I do have a life outside of writing, even though writing is a huge part of my life and is mostly what I talk about. But for the past couple of weeks, while I’ve still been writing, I haven’t been writing about writing.
Did that make sense? My caffeine intake isn’t keeping up with my attempts to be coherent.
In about a week, I’ll be having minor surgery. It is very minor, and I’ll be home the same day, but it’s on my feet and so will affect my mobility for a while. For two weeks at least, I’ll have to be out of work; I work at a daycare, and it’s pretty near impossible to be off my feet while I’m dealing with infants, toddlers, and preschoolers. (I’m a “float,” which means I go into all the classrooms at one time or another to cover lunch breaks and/or cover for staff who are out sick or who have to leave early.) I live in a two-story apartment (the apartment itself has two floors, three counting the basement where my husband’s bedroom and our laundry room are). For the first two days after the surgery, I won’t even be able to do the stairs. The current plan is that when my husband brings me home, he’ll help me get upstairs to my room… and then for the next two days, he and my kid who lives with us will have to make sure I’m fed and coffee’d. Which is going to be difficult because they’ll both be working those days.
So I’ve been a little preoccupied trying to sort out all of the logistics of how I’m getting to and from the hospital, how I’m getting to my bedroom, and how I’ll be able to have food and coffee during the time I can’t go downstairs. And trying to put things into place to cover my expenses during the time I’m out of work, since I don’t have any sick time and I don’t qualify for medical leave payments because I haven’t worked there for a year yet.
But I’ve also still been writing, and that’s helping to distract me. At least a little.