Frustration

Imagine an old time author, one who used a typewriter. Imagine that person hard at work, trying to compose an essay or an article but unable to find the right words, with crumbled sheets of paper all over the floor.

While trying to write the first essay about the time that surrounded my dad’s passing, I feel much the same. A sentence appears on the computer screen. I read it, groan, and delete. “Whiny”, I say to myself. “Too self absorbed.” Type some more. Even worse. Delete, delete.

Maybe the process of writing is more important than the potential product? Even if I can’t get something written that is fit for mass consumption, maybe I am purging myself of the angst that has beset me since Mom died in August. Yet there are insights I feel an urgent need to share. The writing must continue until I can get it right.

Also I realized maybe I should choose another subject for the first essay. Maybe it is a little too personal right now. If I switch to another of the myriad ideas I have, perhaps the right words would come more easily. Hmm.

What has hindered me in this is the injury to my knee which is so painful I must take strong pain meds. I am sure that my mind is sufficiently fogged up that words that normally come, do not. Physical therapy starts next week. Hopefully I can take less of the medication as my knee gets better. Just one more thing.

I’m really trying not to be whiny.