Under Pressure (Blog #823)

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Okay. It’s midnight-thirty, and I’m just sitting down to blog. Earlier tonight I taught a dance lesson to a couple who is about to be married. We’re really getting down to the nut-cutting. Three more lessons, and then it’s their big day. Then they perform their routine. Honestly, it’s getting better the closer and closer we get to the deadline. Not because, as you might think, they’ve been practicing more, although they have been. (Practice, what a novel concept.) Rather, their routine is getting better because of that magical force called pressure (pressure–pushing down on me), because of that thing that says, This has got to happen. This has simply got to happen.

Several times in the last few weeks I’ve mentioned the pressure I’m under, specifically the pressure to create (out of thin air) a 1,500-word short story for my friend Marla’s writing class that began four weeks ago and ends tomorrow. Ugh. I started my short story easily enough, with three hundred words, but the last time I worked on it, a week ago today (the night before our last class), I was only able to add a hundred more. Consequently, I’ve felt like a failure. Sure, a hundred words is a hundred words, but all week I’ve been at a loss because I haven’t known where to go next. Not that I’ve sat down, even once, to try to figure things out. I’ve been too busy–reading books, mowing my parents’ lawn, fighting a sinus infection.

Today I started dog sitting for a friend, and this afternoon when I ate lunch (Mexican food) in their kitchen, their dog lay on the floor and stared at me the whole time. Like, Hey, Amigo, are you gonna share that or what? This went on until my last bite (because I don’t share and–besides–had just given him a T-R-E-A-T.) Anyway, this is sometimes what trying to write can feel like, like you’re a dog lying on a kitchen floor waiting for some middle-aged prick to pass you a piece of his chicken taco. You bang your head against the wall and wait for The Muse to show up and say something–ANYTHING!– but then, as if it were a Tinder date, it stands you up instead.

Just like a man. The Muse is probably a man.

As of last night and even as early as this morning, I was convinced I simply wasn’t going to get my short story finished in time for class. Even if I do find the time to write, I doubt I’ll be able to get very far, I thought. Optimistic, I know, but I’ve done this fiction writing thing before, and it requires time.

So get this shit. (And pay close attention because I’m only going to say this once.) I was wrong. (I’ll explain.) Because of my sinus infection, I cleared my schedule this afternoon to rest. But then I perked up a little and decided to TRY working on my short story. I’ve got four hours, I thought. A lot can happen in four hours. And, y’all, a lot did. I wrote 850 words. That’s 1,250 words total. And whereas I didn’t FINISH the story, I’m okay with that because I realized it’s not meant to be a short story–it’s meant to be something longer. A novel, perhaps. So what I have now is a solid introduction, maybe a first chapter. Regardless, I have 1,250 words (that I absolutely adore) that I didn’t have a few weeks ago. And here’s the best part–I can’t wait to see what happens next.

This if the FUN side of writing. For weeks you beat yourself up and bang your head against the wall. You agonize over what’s going to happen. You do nothing and get nowhere. The pressure builds. Then, the day before your deadline, you finally sit down in front of the keyboard. You think, This has got to happen. This has simply got to happen. And just like that, it does. When it’s over, you’re just as amazed as anyone else is. Tonight while editing my story, I noticed subtle connections I didn’t intend. Magical, I thought. This is what makes me believe I’m not working alone here. This is what makes me believe The Muse does exist and–because it’s willing to show up to our creative play dates but simply takes its sweet time getting ready–must be a woman.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn't. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable--something perfect.

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Stretched (Blog #354)

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For the last several days I’ve been in Houston, Texas, at Lindyfest, a large Lindy Hop (dance) convention. Yesterday was the final day of the event, and I stayed up until almost four this morning dancing with and talking to both old friends and new. When I finally called it a night and got back to my room, I took a hot shower and absolutely passed out. Since my roommate took off yesterday afternoon, I had the bed to myself and didn’t have to worry about whether or not I would snore or anything.

And for the record, my roommate said I snored one night, but not the others. (Phew.) “That’s much better than I figured,” I told him.

This morning I woke up a little after nine in order to eat breakfast before the buffet downstairs closed. My plan was to go back to my room after eating and take a nap before checking out at noon, but I realized at breakfast that if I left at noon I’d get stuck in Dallas traffic on the way home. So I went with Plan B, which was to drink an entire pot of coffee; suck it up, buttercup; and hit the road.

