Now, to be fair before I start off, just let me say that I’m writing this from the parking lot of a hospital that I would really rather not be at. Today is my grandmother’s last radiation treatment at Condell for the foreseeable future, and while this should be a good thing, in theory, this place just brings up a lot of bad feelings in me.
My mom was treated here for years, and somehow, sitting in the same spot in the parking lot that we used to- the third spot over, listening to music in the car while I wait for her to come out feels all kinds of wrong. Muscle memory tells me that I should be waiting for my mom to come out, and that afterwards we would go get lunch, go home, and since it’s November, plant ourselves on the couch in the livingroom watching The Christmas Cookie Challenge. But then reality comes back like a sharp slap in the face and laughs at me because she isn’t here anymore.
The feeling itself is surreal.
Yesterday was the same, show up at 11:45a.m. and she goes in. I wait here. I roll down the window and turn up the music, and just try to be. Yesterday, I had a book with me, The Cruel Prince by Holly Black. I read it last year, a gift from my mom along with The Wicked King, and earlier this year I got the third in the series The Queen of Nothing. But I haven’t read them.
I don’t read much anymore, if I’m honest.
I used to be the “weird girl” in middle school who carried 2-3 books with her everywhere she went, just in case she finished one, or even two of them. I was a library regular in my school, and while most kids were allowed to take only one book at a time, my librarian didn’t bat an eye when I’d leave every day with a new stack of at least 3. I was the kid who would read the new arrivals and tell the librarian whether or not they were appropriate for the age group. I read over my AR points. Every. Single. Time. Advanced Reader- a program our school used to do, where you’d be assigned a number based on your reading capabilities, and from there be made to read a book or books that added up to that amount of points, later taking a quiz on the computers to make sure you actually did read the book. If you didn’t and failed the quiz, you had to reread it and do it again. I needed 45 points each month, and each month I had well over 60. I would read library books, and others that I got from the book store- which they eventually started counting towards the points as long as I could answer questions about it, or tell them things you wouldn’t otherwise know.
In those days, the teachers said that I was gifted. They cooed wildly over my ability to swallow a 500+ page book in one sitting with ease, like I was some kind of circus freak. And you know what, maybe I was. I was at the top of my English class, could spell almost every word they through at me, whether I knew it or not, and it was something I prided myself on.
But now that I’m a 25-year old, still unpublished author that’s hardly ever finished more than a few thousand poems, a couple of half-finished WIPS whether they’re short stories, novels, or whatnot… I wish they would’ve pushed me harder. Maybe if they had, I’d have a stronger drive to achieve more, and I could be where I wanted to be with my writing.
Which leads me into the main topic I wanted to talk about today.
If I’m going to sit down and write, most of the time, I feel like I need to be in the “write” state of mind before I can sit down and actually get any words done. I’m not sure if that’s 100% truthful because while sitting in the parking lot with my tablet on my lap, I was not in the “write” state of mind. I wasn’t even in the RIGHT state of mind. Sitting at Condell for any reason, for any length of time makes me uncomfortable. It makes me anxious, physically sick to my stomach, and I get really angry. But still, I did it.
I’m doing it.
I forced myself to do it, and to keep going.
So, I think that sometimes- at least for me, I need to spend less time worrying about the aesthetics, and the surroundings, and just sit down and write. Because staring at a word document until I feel like writing won’t do anything for me. I’m going to try to do better.
I will do better. I owe it to myself to do better, and to stop holding myself back with toxic ideas like needing to be in the “write” state of mind before I can get anything written.
Now I have a goal to meet.
-S.N.L.
Leave a comment