Sometimes, plans are made and not carried out. This Saturday, I planned to get into writer-mode, maroon myself in a cafe and write. Instead, I spent one a.m. to nine a.m. on Saturday in the emergency room by the side of someone whom I love dearly (he’s fine now). I didn’t write a word all weekend; rather, I’m lucky to have even put myself back on a somewhat normal sleep cycle. I wanted to beat myself up yesterday for not spending the day writing to make up for Saturday—instead choosing to alternate napping and walking aimlessly through the streets of my neighborhood. Simply another reminder that to write about life—emergency rooms, destination-less meandering, worrying, caring, feeling—you have to let yourself live it first.
The rest will come…at some point.
M
