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facing fear and (sort of) doing it anyway

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Hopalong:
Oh Lordy Lord, you guys crack me up.

I do enjoy service, helping researchers conceive of what they do in language that reaches the people they can help (or profit from, as the motive may be).

But a sense of mission about turning medicine green? Don't have the energy, honestly. You remind me though about one thing that needs SO much work for someone/org who does...the amount of non-biodegradable waste, especially plastics, in hospitals, is ghastly. Probably near-equates in some cities to what all the individual citizens throw out collectively.

But I want to write my own fiction and poetry before I die. All-a this other subject matter pushes it back and these days, I feel as though the pushing-back will eat up my time on earth.

I'm just feeling weary from a long cold that turned into something bronchial and I am unfit and weak and sometimes to a scary point. This will not stand and yet I have trouble finding the will to be active enough to get fit again. It's a perverse and self-destructive reaction to being/living/feeling alone.

If I do get employed, that will force some structure into my life again which is needed. I am just now tidying up after a very extravagant pity party and it's a mess.  :)

love,
Hops

lighter:
Hops:

So sorry to hear you're struggling with bronchial stuff.  Do you need help from a doc to get over that typically?  Xylitol nose spray, taken during a cold, usually helps me avoid a secondary infection..... maybe you could try it now?  Not sure, but I'm sorry you're having trouble shaking chest crud right now. 

If you don't mind my asking, what kind of fiction do you want to write? 

Lighter

Hopalong:
Thanks, Lighter. I'm slowly recovering.
Actually took a wobbly 10-minute walk yesterday, alert the media.
And I'm forcing myself to church in a few minutes.
Coughing less.

Docs don't really help much. Mucinex tablets do, loads of water. Actifed for a couple days.
It just hits like this every year or so. One year I wouldn't be surprised if that was that.
But then again, a pneumonia (when I'm 99) would be fine with me.

My lack of will around exercise is scary, it becomes a self-reinforcing stillness, and not the good kind. Fall temps will make it easier (but I've had an unused exercise bike next to my sofa all the while).

I don't know how to cure it but I am going to try again.

love
Hops

sKePTiKal:
Are you feeling any better Hops? Do I have to remind you that chicken soup and vitamin C still work?  ;)  I sure have to remind myself... although I don't have any problem with the chicken soup side of that equation. I have this daily mental craving for chicken noodle soup and like some monks, find it restorative to not have to think about what I'm having for lunch that day... and to each day find the goodness in it. (WEIRD, ain't it?)

The weather is turning to less humid air and more seasonal temperatures. That should help you feel a little more comfortable getting back to some physical activity.

The other stuff... well, we all process that differently. And for all the self-help stuff and well-meaning advice that we all feel obligated to share... I do think that sometimes a long period of inactivity, nothingness, and just letting those feelings come out from whatever rocks they're hiding under until they make themselves a nuisance... well, sometimes, that's exactly what's needed. Good luck trying to convince people who care for you that this is OK, it's what you need, and it won't pass until you're good & ready to do something else.

Our emotional selves live in a different space-time-dimension altogether. It seldom plays nice with the physical, intellectual and workaday world and all the so-called "bad habits" - as defined within that dimension - simply don't apply or have any meaning at all in the emotional dimension.

Amber's pet-rock theory of the day. LOL.

Hopalong:
Hi Lighter,
Forgot to answer your novel question. I have Chapter One done (for a long long time) and the rest of the plot outlined in my head, but life derailed the writing. I don't know that it's a type or genre of fiction, but I'll say it's funny, poignant, and about child abuse. How those go together is that it's kind of an aftermath book, a woman who heals two children by, errrr, rescuing (kidnapping, if you wanna get nitpicky) them. And then there's a road trip, some fantasist stuff, a shambling burned-out detective. And a happy ending. I love the story and everyone I've narrated the bones of it to has too. I will be fulfilled by writing it, and it should take a couple of years. What I have grieved about is the way I let it fall behind.

My T said I have a mildish almost-PTSD thing going on, about jobs/bosses/money. So I need to get all the way through that to a more stable space, before I can carve out the time/focus to do my Real Writing. But yes, it's really what I want.

I think in many cases writers are absolutely exploding with ideas and stories but just lack the support system or safety or structure to enable it. It's A Room of One's Own (Va. Woolf) in ways--while realizing that the room must be paid for or it doesn't matter what you can do inside it.

PR, I thank you for this:

--- Quote ---I do think that sometimes a long period of inactivity, nothingness, and just letting those feelings come out from whatever rocks they're hiding under until they make themselves a nuisance... well, sometimes, that's exactly what's needed.
--- End quote ---

I am feeling better physically and the forced-withdrawal of being sick has triggered a lot of stuff, plus a lot of isolation. Now that I'm moving outward again, I can look back and see that the darker fears and depression maybe just have needed to cycle through me, so I could move out into life again.


--- Quote ---Good luck trying to convince people who care for you that this is OK
--- End quote ---
Well, in classic grass-is-always-greener mode, what I wished for most while ill was people noticing/responding to the state I was in. One neighbor brought food after I called and asked her to, very kindly. The pattern with the two closest friends is to care, but at phone distance (understandably, nobody wants a virus). But other people in my life don't call or even leave something at the door. I sense a social change in that, and it makes me sad. I'm not THAT old, and when I am, I can easily see how scary it may be to live alone. (If I had family checking in, I'd feel less of those cold-dark feelings when I'm wobbly and unwell.) Zero interest in changing my living circumstances any time soon, but I'm gradually facing why people do.

I'm hanging in, though. My mother enjoyed her own home, with Cinderella's my help for her last decade. She spent the last 14 months in a nursing home, but made it until 98 with only that forced-change. I don't have a D in my life and doubt I will again, so we'll see. Could be I'll couple up and inherit stepfamily, which I would love. Or friends and I may cobble together something else. I'm really pretty well situated for a decent transition to having some help though, if I found the right person one day.

I wish I DID eat chicken soup! (I eat fish, but not birds or mammals.) I'll write a separate post on the Food I Dream Of, maybe some of you guys will have ideas.

Love y'all,
Hops

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