I’m back from my vacation … a pleasant week in Mauritius … and have resumed my pro blogging, but it’s a slog. Having managed to kick my compuddiction quite nicely, thank you, getting back into the swing is proving to be harder than I imagined.
I did take my computer along, but used it only to play movies for the kids, much to my husband’s great joy and utter astonishment. Given my propensity for logging on at the drop of a hat, compulsive checking of email and inclination to worry that I’m missing out on something really important at any given minute I’m not connected, it was quite an accomplishment.
Problem is, however, it was far too easy and now I’m wondering why in the heck I’ve been working so hard for the past couple of years.
After all, it’s not like any of this is making me rich, garnering great respect or making a real difference in the world. Ephemeral little waves and momentary pauses for thought is about all I can create with the words I struggle so to link together, and it’s certainly not like I’ll be retiring on the wages I earn in the process … or buying myself a fridge, for that matter.
I’ve been writing on average 2500 words per day, seven days a week for a long time now, and although I have managed to piss off a number of people I’m happy enough to annoy, that shouldn’t be enough to keep me going month after month in perpetuity.
The novels I have inside are waiting patiently for my fingers to be freed up long enough to let them escape the confines of my little pea brain and jump onto the pages they crave, while the collection of work that’s supposed to be already on the shelves sits anxiously alongside the copious notes on adoption-related material that confound my days. Friends who would love to receive long and heartfelt letters have had to settle for blog posts aimed at a wider and less personal audience.
While people who don’t like me take issue with the fact that I write at all, I find myself explaining my very soul to those I don’t care about in the slightest whose opinions I don’t value for a cause that has little to do with anything in my life.
My family is complete and content. Adoption is a part of our lives and no changes in the world … even total victory by the anti-adoption brigade … will make a difference to our day-to-day.
Nasty curses by anti-adoption nut cases who consider me an evil on par with pick-a-despicable-character, any-despicable-character bounce off me without leaving dents, but it isn’t nice to have all that negative energy aimed in my direction. Wouldn’t I be better off if I just smiled politely and let others chew each others’ toes off? After all, I have no axe to grind.
Of course, there is the crap that needs addressing (and, no, that’s not a postal joke), and a good deal of information that should be passed along.
Ack! How long does it take to recover from a holiday?
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 