And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
I’m not going to lie (not that I ever have, mind you!), but this has been a rough winter. With bitter weather, and more money leaving than coming in, it’s been stressful. In November, I ended up with COVID, and in February, I got ill again (not with COVID, but all kinds of icky as if making up for lost time). For someone who never gets sick, it’s an irony. And when I get sick, I become cranky and downright miserable for everybody. When I have each spot on the couch memorized, it’s an indication we’ve spent too much time together.
I still went food shopping as is my habit each week, though I was masked so as not to infect anyone else with the germs that had invaded my delicate frame. At this point, I wasn’t contagious, but still. After my last stop and ready for home, I sat in the car as I rifled through my purse looking for my keys. The same keys I had needed to unlock the car. And the same keys that were already in the ignition, with the car running. Yup, still sick.
However, humor helps me in the most challenging of circumstances. For instance, as I drove home from the grocery store, I thought about the witty conversation I might have with the police officer who would cite me for DUII—Driving Under the Influence of Illness. Or what he would do when he tried to make me walk straight but my clogged sinuses had me convinced the road in front of me was moving like a sideways treadmill. I also imagined being the spokesperson for the Kleenex company since clearly, I am their top consumer, having consumed multiple boxes of tissues in a day.
Daydreaming, especially when ill and driving, is a good distraction. I’m surprised I remember any of it. Unless I’m making all this up. But I’m still sick, although on the mend, and looking out for spring daffodils.
With all the television watching, I’ve become adept at observing with a keen eye creative ideas. Ideas to spark stories; or how I would rewrite the script; or how the script writer helped make the characters relatable, or the scenery and environment a huge part of the story, and what I might do to emulate that. By the time I can leap off the couch, I’m ready to start writing and creating again.
Rest, I realize, is good both for our bodies and our brains. Our creative intellect still operates, even if our physical forms seem to enter a parallel universe filled with colorful stars and mucus. I’m always interested to see what stories that feeling will eventually create.
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