It’s a beautiful Sunday with the sun shining, happy cats dozing or playing wherever they’d like to play. Nikki is happily watching one of her favorite shows (at least until she realized it was the last episode available) and I woke up to the pleasant discovery that I have somehow managed to get pink eye.
My luck, as I’ve mentioned, is kind of amazing in it’s scope of inconvenience.
I thought I’d wake up today feeling slightly more inspired after a good night’s sleep and have something to write here, but being home just made me comfortable and dumb.
Its these moments that I feel a healthy respect for other writers, especially bloggers, who manage to churn out great and engaging content every single day. But that’s likely the Imposter Syndrome talking. Nobody can be perfect all the time. No writer can sit down every single day and feel 100% good about what they’ve written. They can choose to sit down and write every single day no matter how they feel, though. That’s what makes you a writer.
I gave myself the day off yesterday to process some of the things I needed to think about coming home from Cleveland Clinic. Decisions that needed to be made in regards to what I’m aiming for and what I’ll be discussing with my wonderful primary doctor in our appointment tomorrow. Part of that was accepting the inevitability of my conditions. Not death, but that no matter how long I live, these conditions will live with me. It isn’t dying that scares me. It’s what my life will be while I live it.
I’ll ask for your patience over these coming days as you check in to the blog and find updates. I can’t promise that they’ll be much good, but I can promise that they will be here. I will still promise honesty and openness. The opportunity to turn inward and truly examine my emotions may be something that presents itself here and maybe, if I’m lucky, one of you will speak up and share with me some wisdom that will change me as a person and as a writer.
The most important part of this entire journey is being on it, right?