The Electrician Didn’t Come
I want to write a blog post today, but I don’t have a topic. I mean, it’s not like there aren’t plenty of topics floating around. I could just reach out my hand and grab one, but none of them are really calling my name. Yet I have the urge to write.
When I get the urge to write, it’s like needing to sneeze. No way on God’s green earth am I able to repress it. It’s got to come out. Even on those rare occasions when I’ve been without computer or paper and pen I’ve “written” essays or articles or poems or songs in my head because when that writing feeling comes upon me, I have to write. No way around it.
So I need to write, to scratch that itch, to sneeze, to breathe deeply because I suddenly realize I’ve been holding my breath. That’s what it feels like.
Let’s see. I could write about my last unpleasant encounter with my oncologist, whom I generally like, but I don’t feel like getting into all that right now.
I could write about my garden, which is looking much better since I fixed the computer-timed irrigation that had somehow gotten turned completely off. Funny how regular watering improves the look of a garden in summer. But that’s not a whole post.
I could write about my struggles with myself—my pride, my skewed self-image—in terms of accepting the limitations of my illness, using my walker, taking medicines as prescribed instead of deciding I know best. (I generally take far less pain relief than the doc wants me to, for example.) But I’ve been there and written about that so many times.
I could write about some new interesting research developments in the world of cancer treatment in general and breast cancer research in particular, but I’ve come to realize that I’m a poor science writer. (Oh! Does anyone have any ideas on how to learn to do that well?)
I could most certainly write about certain political developments in my country and around the world that make my blood boil, but I’ve pretty much decided to stay away from politics in this blog. I don’t want it to become divisive.
So then: what shall I write about?
The electrician was supposed to come to fix a couple of things this morning, but it turned out the police had my part of the city blocked off. I heard the helicopters and sirens, but I don’t know what happened. Anyway, the electrician couldn’t get through. He’ll come on Tuesday.
While I was waiting, though, I was able to go out into the sun and trim back the sage that is growing over the pathway next to it. I can’t do much gardening at all these days, so it was fun even to go out with my walker and lean over and do a little bit of trimming. I enjoyed the sun and the smell of the flowers and herbs and the sounds of the bees and the birds and the feeling of the herbs on my hands and my fingers in the dirt.
My new medicine is causing some nausea (an expected and transitory side effect), so I took a piece of chicken out of the freezer to defrost. I’ll make some chicken soup and rice or something like that later on, I guess. I’d like to have a salad or gazpacho, but I’m not sure my stomach would handle it.
Here you are: over 600 words about nothing because the urge to write came upon me. Does this happen to you, too? And as long as we’re talking, is there anything you’d like me to write about the next time I get the urge and I’m light on topics?