Day 9. Supplies are running low, but morale holding. Mentally fatigued, but still committed to a belief that rescue is possible. As each passing day ticks off the calendar, it becomes more and more unlikely, but hope is what we live on when there is not enough food. Plenty of water, but I’m not sure how long I can maintain this without collapsing in a heap of despair. Physically, I’m “okay,” but without the amenities of home, I’m starting to chap and chafe in ways I never thought possible. I think about my wife and my son, and know that I must keep believing that this torture will end, but it’s hard to keep convincing myself of that when things look so bleak. If only—
“How is Mr. Ultimate Blog Man doing this morning?” my wife asks. Before I can answer or close my laptop she continues, “Day 9?! Sweetie, this is day TWO for you. Remember how you procrastinated about this for days 1-7?”
“Um, Sweetie? I’m kind of busy right now?” I say that in that way that we can say things like that where we try to make the other person aware that it’s really obvious that they’re bugging you. [Note to self: you have broken every record in the books regarding the over usage of the word ‘that.’ Don’t be foolish and faux humble on awards night. Write that acceptance speech. ]
I dramatically slap my laptop closed on a couple of fingers from my left hand before she continues. I pretend that didn’t just happen and gaze at her through the self-inflicted pain.
“Supplies are running low? Morale holding? The only reason supplies are running low is because you’ve eaten every crunchy carbohydrate in the house. As for morale, that’s probably also related to eating every crunchy carbohydrate in the house and blowing your diet.”
“Sweetie, writing is a solitary burden that every writer must bear.” She stares at me with one eyebrow raised.
When she does that, I always think of Spock, from Star Trek, but she knows nothing about Star Trek and usually cuts all references to it from my writing. I practiced that solo eyebrow raise for weeks and couldn’t do it. Curse her! She does it without knowing how totally ninja it is. Why does she always get to be so much cooler than me? If I could only master that single eyebrow raise, I could rock the non-verbal reply world. If I could just—
[Must.. not… get… distracted. In… middle… of conversation… with wife.]
I’m not sure why my brain talks in broken sentences like that. It reminds me a little of Captain Kirk and how he would talk when he was fighting being under the mind control of some type of ray gun or alien.
“Hello? Anybody home?…” my wife is looking at me.
“Oh, what? Yes. Um, writing is a solitary burden that—”
“Yeah, yeah. We got it, we got it. You were thinking of Star Trek again, right?” she says AGAIN arching a single eyebrow! How does she do that?!?
“I was not!” I reply, trying not to let my eyebrow inadequacy frustration show. “I was just trying to remember the thread I was writing about for day 9. I was working on something and you interrupted.”
“And I suppose I interrupted with THIS, right?!” And with that, she pumps each eyebrow up and down independent of each other like some vain body builder who has muscle groups the rest of us have allowed to decay.
“HOW DO YOU DO THAT?! I HAVE to know! Teach me, teach me, please! Pretty please! Please, please please, PLEASE teach me!”
Well, that showed reserve… [sigh]
“I will not teach you until you prove to me you can blog for 30 days straight, or lose 10 pounds.” she replies with arched brow and a wink.
“THAT’S CRUEL! You’re so cruel. That’s just mean. Okay, okay. I got it. So get outta here so I can finish my blog, okay? But you promised, remember?” I’m hoping that will get her out of the room before blogging AND weight loss get bundled together.
Writing is a solitary burden that every writer must bear…