It’s been so long since I wrote a blog that I had to re-learn how to do it on WordPress. Now I’m trying to revive my blog.
I’ve stated on another page of this blog that I’d blog about writing or whatever’s on my mind. Well, today I’m thinking about writing. Specifically, lack of writing.
For me, not writing causes atrophy of the writing muscles. The less I write, the less able I am to write. I’m incapable of lowering the bucket into the well and hauling up something to say. But that doesn’t matter. The well’s probably dried up anyway.
On the plus side, I’m really keeping up with my laundry.
For those of you who don’t know, I’m disabled as defined by Social Security and the State of North Carolina. I was no longer able to perform the functions of my job, so I collect a dole from the federal government. At first, I thought that not having to go to a job I couldn’t do would free me up to write, and I thought I’d storm the literary world and make enough money to not have to collect disability. Collecting disability is demeaning. I’d rather work.
Then I discovered that being disabled is a job in itself. My life revolves around my disability. I go from symptom to symptom and appointment to appointment. Consequently, I haven’t taken the world by storm. It’s been six years since I became disabled. I’ve published in literary journals and made enough money to buy five bags of potato chips — family-sized. I have a novella I can’t sell because who the hell publishes novellas anyway and a novel with mass-market appeal that I can’t stick the landing on.
Writing has been the only thing that’s been propping up any feeling of self-worth I have left. I’m a drag on society, yes, but at least I’m productive in one area. Without writing, I’m just grist for the mill.
Crunch crunch crunch.