Saturday, July 27, 2013

But I'm a writer

Sometimes I don’t want to write, ever again. But I’m a writer. Sometimes I wake up in so much pain that I think I’m going to die, that must be what this is, right, this intestinal pain, why do I keep trying so much, over and over again and still I end up here, thinking maybe this is cancer, my father died of cancer, it started in the gut.
Once someone sent me an email and said maybe you have Lyme’s disease, here’s how to get tested the right way. But I didn’t get tested. Somehow I manage to go to a protest in all this pain, mostly because several people I know have spent a lot of time working on this protest and it’s well-planned but quiet and then I get home and get back in bed and when I wake up I’m eating again, but this time it doesn’t hurt so much, and then I need to take a break because I want to eat more but is starting to make me spacey and bloated again so I better go on a walk, a walk in the sun and then I lie down and when I get home I eat more.
I’m hungry now too, but now I stop eating before six, which helps with my sleep I think, but is that helping with anything else, I mean I’m hungry and it’s 7:40 but I’m not going to eat. Sometimes I think I’m getting somewhere, getting somewhere with my health, because now I can taste my food more, sometimes, and maybe these symptoms are candida die-off but why, why do I think that and there's no reliable test for candida and then I end up with days like this, I mean the bloating has been getting worse for a week now, at first it was getting better with this new exploration in terms of eating, trying to stay in my body, whatever that means, this body that leads me here. Leave me. No, I mean I don’t want to leave.
I just watched a performance, I mean a video of a performance that made me remember that I need to write. That now it’s hard to write about what I’m feeling now, because I’m trying to use the tiny bit of energy I have to write this novel, I want to finish a draft by mid-September so that when I go to Boston on my book tour I can really think about it all. In Boston. For a month. A minute ago I had the whole ending written in my head. Now I just want to go to bed.

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