So, it's been four months since I was last here. Seems like forever. I've turned on my laptop several times in the last several weeks to share the progress of Robert's injuries, but turned it off. I didn't want to whine.
Robert had his surgery, everything went according to plan, the doctor has given him a good prognosis--Robert should be walking again by the end of the summer. Unfortunately, that's not soon enough for me. I know, I know, people have said "it could have been so much worse". Yes, it could have, I'm thankful that it wasn't, but I'm sick of playing nursemaid--especially when I know Robert is capable of doing many things from his wheelchair but chooses not to. *whine*
I haven't written a word since March 9. Okay, that's a fib. I've written maybe 500 words since March 9. It's not enough. As a matter of fact, it deflates me as my usual word count hovers around 2000-3000 words per session. I can't seem to get into any kind of groove. Maybe because every time I sit down, I hear the cry from upstairs..."I need...Can I have...Where is my..." Not to mention, every five seconds Monster is hungry. *whine*
What's a writer to do if she's not writing? Well, I'll tell you. My house has never been so clean. The laundry is all done, nary a dirty sock to be found. The dust bunnies have vanished. The kitchen sink sparkles. The closets are immaculate. Trips to Goodwill have claimed two car loads of stuff. Did I mention I hate housework? *whine*
I finally got up the gumption to skip through the blogosphere and found I had missed soooo much. It's so disheartening. I never wanted to be one of those people who just disappeared, and then I was. I feel like such a slug. *whine*
I promised Monster this year that we would get a pass for the community pool down the street. We enjoyed it for the first three days, until sun poisoning and a hacking cough claimed us both. I thought it would be fantastically fun, and Monster would finally find some neighborhood friends. Not a chance. All the girls at the pool are either younger or older than her, and she just doesn't want to hang out with me. Needless to say, we haven't been to the pool as much as I expected. *whine*
So, where does all this leave me? I'm not sure. The only thing I do know is that I have to get back to it somehow. Get back to writing. So here I am. I figured if I posted something, anything, even if I whined (and I hate doing that) it might help me find some kind of groove again. We'll see if it works.
Thanks for listening.
Anne Gallagher (c) 2016