Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Vernal Equinox

Alas, my poor starveling little looks a lot like my garden this time of year. Both are shriveled and withered, neglected and wasted. Not that I don't think about them both a great deal of the time. Despite my best intentions, I've allowed a great deal of time to come between this post and the previous one.

And for that, dear reader (for I see, I still have one follower), I am heartily ashamed. You see, in my heart, I still think of myself as a writer. But how can I be a writer, if I don't make the time to write? And if I am truly a writer, what could be more important than writing?

But good grief, has it really been nine months? I could have produced an entire human being in this interval, much less an occasional blog post.

Motivation, or lack thereof, has been a recurring theme in my world this past year. It's lacking in most areas of my life these days. I stay busy--there's always plenty to do, and I have good ideas--but I'm not much on following through anymore. I'm not sure if it has to do with my age, the pressures of our sandwich years, work, a combination neck and back injury last year, the possible progression of a chronic illness or what, but I'm slipping, folks, and it's not a good feeling.

Recently, in an attempt to kick-start (literally) my life, I took a class. While some women my age are picking up scrapbooking or golf or oeneology, I took a motorcycle driving course. I'd reached the do-or-die point where, having never even been ON a motorcycle, it was simply time to try. So I paid my money and I took my chances one warmish Saturday afternoon. The classroom portion was easy. The driving portion, mmm, not so much. My chronic neck injury crap has damaged the nerves in my left arm and hand enough that riding the clutch on a motorcycle isn't exactly safe for me. I rode for about an hour, trying to fake my way through, covering the fact that shifting gears was not just hard for me, but not really possible. It was about an hour after surviving my first crash (blessedly minor) that I gave it up, and helmet in hands, went home to contemplate my next move.

Which, three hours later, turned out to be go out and buy a scooter with an automatic transmission.

(next post...learning to fly--on two wheels)

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