OK, so it’s been a busy week. But definitely not in any sort of satisfying, achieved something major kind of way. More like busy with a thousand piddly little things finally checked off the list – unfortunately with many PLTs still left to do. And as a result of piddle overload, I was completely uninspired to write a post today.
This comes despite some increasing success on the blog front. State of Minder is now being read in countries ranging from South Korea to Iran (Iranian hits number exactly two – but that’s two more than last week.) And I am soon going to be linked to from a couple of other websites, which is great news. Nonetheless, today I was left with nothing to write about, utter noninspiration. Please don’t even bother typing that into your dictionary, I am well aware it is not a word. But I am suffering from it and it sounds more like an actual affliction than writer’s block.
So early this morning I’m waking up to take a child to the airport for a school trip and my husband says I ‘seem stressed.’ It’s 5:30 a.m. and he happens to be right – though his powers of observation pre-sunrise surprise me. Fact is, I am feeling a bit stressed. First because a child of ours is going to spend the day hurtling through the air in not one but two different airplanes when the terror alert is at a ‘heightened level of vigilance.’ Note: I didn’t come up with that. It’s the official term Homeland Security put in place to replace the color codes. Apparently nobody wanted to fly on orange days. Maybe they should have picked pastels – how scary could a ‘lavender’ alert be? But, I digress.
Then, about the time this son finally reaches his destination, when I would normally start to calm down, another of our joint progeny is scheduled for surgery. To which my husband replies that I can’t call it surgery when it involves a tiny ‘procedure’ with an incision of less than a centimeter– even if sewed up with a stitch or two or SEV-EN! Nonetheless, I am the one technically correct here - a doctor wielding a scalpel and cutting into my child qualifies as surgery. At least in my current state of mind. Especially when I’m the one whose hand is being squeezed till the terror alert of my fingertips changes from lavender to purple. For the record - 2.5 centimeters wide, almost as profound and deep purple.
The rest of the piddly points are too mundane to get into. It was only the sheer quantity that made them stressful. Stressful but still boring which means I certainly will not write about them. I only want to make a point that in order to write well you need a clear head and some time for contemplation. This week I didn’t have either. The result is a total lack of inspiration and creativity. Hence this blog. For which I apologize.