I answered a question the other day about how to stick to a writing routine only to get up this morning and have one of my cats jump from the kitchen table the adjacent hutch, miss the landing, and pull a crystal dish down on himself and the floor, sending glass shards everywhere. It was like he set off a bomb of glass.
My first thought? Was it of my poor dumb cat’s health? He might have been badly cut with all that glass, and him in the center of it. Nope. I was pissed that I was just about to sit down to write, and he fucked it up for me.
I’ve been lucky, that’s all.
It made me realize that as part of my routine, I’ve been relatively immune from these types of situations for a little while. Plenty of things have happened already this year. I’ve had an ultrasound and radically change my eating habits because of it. My wife had a recent trip to the ER with a hernia, that she now has to soldier through until next month when the surgeon can get to her. My work is not going swimmingly, as I’m on a pretty decent amount of commission, and our new compensation plan has effectively cut my take home in half.
But all of these things were realized or happened later in the day, after my writing.
So I need to update my answer and credit my being able to stick to a writing habit as “kismet” or just dumb luck. If something happened to me every morning, I would never get to write, and eventually, I would give up again.
But not today.
I grabbed both my beloved Dyson vacuums, which I’m pretty sure could pick up tennis balls, if needed, and proceeded to clean the area as well as I can. My wife still being hernia-inflicted could only supervise, which is her favorite pastime when it comes to me, so that worked out well for her. I’m an awful supervisee, as it turns out, especially when I’m angered, which is quite easily done.
So I cleaned everything I could, locked up all the cats so no one would get glass shards in their little feed (two are allowed out in the morning) and sat back down to my coffee and keyboard, trying to pick an idea to write about. This being so fresh in my mind, it’s probably not the best subject, as I find that my subconscious likes to chew on things for a while before it lets me break out and rant about them. But we’re all pissed off today, so I got a hall pass.
I would not give in
The key here is that I went back to my writing and forced myself to write something. Anything, at this point, it doesn’t matter what I write daily anymore. For me, I’m working on two things – finding my voice (which takes a bunch of writing) and building content and ideas to pull from.
I could make the argument that I need more mornings like this to keep my writing fresh and from sounding like a societal criticism column, which I would do if anyone cared to read about such claptrap. If you would like that type of thing, please send me a note, I can bend your ear for days about what I see wrong, or generally what bothers me. I can’t wait to be old enough to gather the “grumpy old man” moniker.
I may have mentioned in the past that I have a very Irish temper. It’s quick and explosive, but once I get it all out, I calm down rather quickly. So here I am, at my daily word count, with said asshole ninja cat laying at my feet in an attempt to apologize to me. Obviously, I let him back out. It’s working as I’m petting him telling him how much of an ass he is. C’est la vie. As it turns out, he did cut himself, but he should heal up nicely, it’s only a flesh wound. Now to go find ideas for the rest of the week. Here, kitty, kitty.
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