I keep getting that little notice from Word Press that says, “You haven’t written anything yet!” Like I didn’t know that. Like I needed that little black box with the red exclamation point in the white circle (to make sure I see it) to tell me that words are not being put down on paper. Give me a break, eh? I’m doing my best here which, I admit, isn’t all that good but I’m trying. Isn’t that supposed to be worth something? Don’t they still give out A-s for effort?
I’ve been sitting here at this laptop for an hour now trying to be clever and write something that wouldn’t embarrass me completely when I click on Publish. But every idea has fizzled before the second paragraph was ever started. This is the time when a writer should just walk away from the computer and say, “Well, it will come on another day.” and then start playing games or something.
But I am so obsessed with keeping my perfect record of writing a weekly blog unblemished that I continue hitting my head against the locked door of clever writing. After all, if I could produce words and paragraphs using my left hand only when I was I recuperating from my broken wrist, and spilling my guts going through the horror of being reno-victed from my home of 23 years why can’t I write now?
I’ll tell you why. It’s too Darn Hot with fourteen more days of the same. It makes me crazy. I’ve taken four cold showers today and probably will take a couple more.
You’re not supposed to complain about the heat when you live in The Great North. When the days of shedding hats and gloves and scarves and boots finally come every year, you are expected to love-love-love whatever weather summer brings. But I can’t. When it’s this hot every creative cell in my body dries up along with my energy. I shuffle around like an even older woman than I am not wanting to create more heat to add to my discomfort. The only thing I want to do is to go to double-feature films and stay in the dark all day until night falls. The trouble with that, though, is it’s summer and the only movies that are out there are so awful that it would be extreme punishment to sit through one let alone a double header.
Then to add to my misery, it’s a holiday weekend when, not only are you supposed to be happy about the bloody heat, you’re also supposed to be overjoyed that it’s a long weekend. The city gets spooky quiet and lonely on a holiday especially in summer when flocks of folks head for their cottages hours away where they will be swarmed by mosquitoes and black flies but claim that it was, as always, a perfect get away. Do I sound bitter? Is it because I’ve never been invited to one of those cottages? And, surely, it would be cooler than the city, eh?
Hmm, a nice breeze has started up out there and it’s now officially late enough to have a glass of wine and some nibblies on the porch so it’s not so bad after all — until it all starts again tomorrow.