It’s been tough getting anything done these last few weeks. Mostly because I’ve been feeling like crap and I’ve had way too many doctor appointments. I wanted to post on my blog, but I just haven’t had the energy or desire. What little energy I have for writing has gone into my novel and short story. I still have two more doctor appointments this week (blech!), but I’m feeling alright today.
The good news is I have the first three chapters of my novel written. The flash fiction piece that I submitted a couple of months ago to WOW! Women on Writing has made it through the first round of judging. I should find out later this week if I made it into the top ten. I’ve also finished up another flash fiction story that I will be getting ready to send to Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader.
On the downside, I still don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m scheduled for an ultrasound Friday, so hopefully I’ll find out then. It’s probably nothing, but that hasn’t stopped me from worrying myself sick — thinking I have cancer and that I’m going to die. I’m not quite so worried anymore. Once I realized what I was really afraid of, I calmed down. I wasn’t afraid of dying. Obviously I don’t want to die, but it doesn’t scare me. I was afraid of not getting a book published. I was afraid of not being able to do things I’ve never gotten the chance to do because I was too afraid to try something new. I was afraid I wasted too much of my life watching TV or sitting on the computer doing nothing when I could have been writing or just living.
In the end, whatever is wrong will probably turn out to be minor and inconsequential. And I know I will have worried myself sick for nothing. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll change my habits and I won’t feel like I’m wasting so much of my life. If I can manage to do that, then all that worry and anxiety will have been worth it.