A Commitment to Write

I just took 2 weeks off from writing. I could say it was because of too many things going on – the still-unfinished work on the house, Jim’s mother visiting for a full week, and then Jim being away on business for the last 4 days – but we all know that’s not the whole story. Though I do have to say that each of those conditions have been stressful in their own ways. Particularly, having a houseguest made it difficult to have time to myself, let alone spend a few hours all at once concentrating on my writing. But like any time you have a friend that always seems too busy to see you, there’s some other reason there as well – could be that person’s disorganization and nothing personal, or could be they don’t really like you much. I needed to regroup. My blog today is not quite like what I was writing while on the cruise.

So, although I was not writing, that doesn’t mean I was not thinking – about what this blog means to me, who I am writing for, or who I want to reach (if anyone), what the best format is, and how much time I want to devote to it. I have come up with some partial answers, and I believe they will be enough, for now.

About a week after getting back from my vacation I figured out how to attach an analytics program to my blog, so I can now see how many visitors I get, and some basics about them – New or returning?, How many pages viewed?, Where do they live? – which also includes some rather useless facts for my purposes like What kind of internet connection they have! I can’t see individual addresses, so I can’t really tell who is or isn’t reading my blog. But I realized that it doesn’t matter! I can tell I have some regular readers, and that is enough.

10 years ago I first started thinking about, talking about, attempting writing. I didn’t get very far. I’d write an outline, or come up with some theme for a book. I couldn’t get a grip on what I wanted to say. I joined a writer’s group for a short time, but was frustrated because it felt like the sole purpose of the group was to tear apart someone’s writing. Perhaps I had just picked the wrong group, one that was too critical and not supportive enough. I didn’t contribute much, either my own writing or in comments to others. I didn’t fit in with them, for whatever reason. Perhaps I should have looked for another group then, but my life was so “busy”. So, I dabbled on my own, writing letters that I never intended to send – saying things I would never have the courage to say, journal entries, but nothing consistent. Keeping everything to myself, I had no feedback, and I found it harder to maintain the self-discipline needed to write. And then the shit hit the fan, got divorced, moved across the country. I would say I’ve only started feeling settled again since 2006.

Enter this blog, and though I still don’t get a lot of feedback, nonetheless because of the analytics program, I know I have readers. Voluntary readers! People who come back ONLY because they want to, not because they have to listen in a class, or to read my work so that I will read theirs. It’s an incredible feeling to know that someone reads your work because they enjoy it, not necessarily because it’s the best writing in the world, or because they know it’ll make me feel better (though I do know that personal friends care about my feelings and may be more interested just because they know me). All the same, knowing that on any given day someone will look to see if I have something new, makes me feel like writing more. What more reinforcement could anyone want or need? The blog has been working for me, in the sense that it makes me want to write, and satisfies my desire to put thoughts into words “out there”, not just holding them to myself. The format of a blog is perfect for me.

There are a lot of better-constructed, eloquent, and compelling blogs. I’ve read a few. I saw one recently about what it might be like if you only had 37 days to live. The blog is beautiful to look at, lots of interesting links, photos, poetry, true living-in-the-moment stuff. Why waste time on ugliness if you are going to die tomorrow, right? Another blog, by a young lady I know, is incredibly perceptive and descriptive. Her entries are short, but elegant, and you are left with images that touch your heart. I hope that one day she is able to channel that writing into some career so she can do what she enjoys and make money. And another I’ve seen recently is about the pain, daily, of losing someone you love to cancer. The first blogs I really followed though were written either by my son, Stephen, when he biked from Oregon to Maryland in summer 2007 or by the people he met on that trip who also kept blogs of their journeys – travel blogs – and I loved them immensely.

My blog is not any of these, and I have had moments of feeling inadequacy, knowing that I lose people because of these failings. I wish I were more creative, concise, and exciting. But those things are not “me”. And my life is interesting enough. It leads me to the question of what I am writing for.

In my 20s I spent the better part of 10 years in therapy. I was in a PhD program for clinical psychology at the time, so I could chalk it up to training. Indeed, 1 year of group therapy, and 1 of individual, was required for graduation. But I had way more than 2 years of therapy. I needed way more than 2 years. I’m not going to review my early childhood traumas here, nor discuss my first marriage, or even my current (second) marriage for that matter. Suffice it to say there was plenty of fuel for the fire. I never did get that PhD by the way, I quit after my Master’s and the coursework for the PhD were done. I needed to do my dissertation yet, which is not a small thing. But, David was little and I realized that more than anything I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, and so I dropped out.

