I’m back to chewing chalky peppermint Tums throughout the day.
That’s the only kind that doesn’t make me gag. I kind of like that chalky-ness. Those fruity ones…agh! But anyway, I’m having issues with acid reflux and looking 7 months pregnant again. Every time I eat wheat or corn- bam! Instant bloat and suffering. You would think I’d learn but I’m stubborn. I refused to go to the specialist and instead just quit eating things that triggered these symptoms for several months. Man, I felt better. Looked better too.
But then cookies happened. A bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats here and there, Pirate Booty by the bowlful and suddenly I’m feeling sick again.
It’s too hard to admit I’m one of those people. What kind? Food issues people. I used to make fun of you. Sorry. Sometimes I’m a little mean. I don’t believe in karma but if I did…
My husband thinks I have no will power. Oh, how little he knows me. The truth is I weighed the consequences and decided I could live with them. But not for long. I’m ready to quit this nonsense now. A few other silly things too. Things maybe less consequential to some, but pretty heavy to me. Like straight ironing my hair. My curls want to stop suffering too.
I also decided to quit avoiding my MacBook and write again. I’m going to spend the summer with my faithful friends: books. Some to escape and some to educate. I have about 6 writing instruction-type books I’ve assigned myself. Summer school I guess. I’ve wanted to be a consistent, daily writer since I was a very, very small child. But now I’ve become a shriveled up adult, and somewhere along the way gotten fearful of what will come out of me. So should a few other people. (Snicker, ha ha. No, but seriously…they should be afraid too.)
I’ve been mired in responsibility and I’ve hidden out with a veritable zoo on my ranch. I’ve become lonely and eccentric, which isn’t all bad. Aren’t writers supposed to be odd? I’ve made an assortment of excuses for not writing seriously and a valid one is simply not having the experience necessary to put anything well-crafted out for other people’s eyeballs. So I’m trying to remedy that with my usual, private style. No other people to help. I mean face to face people. I plan on getting very familiar with the writers who have written the how-to’s I’ve purchased from Amazon. I just can’t face a conference or classroom yet. I don’t know why. Maybe I’ll only write drivel- the kind I hate and that will be embarrassing. Maybe I’ll write some horrid things about my childhood or let loose secrets about my life that will cause sideways looks and gossip in my small town. Or maybe I’ll write stuff that will make people roll their eyes, nod off, or worse yet, some old boyfriend will read my stuff and I’ll seem like a dork. Because listen, I had a past. I separate my life into two time periods and divide them one big line: B.C. (Before Christ) So part of me worries about what people will think.
Because I’d like to write things that express my faith. I want to build other people up with inspiring and edifying stories with Jesus at the center. But you know, it’s hard to shake off the past and old messages in a wounded heart. And boy, has this heart been through the wars. I’m physicing myself up to get over it and just start. So, here goes nothin’. (Or everything.sniff, sniff.)
I’ve piddled around. I’ve attempted to master Scrivener software before writing anything to put into it. I have planned and procrastinated. I’ve set up a writing desk that I never sit at. In short, I’ve been a coward. So this is my summer to work on “craft”- I shrink even writing that, but hey, I guess it’s time to jump in and learn the language of writers and the ins and outs of publishing instead of remaining ignorant and comforting myself with the perpetual tomorrow I’ll write. Much like tomorrow I’ll start my diet.
Also, yesterday I sliced open my hand with a butter knife. Do you think that might be symbolic?