A useless day—or a day when I was useless

My brother and me, in happier days

Truth is, probably no day is totally worthless; each has some redeeming quality. But I am hard put to find much good about today. No, it was not a bad day. It was just a day, a plain day, one when I didn’t know what I wanted to do and did almost nothing. I checked emails in the morning and made chicken salad for our dinner, so it could cool and blend its flavors in the fridge all afternoon. And then I fiddled, manufacturing things to do, avoiding what I’d set as my goal for the week.

You see, I’m almost at the end of the first draft of Irene in a Ghost Kitchen. I have the end—the climactic scenes, if you will—in mind, and I think I know how they should go. But I am avoiding putting the words on paper. I think in part I’m afraid to ever call the silly, short book finished, and in another part I’m afraid the end won’t work out as I intend it to. With Irene, one never knows. The entire cast of characters could take off in their own direction and spoil what I think are my plans. So I piddled.

And I didn’t know what to blog about. It’s been a different day—my brother is in the hospital again, just down the street from us. I knew last night they had requested transport from Granbury to Fort Worth where his cardiologist is but there were no beds at the hospital. And then all day today, I knew nothing and was afraid to call, maybe because I didn’t want to intrude or interrupt and maybe because I feared bad news. Finally at six o’clock, I called, he answered, and we had a short but semi-reassuring conversation. When I asked if we should come visit him, he said his dance card was already pretty full. And then he said it was complicated to get there, and I thought he was thinking of me in my transport chair. I have found in the past that hospital has a lot of twists and turns, and you can get lost if you don’t know where you are going. So we will talk again tomorrow.

Also today, Jordan’s new cat went to be neutered, which didn’t affect me much but did throw a monkey wrench in scheduling. They took him eight and were to pick him up at three. Then I called Sophie’s vet because we discovered an abscess on the back of her neck. I had a faint hope he would prescribe antibiotics over the phone, but no—he wanted to see her. Diabetes complicates infection. Jordan took her at eleven and, to my dismay, they kept her. Then they called and said she could go home at three. Schedule conflict! No way the kids could have the dog and cat in the car at the same time. It all worked out: they got the cat, Jordan and the cat came home, and Christian got Sophie about four. She is home, has some antibiotics, and my wallet is a lot lighter. But I am grateful she didn’t spend the night.

Last night we had a farewell happy hour for my Canadian daughter and her husband—I fixed a spread instead of just a light snack, because I knew they would have packed their kitchen and couldn’t cook. Pigs in a blanket, devilled eggs, veggies with a dip, olives, pickles, cherry tomatoes, etc. We had a pleasant evening, and I worked to avoid topics on which we disagree, but somehow the subject of money ruling the world came up. Reluctantly I realize it’s true, but I hate it; she accepts it with a degree of cynicism that frustrates me. When Sue said she as always proven right, I didn’t remind her that she had absolutely guaranteed that trump would win in 2020 because money rules—and he didn’t. But I hated that a touchy subject came up when who knows when we will see them again.

So maybe all that baggage was on my mind tonight and kept me from writing or, until now when it is almost midnight, from blogging. Who knows how creativity works? Tonight, because I as so at loose ends, I took a nap about eight-thirty and that was when I really came to grips with how out of sorts I felt. So I got up, came to the computer, and deliberately wrote three sentences. And I felt the muse kick in, I knew where I was going. It was too late to keep at it, but now I’m fired about tomorrow. I had promised myself I’d write a blog post first thing in the morning, so I turned to the book I’m currently reading. And then it occurred to me that if I wrote the blog tonight, I could go right to the novel in the morning. And sort of what I wanted to say flitted around in my mind. So that’s why these cobbled together thoughts on creativity and indolence.

Sweet dreams all. I hope I dream of Irene wrapping up that story in her usual fine style.