A couple of weeks ago, I did this really cool thing where I stepped off a curb into a storm drain. The drop was further than expected and onto an uneven surface and I double sprained my ankle (I simultaneously sprained the inside and outside of my ankle). I missed class. Which I can’t stand to do—no pun intended. I can count on one hand the number of classes I missed in 4 years of undergrad.
The members of my cohort really came to my aid from taking me to the student health center, taking me to class and assisting me with my grocery shopping. My professor whose class I missed reached out several times to check-in on me. I felt well cared for and am ever grateful.
Fortunately, I’m a writer and not an athlete, so I’ve still been able to get my reading and writing done. Although, not as much of either as I had planned. There’s something about being marooned on your bed that will drain the motivation from you to do anything, but pity yourself. I spent nearly a week unable to walk at all then graduated to a hobble that gets closer and closer to my natural walk everyday. It’s been a process.
I’m taking two workshops this quarter and a literary review course, where it looks like we’ll also be workshopping each other’s reviews! So, basically 3 workshops in one quarter! Although, I’m whining, learning to write a great review is a good skill to have and I’m getting 4-6 chapters of my memoir workshopped. Previously, I would work on one piece at a time and tinker and tinker with it before starting anything else. Now, I’ve dashed off drafts of several chapters and am rotating my tinker time among them, just because I want to make sure I have something worthwhile for my peers to workshop (did I mention I wasn’t paying attention when I scheduled my workshops for my second class and didn’t realize I scheduled them for the exact same weeks for my first class?! AHHHHH).
I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in several weeks, because I keep waking up in the middle of the night thinking about my writing. Sometimes I actually flip my laptop open and write or make notes for myself for the morning. The other day I started a chapter list, because I was freaking out I didn’t have enough material—I have plenty. Despite all the stressing, this is the first time my book has started to feel like a real thing that’s really coming together.
And I turned 30. Quite the month!
