I have a heaviness today that is hard to shake. Not sure why. It’s a bright sunny day here in Tacoma, I’ve completed the small writing job I was putting off as long as possible.
It was a write-up about an experimental surgical trial using dogs. The surgery is done to implant a device that is now being used in humans for hard-to-control hypertension (which I have), and I’ve written up several study reports for this team in the past. But as I was writing this one, I kept thinking: They still really do this? They still really do this. There is so much that we know, but have to go on as if we didn’t really know.
But I don’t think that’s what is weighing on me. I’ve been writing poems every day, and plan to continue as best I can when work shows up. I actually have two days of paid training this week, and I’m going to a writing retreat over next weekend. I’m still low-carbing it, and even if I haven’t lost any weight yet, I know it’s a good change, if I’m going to avoid diabetes, and I went to a barbecue yesterday with old pals from Planned Parenthood, and kept to the diet plan, which was quite an accomplishment, what with watermelon, chips, corn-on-the-cob and s’mores.
I think I’m straining to write something that isn’t ready, and it’s nagging at me. That incubation time, which I worry I won’t ever have enough of. I want the writing I do to make a difference, be some sort of legacy to leave behind. I’m afraid I started too late to finish. You can see where this is going.
It’s a small heaviness. If I would stop playing online scrabble and get my body outdoors, I’d probably be just dandy.