Y’all, I hate to brag, but you’re basically looking at a road magician. Somehow–I can’t reveal my secrets–I managed to transform an eight-hour drive home into a ten-hour one. (Abracadabra!) Okay, okay, you twisted my arm. I stopped three times to fill up with gas and use the restroom. Also, I COMPLETELY missed my turn to get onto Interstate 40 in Checotah, Oklahoma, the birthplace of country-music superstar Carrie Underwood. Anyway, I seriously don’t know how it happened. I must have been singing along with Justin Beiber’s version “Despacito.” The next thing I knew, I was in Muskogee, Oklahoma, thinking, Wait a damn minute, this doesn’t look right.

Bom, bom. (That’s a lyric from “Despacito,” Mom.)

As it turns out, I was twenty-two miles north of my missed turn. Well, what can you do except turn around? Like, I started to fret about the whole thing and blame myself for not paying better attention, but I honestly didn’t have the energy for it. So instead I whipped Tom Collins (my car) around and headed back south. Effectively, the “detour” added an hour to my trip. That being said, it also gave me more time for Beiber Fever, so I don’t see the mishap as a complete loss of time.

Now it’s ten-fifteen at night, and I’m back home in Van Buren. I’m sitting at Waffle House and just scarfed down my first meal since breakfast this morning in Houston. Well, unless you count a Big Gulp full of coffee as a meal. Anyway, I’m blogging here rather than at my parents’ house three minutes away because when I get home, I want to be home. I don’t want any work to do.

I think this is all I have to give for now. I’ve been pushing both my mind and body a lot lately, and I’m worn out. In more than one respect, I feel like I’ve been stretched to my limit. But today in the car I thought a lot about something one of my new friends (Matt) said last night. We were talking about tattoos, and he said he had one on the side of his rib cage, an arrow. (I didn’t see it, but it supposedly points toward his nipple. Like, I don’t know, in case he forgets where his nipple is located.) Anyway, Matt said the arrow reminds him that sometimes you have to go back before your can go forward. So I’ve been thinking that whenever you feel as if you’ve lost your way, whenever you feel stretched, and whenever you feel more pressure pushing on your back than you think you can handle, perhaps that pressure is exactly what’s required in order for you to soar.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

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Shine (Blog #328)

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This afternoon I spoke to the immunologist’s office, and they said they were waiting on my internist’s office for further lab results, results I’m pretty sure don’t exist. They said, “We get so many referrals, we typically don’t take new clients unless they have lab results showing an active infection.” I sent a message to my internist asking where we go from here–and I see her next week–but I don’t mind saying it’s difficult to advocate for yourself when you’re not feeling well. This, of course, is exactly when you need to advocate for yourself–when you don’t have the energy to do so. As Alanis Morissette said, “Isn’t it ironic?”

It really is funny how quickly your standards can change. Six months ago I wouldn’t have thought anything about making a phone call to ask for a doctor’s appointment. Today it took all the emotional strength I had. Maybe emotional strength and physical strength go together. After I got off the phone with the doctor’s office, I took a shower and returned some spark plugs to the auto supply store (because my mechanic told me the spark plugs were crap), and I was ready for a nap afterwards. Instead I came to my parents’ house and met my mechanic, who replaced my spark plugs (with ones he bought) then told me I could stand to have additional work (a throttle cleanup) done.

So that was good news.

Now I’m hanging out at home in order to raid the refrigerator and get the blog done. It’s been keeping me up the last few nights, and I’d like to have it checked off my to-do list for the day. This way I can pass out later if I want to. Honestly, I never thought this would be my life–constantly worn out, willing to work but unable to, discussing my problems on the internet. I remember once telling the universe that I could handle whatever it threw my way. I wasn’t trying to be cocky, but simply affirming my inner strength. I said, “I can do this. Bring it on.” Now I’d like to say–“I take it back.”

Pressure is necessary to positive internal change.

Joseph Campbell says, “Nothing can happen to you that is not positive. Even though it looks and feels at the moment like a negative crisis, it is not. The crisis throws you back, and when you are required to exhibit strength, it comes.” This is a statement that sounds great when your life is going well and is a real kick in the nuts when it’s not. Nothing can happen to you that’s not positive. Please. What chronically ill person is going to have THAT tattooed on their forearm? But here’s the thing–deep down, I really do believe that. Like a lump of coal under extreme pressure, I know that a profound transformation is happening here. Slowly, but it’s happening. I’m already stronger than I was six months ago, and I’m sure that wouldn’t be the case were it not for the physical and emotional challenges I’m currently facing. Honestly, I hate that life is set up this way, but it is. Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don’t shine on their own.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Damn if good news doesn't travel the slowest.

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