The one thing that I would say my therapist and I agreed on at the end of that first long therapy run (I’ve had more therapy since then, around the time of my divorce), was that I hadn’t really dealt with how my disability affected me. I would treat it then as a given, like having brown eyes and hair. And for the most part I have lived that way all these years. But the truth is, that it really has made a difference in who I am. And the even clearer truth is that it took me over 30 years of living this life to really realize it. 10 years ago I was beginning to understand this, and now … well, I’m beginning to write.

My disability has influenced so many parts of my life, it’s hard to know where to begin. I believe I’m tougher than most women, and have more patience. I have to gloss over some of the little irritations. Take last night for example. I had my book club – a great discussion about a book I generally didn’t like, but do not regret reading for a second. It was a very lively meeting and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The meeting was at a house 3 doors down from my house. I say DOWN because it was literally down a hill too steep for me to push my chair down or up. One woman was stopping by before the meeting, so I arranged a push down from her. It took 2 people to push me back up. I could have driven my car there, parking in the driveway, totally independent. But isn’t that ridiculous? To drive 3 houses down? On the other hand, how many people do you know that need 2 people to accompany them home a full distance of 3 houses? Or that have to pre –arrange transportation by walking 3 houses? Oh, the ladies in my group were more than willing to help, and I had more helpers than I needed. I actually had 3 people walking down with me, and 3 willing to walk up as well. Nice to know I am not lacking in friends. But a very small part of this made me feel like a child who can’t cross the street without holding an adult’s hand. Emphasize very small please. This isn’t really the same. But it is different from what most adults have to do. It’s a small irritation, that would have been forgotten already if not for this blog. I don’t really mind this sort of stuff, I long ago started to be grateful when people held the door for me. But not all people with disabilities are like this. And I know a lot of temporarily-able-bodied people have trouble with accepting help too.

I think that for any given day I can come up with at least 3 little, little things like this, where some small item or some small behavior is just a bit different. And any one of these by themselves would be nothing, but all together, it paints a different picture. Today’s 3 things – 1) asking the electrician to close the window he opened, not because it was cold but because I couldn’t reach it later, 2) feeling annoyed that I have to hire someone to patch walls that I do believe I could do if I could reach them and 3) arriving early at a cooking class/wine dinner to get seating because I knew if I didn’t – all the spots that I could “park” at would be taken and I’d end up rearranging the whole room.

I believe some would say I’m feeling sorry for myself because I’m talking about all my hardships. I won’t deny that I have days like that, rare but not unheard of. But mostly I’m too adjusted to this life, and cool headed to bother with feeling sorry for myself. Life is too short, just get on with it. I do have days when the nuisances I have to deal with make me angry too. If you had known me years ago you’d have seen both more anger and more self pity. We soften as we age, I think. If anything, I suspect my emotions related to my disability are a bit blunted now. A better accusation might be that I’m rather self centered, and I’d say again – guilty as charged. But how else do I write this kind of thesis?

So, why am I writing? I suppose it’s a bit of therapy. I’m putting together my reflections on what being a victim of a ridiculous violent act is like, and of what it feels like to have a broken body – one that is not dying, but doesn’t work quite right either.

And who am I writing for? That is something that I hope this blog in time will help me answer. I’m going to keep writing, as close to daily as I possibly can, even if the entry is short and written at 11:50 PM. And with time, I know that themes will come up. Some have already – equipment, and aches and pains.

I could be writing something for rehabilitation staff, on how living with paraplegia feels. Or perhaps what will emerge will be stories to encourage others with disabilities to explore more, and accept less mediocrity. I could see writings to the general public to increase awareness, and tolerance. Or maybe I just want to reach my sons to explain who I am.

Perhaps there is a book in me! Maybe articles in disability magazines, or maybe mainstream ones? At this point, only people who like to read are going to stay with me, I recognize that my blog posts are long. I’m torn between writing less to hold onto more people, and writing as much as my heart desires. If I were a better writer, I might be able to make the posts shorter but convey the same message. I don’t pretend to have excellent literary skills.

