and no bone scan is necessary. Bad news, "It's going to hurt for a year."

Doc, pain I can handle. I can't handle not skating.

I start PT next week and am allowed to use my bike/trainer combo to get my lungs all sexy again.

Did I mention that I have the plague? I know what it feels like to cough up a hairball. 

Yum.

So, tonight I am going to hop on my trainer and rock out to one of my Sufferfest vids. The only caveat is that I have to keep the resistance light. The bone is still broken and I can't wear my aircast with my bike shoes (they fit like a glove). Exercise tonight. Tomorrow....I'll take over the world. 

As for the writing. Sometimes I think that it was a waste of a lot of fucking money for me to get my MFA. I'm writing at work, which is wonderful. But I want to continue working on my novel. Every time I sit down to do some kind of long writing with it, my brain shuts down. I can't even get crap words on the page. Yes, I am whining. The only solution is to keep my butt in the chair until something comes. My little story seeds are safe. They aren't so big as to require world building or a complex plot - not like the novel. Sometimes I wonder if I am cut out for the whole writing gig. And then I remember that there is nothing I love more than being surprised by something I've written. Writing is much like excercise for me - a pain that I love if I have motivation. If someone told me tomorrow I couldn't write, I'm sure I would bitch about it until kingdom come. I can write. If I let myself. 

I wish I would give myself permission to fail. I'm the best at giving advice I never take. 

I miss school for the deadlines hurled at me, much like I miss matching shoes. I miss cute matching shoes. I also miss the breezy confidence I had in my writing.

Wait. I think I'm lying.

Okay. I'm done now. 

I don't know where my head is at today, but what I do know is that I have these characters knocking on my eyeballs, clawing at the back of my throat, wanting to see, wanting to taste ...

wanting to be...

The smart thing to do? Take this time off skates and do what I was trained to do, what I love to do, really. But first... I have some procrastination to take care of.

(I realize that is a random end to this blog, but my coffee just ran out.... meh)

Comments

[Bashkin]

You rock. I love your humor and humility. The pain of something you love? Boy, can I relate. Wanna set deadlines for each other? I'm willing. <3

[Erica]

Deadline exchanges? Hellz yes.