Thursday Already

I'm taking a short break and I'll be going to my doctor's appointment in about two hours. I'm skipping lunch so I don't use too many hours. I don't know what they will be doing to me, if anything and so can't be sure I'll be back to work today or tomorrow. I will be glad if they can just give me something to make my back quit hurting. Today there is not a lot of pain overall but my back just isn't right. I still have reach problems, certain motions, and turning my head a certain way all send shock waves across my back and up my neck. Still, I'm not looking forward to the possibility of a shot in my neck or back.

I woke up probably around 4 a.m. but I just rolled over and went back to sleep. I didn't wake again until about 6:30. The writer's meeting went a bit long but we had a great time. I went to bed a bit later than I have been and I took my pills much later. So, I'm more tired this morning than I have been being. I'll nap later I think. I am going to be pretty hungry as well since I'm not going to lunch. I don't know what to do about it. I can wait until I'm finished to eat but may not feel like it by then.



It is really a boring day. The weather is lovely. A nice 79 degrees and partly cloudy. It would be wonderful to sit in a lawn chair on the lawn and watch the clouds go by. I've asked Mike to cut the yard so it will be nice out there and I could actually sit outside if I feel ok. That is in the event they stick me.



I have got in this mindset that writing is a waste of time for me. I don't know. In the last month I've just kind of stopped and asked myself what I'm accomplishing and what earthly use my writing could possible be. My response was a resounding silence. I find myself so tired that the effort to put one foot in front of the other most days leaves me with nothing. I'm sapped by Five o'clock. It is distressing to think about but practically speaking, I should find another hobby that is more beneficial to me and the rest of the world.  Doug and I discussed this last night at the meeting. We both feel our jobs wring every creative thought right out of us.



I mean, take my blogs, for instance. They've become mediocre, if they were ever more than that. Who wants to read about my misfortunes and opinions and the craziness of my life? I don't even want to live it! Why would anyone take five minutes to read it. I can almost hear the snores. I don't know why I bother at all. I keep saying I am a writer. I tell myself that the writing is good, the story is good, there is something worthwhile in the whole process. I lie like a cheap rug. None of that is true at all. <sigh> In the end, I'm pretty much left talking to myself about it and talking myself out of writing.

When he left the meeting last night Doug called over his shoulder. "These meetings always energize me. Now, if I can keep the energy up until the weekend I might be able to do some writing."

I didn't last a day.