It’s 10:45 am. And I have to stop writing.
I went to bed at 2am and got up at 7. Chapter six has suddenly grown two other limbs and turned into chapters 6, 7 and 8. Six is now done, but seven and eight are morphing into unrecognizable masses before my very eyes. And I need help.
Here’s the part I’m starting to understand about writing.
If you let it take over, she will dominate your life much to the detriment of everything else. And right now, the writing has personified into a Nazi dominatrix, inflicting every manner of pain on me while cracking a whip over my neck and shoulders and whispering, “You like it don’t you” to which I gleefully respond, “Yes, oh writing Muse, YES! Give me more... more I say, MORE!”
Right now I’m fluctuating between writing at my desk and lying on tennis balls to take the knots out of my back and neck. I spent so much time on tennis balls in the last three days, I now have the equivalent of rug burns from those little yellow balls that are also, by the way, becoming bald from overuse - and I’ve never played a lick of tennis.
But this is a great trick if you’re suffering and can’t get to a massage therapist.
Lie on your back and put those little balls wherever you think the tension is greatest. When you scream, you’ve got the right spot.
And then just lie there until either you can’t feel it anymore (because it’s gone numb), or all bets are off and you’ve cried enough from the pain to fill your sink to do dishes in saltwater.
And if you have the kahunas, you can amplify your experience by angling yourself in such a way as to bear more weight on the round torturous objects beneath you.
But it works. Trust me, it works wonders if you can take it.
I must do this on a regular basis. Part of it is because I got whiplash (and squished a couple of vertebrae together in my neck) when I was about twelve. It was a riding accident. And every time I saw Superman Reeves in his wheelchair for the same accident that left me ambulatory but not him, I would think, “There but by the grace of God, go I”.
So what I go through is manageable. It sucks sometimes but I can handle it.
To some extent (and in some sick way perhaps), I’ve learned to embrace this experience. Do you want to know why? Because it’s not just writing at a desk that triggers it. If that were the case, my body would suffer evenly. But for me, it triggers an entire right side phenomenon.
My whole right side, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes, starts to go numb. Then it gets a dull throb and tightens up. I can’t feel as well on my right side, I can’t hear as well, I’m not as flexible and I swear there are more cellulite pockets on my right thigh than on my left. It’s really weird. And I think it’s because it lacks Chi.
But... I find when I’m fully relaxed, balanced and centered, it diminishes to an almost non-existent state. It’s amazing.
Which tells me - it’s a trigger. And a message. When it starts to escalate, it’s time for me to take a deep breath, take stock of what’s jamming me up and back the hell off.
So that’s what I’m doing. I’m backing off of the writing today. I’m recognizing that I’m jammed up, both creatively and physically and I need help.
It’s time to call...
My accountability partner.
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