I can make many excuses and pretend they are reasons for not writing.
I think I scared away my poetry muse by claiming that next year I think I want to start a novel. . .well actually I said, write a novel. And you all know it only takes a year. Right AMMI. I’m a poet and I can’t hear the music because there is so much music in Austin.
I am sick of music. There, it’s out. I am sick of talking about musicians (even my dearest husband, bass player) and do not ask me who wrote what song and which album it goes on except if it’s show tunes. I cut my teeth on “The Sound of Music”. Really, I was two and made my mother play the record over and over and over. She didn’t care because I was singing.
I love to sing. I am sick of music. I sang to my son for years and years. I sang in church and did theatre. I love how when you sing well, how your lungs feel, how the breath feels when you hold a note.
I used to sing “Johnny One Note” and tried to hold it as long as Ethel Merman.
I am off course. I am not writing. I have had a problem that jangled my willingness to post due to an unfortunate individual who I had to un-friend in the social network and then block. And yet another person I’ve pissed off due to setting boundaries. The jangles reach back to a time when I was slapped around by a boyfriend. (My husband as a theory that all beautiful women <his words> have a jerk in their past.)
But I did end that relationship, with effort, much to my mother’s dismay (he’s got a good job and a nice car!). Why should I break it off, he’s not a drinker! Old tapes.
I can’t hear the muse. I’ve letting someone get in the way who had my pity but no longer my attention. Two weeks ago, a friend rode to M.D Anderson with me. I was going for scans and check-ups. He was going for his once a month treatment for stage 4 Lymphoma.
My docs gave me a clean bill of health and said that I don’t have to go back for a year!
Then I go find my friend who’s getting his infusion. He’s in the same bed I’d been in once. Same room. And like me, his side-effects come fast, taper off, then a few days later he’s overcome with fatigue. His lady went to the lobby to charge her computer. A break from the small room.
My buddy said, ‘You know this deal” and I said, “Yup. I sucks big time”
He says, “I don’t get nausea and vomiting,” and I said, “You’re not missing anything.”
He says, “Isn’t it amazing what we are willing to endure in order to hold on to this thing called life.”
And I said, “Yes it is. We’re the lucky ones.”