Covid Writing

It wasn’t like my life was so gloriously big before.

I’m not a world traveler or famous author. I’m not an elected official or corporate executive suddenly working from my kitchen.

I’m an old woman who gets ten texts a day from the Biden campaign. Between when the texts come, taking the dogs to the dog park, and watching the delicious but extremely slow process of my orchid coming back from certain death to blooming sometime in my lifetime, I could be writing a book. I certainly have time.

Don’t start in on me. I’m doing other stuff but listing it means I buy in to the axiom that you are what you do, which I do buy into, but never mind.

So I waver between appreciative gazing of my budding orchid which, if you were familiar with my sordid history as a gardener or caretaker of houseplants, you would understand more deeply, and thinking I should enroll in a MFA program. So, this morning, I researched low-residency MFA programs hoping I could find one that would let me stay with my orchid, not require me to go anywhere at all, and underpinning all the programs seemed to be the presumption that prospective students would come with a book idea or project or draft. Then all the coursework could be woven into the book project and, at the end, voila! a book would be born.

I have two thoughts about that. I’m too dull-witted and I wish I had some gum.

I can overcome the dull-wittedness in short spurts. Having a blog is perfect for me in terms of attention span and continuity of thought requirements. Both are minimal. Writing a book, though, seems to require more higher-order thought that I have in my wee armory at the moment. It would require vision, tactical ability, and discipline as unimaginable to me now as an elephant swinging his trunk on my front porch. Holding a banana.

And the gum. Well, it just seems ridiculous to order gum on Amazon, don’t you think? And I’m not walking into some teeming Covid hive to buy a pack of gum. As if you can buy a pack of gum anymore. A jar of gum is what you have to buy. I have just, in this last sentence, aged ten years.

I will keep writing my blog even though I am dull-witted and wish I had some gum because what the blog demands of me is what I have even though oftentimes it feels that what I have is lint in my pockets. So what, right? My orchid is blooming.

4 Comments on “Covid Writing

  1. In bygone days you could have safely sent the neighbor kid to the corner store with a quarter: .10 for a pack of gum for you and all the penny candy he could carry with the extra money. I loved the corner store, and penny candy, and the days when kids could go anywhere, even way past dark.

    Like

  2. As I was reading your post, I thought of all those times I wished to become sick with a cold so I could stay home from work to catch up on some work project. Then I would get the cold and find I was too sick to think and do. It seems like the virus is sucking the life out of me even though I haven’t been infected (at least that I know of). And that doesn’t include having an insane, incompetent, white supremacist president and decades/centuries of apartheid that we will need to figure out how to heal. Keep writing, Jan.

    Liked by 2 people

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