Over the past 2 weeks, I have felt like an addict needing a fix, wanting to get back to my writing, and getting in a bad mood because I couldn’t. Dozens of topics came to mind (especially as I was trying to fall asleep) – Choosing a car, Having kids, Wheelchair dancing, Scars, $ and Time, Seating, Parking, Having a housekeeper….. The most clear point is that this matters to me!

There’s so much material there! Some mundane stuff, some serious. I will never lack for a topic. What I worry that I’ll lack is time. I’m not ill, not dying. I don’t have a job, or kids at home. At the moment I’m not consistently doing volunteer work. But somehow, I never seem to have free time. The way my life is constructed now there are always chores, laundry, something to fix on the house, dinner to make, plants to take care of, not to mention cats. I handle our finances. When we plan vacations, I do the lion’s share of the work. My life is “full”. And then on top, we get visitors, or even larger home projects (this electrical one is finally essentially done as of today, it’s been as complicated as a kitchen remodel).

As I’ve thought about how important writing is becoming to me, I’ve also had to think about how I’m going to allocate the time for it. I would like to spend 4 hours each day writing, and this is going to mean some changes around my home. Less time for reading, ok, no problem. Some tasks won’t get done as quickly. So what if the eaves of the house aren’t painted in June, but in September instead. I don’t have to cook dinner every day. There will be time. I will create time.

You see, while Jim’s mom was here – he went to work every day as usual, including going to the gym after work some days, because it was easy to see that these things have value and are not to be put off. He could do this because I was here, and his mom wasn’t alone. If I’d been away, or didn’t exist, he’d be more conscientious about getting home earlier. I’m not putting Jim down, we talked about this before she arrived and agreed it was ok. But as the week of her visit wore on, I realized that while she was here I could still do the chores, laundry and grocery shopping – again because you could see their value - but the one thing I really felt like I couldn’t do was write. Our lives were not set up where my writing carried any importance, it’s been hobby or entertainment – fluff in my life. And at the end of the week I was drained.

To be able to write daily, I have to make a commitment, and say that my writing is important - even if it’s only important to me. For all I know, in six months I’ll be done with this, and it won’t go any further than the blog itself. In the meantime, I’m going to write. My plan is to write daily for as long as I enjoy it, and hope that in time it will become more clear to me who I am writing for, and what my goals are. In the meantime I believe it will be a therapeutic activity for me, if nothing else. It feels important, and when I write one day I sleep better that night. I am going to think of these posts as rough drafts for a future project that isn’t yet focused.

Some updates – my wrist is doing well, surprisingly well. I think I respond well to anti-inflammatories. Next week I see my rehab doc and hand surgeon. I stopped taking the meds yesterday so that my wrist will be at its usual inflamed condition when I see the docs.

The Abilities Expo is tomorrow and I’m so excited! I’ve been hearing great things about some new rims that sound much easier to grip and push.

Struggling with cat care again – Jasper’s vomiting hasn’t gotten better with the new diet, so he’s on daily medication (Prednisone) and that is helping a lot, but pilling him is NOT easy – especially when Jim is away. I’ve had to hire help a few days this week. At first he fought so much I didn’t want to ask neighbors for help. Now, it’s easier, so next time Jim travels I may ask someone local, maybe the kid across the street, to help me. It would be nice to be able to do this alone, but that may take a while yet. For me to pill him I have to get him on my lap, and so far I haven’t figured out how to do this.

Jim and I are planning our next cruise – likely to be spring or fall 2011. We’re looking at the listings just coming out for next year. Rome and the Greek Islands this time!

It’s amazing how long this electrical project has taken. Today they essentially finished – only one outlet left to replace (the one they brought today was defective) and one dimmer switch got broken today. The work passed inspection today, yeah! I still have walls to patch in 6 places, which was to happen yesterday – but the handyman called to cancel the appointment – a friend in the hospital. Yesterday I had my first experience blowing a kitchen circuit. I have a new panel, why did it happen? Well, the fridge, lights, microwave and toaster oven are on the same circuit, and all were running. So, they fixed that today too, only another $350. The good news was, that although alone, I could go outside and flip the breaker myself and reset it – woohoo!