Help! My head is going to explode!
After five long days in the hospital, my mom is back at the Health Center. There’s nothing like a few days in Allegheny General to make us appreciate the wonderful care she gets at the Washington County Health Center. According to plan (and we all know how well our plans work out) she’ll be there for another week and then HOME.
I sure hope it’s just one more week. I’m beginning to literally break out in hives from the stress. Or maybe it’s the Retin-A that my dermatologist started me on to combat the sun damage my face suffered in my youth, before we knew about skin cancer. I’ve had two pre-cancerous sunspots frozen off already and this treatment is supposed to keep more of those things from marring my face further. But the treatment is playing its own particular havoc in the form of red splotches and peeling skin. What joy. So my face is sore and itchy.
But that’s not what’s causing me the most grief at the moment. It’s the pounding in my head.
No, I’m not becoming a hypochondriac. And I don’t have migraines. This particular pounding is not medical. It’s simply the sound of a bunch of characters and story ideas demanding to get out and on paper.
I haven’t written anything in a couple of weeks. (Blog posts don’t count). Most serious writers will tell you they write because they must. And that’s the problem. I must, but I haven’t been. And now my head is about to explode.
Barring more complications with Mom and the occasional stray natural disaster, I intend to write next week. I know. I’ve made that declaration before only to have it fall through. But the desire to write is being swallowed up by the desperate NEED to write.
My health depends upon it.
I sure hope it’s just one more week. I’m beginning to literally break out in hives from the stress. Or maybe it’s the Retin-A that my dermatologist started me on to combat the sun damage my face suffered in my youth, before we knew about skin cancer. I’ve had two pre-cancerous sunspots frozen off already and this treatment is supposed to keep more of those things from marring my face further. But the treatment is playing its own particular havoc in the form of red splotches and peeling skin. What joy. So my face is sore and itchy.
But that’s not what’s causing me the most grief at the moment. It’s the pounding in my head.
No, I’m not becoming a hypochondriac. And I don’t have migraines. This particular pounding is not medical. It’s simply the sound of a bunch of characters and story ideas demanding to get out and on paper.
I haven’t written anything in a couple of weeks. (Blog posts don’t count). Most serious writers will tell you they write because they must. And that’s the problem. I must, but I haven’t been. And now my head is about to explode.
Barring more complications with Mom and the occasional stray natural disaster, I intend to write next week. I know. I’ve made that declaration before only to have it fall through. But the desire to write is being swallowed up by the desperate NEED to write.
My health depends upon it.
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