And by ow I mean, dammit OW! Not being able to hold one’s head up for more than a few minutes or say sitting up on one’s own accord, really, really…did I mention really? sucks It’s been a while since I’ve last messed up something in my back, which means my memory has allowed the pain and the frustration of the situation to fade into a distant memory; well, until now that is. Let’s go back though, since I have explaining to do.
The last few months have been crazy: 70-80 hour work weeks, distractions of traveling and a new girlfriend, and in general a lot of life giving me excuses to ignore the project that gave me a sense of purpose during times of purposeless…ness. Anyway, I allowed excuses and half-hearted promises pull me away from writing. Call it a dark age in my writing…they happen often. I guess Morgan Freeman takes a lot of vacations in my world of writing. Ten points for those that get the reference.
I’ve been writing, but I just haven’t had the heart to really finish much of it…that or I get distracted. Mostly it’s because I let myself get distracted. I’ve had so much to say to the world, so much to comment on, and yet I just couldn’t get myself to sit down and just let it out. A part of me afraid to tap into anything that was remotely sad or depressing. I’ve been happy. I’ve been ridiculously happy, and I think some part of me still believes that I cannot exist within both emotions at the same time, and I don’t want to let go of the happiness that I feel. I mean, I’m in love. I’m in love with a woman who is kind, and warm, and who fills my entire being with a peace I have only known briefly once, years ago, on a distant shore. I want to be with this woman through the good and the bad. I want to lean on her when I’m scared or sad, and I want to be strong for her.
Delving back into dark topics is something I would rather avoid. But, I can’t. She knows everything, and asks me occasionally if I’ve made progress in my writing. But I haven’t. I haven’t let any writing get done because I’ve willingly let life get in the way. I’ve let myself get worked so hard that I fall asleep standing, mid sentence, in the middle of a meal. Yet, here I am…writing…again…why?
Ever see something go a thousand miles per hour and then come to a complete stop? Yup, that’s me. I kept going and going, hoping to avoid it all, until my body literally forced me to stop. I can barely move without pain. The muscles surrounding my right shoulder-blade and in the middle of my upper back have seized so much that breathing hurts. How am I writing now? I’m currently sitting in my girlfriend’s recliner, my knees pulled up to relieve the pull of my lower back, and my body angled so no unnecessary strain is created. My right arm from my elbow up is useless and I’ve had to call out for both of my jobs tomorrow because I know I won’t be able to recover by then. It sucks. It sucks a lot. This time of year I know I can rake in a lot of money, and here I am, afraid to cough because it will bring tears to my eyes.
But then again I maybe should have listened to the universe and slowed my roll; maybe take into account the things that are more important than money, and jobs that really don’t care about who I am, or what I can mean in this world. Maybe I forgot what I mean in this world. Maybe we all do sometimes. I worked 92 hours last week for a few dimes that won’t mean anything a year from now. I missed a holiday, my first one with my girl, to make a few extra bucks which resulted in me working 22 hours straight. All I heard was that I was working too hard; I was going to make myself sick, that I am out of my mind. All of these things that should have slowed me down and it took me straining my back while tossing and turning in bed to take me out of the game.
Well that and a ten pound cat that held on instead of letting go.
Guess when you don’t listen when the world whispers, the world will simply raise its voice. But that is what is going on right now. Some severe pain, and missing a few days of work. Maybe this will allow introspection, or maybe some well deserved rest that I always deny myself because I might have a slight self-destructive streak in me, but in the end I hit the wall and got knocked out cold. I lost this round. I’ve never really lost before. I just kept going and going, would stumble a bit sometimes, but I always won. But I lost this time, and I think I’m okay with that.
I have something to say again. I have words that need to be written. I have distractions to overcome and a purpose to re-purpose again. Maybe hitting the wall isn’t always such a good thing. Maybe….we shall see.