Feelings...Nothing More Than feelings
Ruminations that might look suspiciously like whining.
I’ve been obsessing over my lack of creativity for days now, trying like crazy to blame it on someone or some thing. So far my list of culprits includes being in bad need of a haircut, wrinkle and joint terror, grief, lactose intolerance, Lexapro, Twitter, jealousy, and the fact that I haven’t talked face to face with a creative writer—or anyone creative—in ages.
I’ve been trying to deal with this on my own, but I’m getting nowhere. That’s where you’re going to have to come in. I’m counting on you to get me through this. We may never have met but we’re almost always on the same wavelength. I know we are. You can probably relate to at least five of the eight things I’ve listed here. Maybe even more, though you don’t have to go into specific detail, unless you’re feeling the need.
I know some of you are feeling perplexed, too, and I promise I’ll help you with your problems right after we’ve settled with mine. It’s not that I think I have priority, it’s just… I thought of it first.
So here’s what’s happening, not in any particular order:
I got a great idea for an ongoing column I know I could pull off in near-dazzling fashion, but I haven’t approached anyone with it because I’m still in the ‘first love’ stages and I don’t want my heart broken if someone else finds it wanting. I’m working on drafts, but my heart isn’t into it like it should be because chances are it will never see the light of a single payday. And I’m tired of always donating my work.
I retweeted an article by Thom Hartmann on Ronald Reagan yesterday, adding a thought of my own, and so far it has over a million and a half views, more than 12K retweets, and 900 comments. I’ve also gained almost a thousand new followers. I should be happy, right? And I am, in a way, because the article needed to be written and the attention means people are reading it, but it’s not my article, it’s Thom’s. Whenever I post an article of mine, it goes nowhere. I mean nowhere, except to those few loyal followers who have my back just as I have theirs. We’re a tiny group. I mean tiny, considering I now have 7K followers on Twitter and I would think some of them would at least take a peek at what I’m doing these days.
Someone I know got a gig I would have loved to have. She deserves it, and I didn’t go after it like she did. In fact, I didn’t go after it at all. But they should have known.
I’ve been making Boston Coolers (Vernors Ginger Ale and vanilla ice cream) and they’re sublime as hell but so hard on my insides. My insides see milk products as poison and I keep forgetting to buy Lactaid chews.
And, let’s see…Lexapro. My NP prescribed them for me as the possible solution to the ditzy thrashing-around known locally as Widow’s Brain. I haven’t taken them yet. I’ve read that they and other anti-depressants tend to lay any attempt at creativity flat, along with most feelings about anything, and nobody knows better than me how hard it is to keep creativity upright.
So, yes…feelings. I want to feel things. I just want them to be in some kind of sensible order. I feel like a toddler with too many toys. A million different things popping up, all of them fascinating and seductive, and I don’t know which one to go to first. I keep grabbing at them but don’t stop long enough to find any of them satisfying. It’s no problem for a toddler, but it is for someone who made a promise to a bunch of people that she would keep publishing, no matter what, and some of them are even paying her to do it.
And here’s the newest thing: I’m having extensive dental work done. Thousands of dollars of dental work, which means no extended winter vacation for me this year. Probably no vacation at all.
It needed to be done long before COVID but I kept putting it off. Then, when the dental offices began opening for business again, I was dealing with illnesses, both Ed’s and mine, and again it took a back seat.
Then Ed died and almost a year passed before I could even think about how uncomfortable I was, thanks to that mess in my mouth. Not to mention the expense, since I have no dental insurance. But I’m at my daughter’s house in the big city and my niece told me about the ‘best dentist ever’, so I bit the bullet and went for an evaluation.
And today, as I write this, my bottom jaw, numbed in at least 10 places with Novocain, feels like the size of a watermelon. Gauze is taking up space where teeth used to be. I can’t eat or drink for a few hours—not that I could, even if I wanted to—so if it sounds like I’m feeling sorry for myself, I think I have good reason.
But it’ll pass.
In the meantime, it looks like this is as creative as I’m going to get, at least for this week. I could surprise myself, and if I do, you’ll be the first to know.
So if you feel like commenting, if you feel like telling me your own troubles in order to make me feel better, I’m listening. Just know I may need to take a nap later.
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