Just words today.
— UNEDITED FIRST DRAFT —
Every day is the same:
1 – I wake up thinking about writing.
At this moment, I can’t wait to pick up my pen because all I envision is the sun shining down as I sip my coffee, and the words seem to flow endlessly.
“Ahhhhh… I am the luckiest girl.”
2- I remember I have to make lunches.
Do you know what’s worse than making lunches for picky eaters? Making lunch for a diabetic picky eater. My eldest who’s in grade 1, has Type 1 (diabetes), which means I have to use superhuman mind-reading powers to guess exactly what he “plans” to eat that day.
Fact: Type 1 diabetics have to eat all of the carbs they said they would eat. If he gets insulin for 30 grams of carbohydrates, he HAS to eat 30 grams of carbohydrates. If he’s too full to finish the sandwich that HE asked for, he still has to eat 30 grams worth of carbs. So he calls me, and over the phone we guess what he’s eaten:
“I had one corner, but not the half on the right. Just the whole left side cut in two.”
This time I use my super-human telepathic powers to guess how much bread the kid hasn’t eaten, and prescribe him the correct number of Skittles.
30grams of carbs,
– minus one corner.. but just the left so maybe 20grams of carbs,
= 10 grams left.
So the brat gets 10 skittles.
Fact: We use Skittles because the sugars absorb rapidly into the blood stream and 1 Skittle = 1 gram of sugar (carbohydrate), which is handy when we get full after eating a different sized half. If a Type 1 gets too much insulin and not enough sugar, they risk having a low blood sugar, which could turn into a coma. Comas are no fun for anyone.
3 – We pack up and drive to school.
At this point, I’m happy not to have to weigh every crumb of food I place on the table for another eight hours. But I do start to panic; in 30 minutes, I have to start writing. I linger and talk with the playschool moms as long as awkwardly possible because when I get home, it’s time to work and I don’t know what I’ll write about.
4 – I’m home.
And I realize my mind was playing tricks on me earlier; I don’t dream of writing, I fear writing. I’m stuck and humiliated because today’s Marie TV episode reminded me that everything I’ve written for this challenge, was written wrong. The spotlight’s on me, and not you, and that’s bad, so I’m bad, and no one will like me, or worse, they’ll accuse me of going “millennial” because I’ve followed this stupid dream of doing something I’m not good at.
5 – So I avoid.
I make beds; I read posts, I browse streams, but my pen seems to follow me everywhere, lurking under pillows, leaving marks on the sofa, and finally it screams, “Hey! We’re a team here!”
My shoulders lower, my heart softens, and it’s at this moment that an idea for today’s post floats into my mind.
6 – Pen & I get to it.
We write, we re-write; we scratch out. We perform this dance we’ve been practicing for 24 straight days. We laugh, we get mad, but we write, then we stop. And we smile, and we realize that the sun is shining down and I’ve finished our coffee, and the words flowed effortlessly.
We try not to cry as we realize we’re doing it; we’re living this dream, only it’s not a dream: it’s real. Yes, we’re a real dream writing team.
This post is a part of a 100 Day Writing Challenge series for bad new writers. You can follow along on Instagram @onemomswords to see if I ever find my writing voice in this deep pile of messy words.
This is a new blog: no purpose yet, no images yet, no clear sense yet; just words, lots of tangled words.