My new job, as the Director of an Emergency Department, has me communicating (talking) so much and to/with so many people that I'm sick of hearing myself by the time I get in the car to go home each day. Singing on the drive is not talking, so yes, I still do that. Cecelia Bartoli lately.
Funny thing is, I don't really feel like I'm saying anything. Communicating with staff is fun because of the spectrum of literal and inferred meaning. I have to be more precise in what I say because I excel at inference, and I usually assume the person I'm talking to gets my meaning.
Oops. I've had to fix a few things already due to the literal - inference spectrum.
What other writers may understand though, is my intense desire to write even one good sentence. I want to communicate anxiety, the tenor of sadness, and humor most of all. I write lots of emails and you can't really use humor there because it is bound to be misunderstood. I've gotten brave lately and said funny things and gotten the great satisfaction of surprised faces. I must be intense too often at work. No one knows I'm funny.
Ah well, that will come with time.
If I've written about something, I have control over my response to it (actually - I know in my control freak little mind that I have no control over anything). If I haven't had time to process my experiences by writing, I am at risk. It's not really a logical thought, but it is true. So, hopefully, in July when I have vacation time, I will write.
Pinterest is a new website that lets you waste vast quantities of time in the most enjoyable manner possible. There was a picture of some women in bathing suits and fish hats on their heads. I instantly missed Susan Flinkenshelt. We used to call each other Fish Head. Long story. Anyway, I pinned the picture and that started me thinking about her.
Miss you.
These are the things I missed in my original post on March 7, 2011
I miss lying on the grass and watching the clouds for hours.
I miss a poet I know only as Jonathan because he doesn't post anymore and I still want to read what he has to say.
I miss my baby's neck - he's 14 now and his neck doesn't smell or feel the same.
I miss being able to eat an entire pizza.
I miss a quiet house. My son did not talk until he was 2 1/2, and since then he has not shut up.
I miss the passion I had for changing the world.
I miss the crunch of snow beneath my feet, but I don't at all miss anything else about it.
I miss my friend Kevin. I still hear his laugh sometimes.
I miss being fascinated by ants.
I miss sitting on the swings and talking with my friends.
I miss my characters when I finish their stories.
What do you miss?
Peace,
Jo
