A Pile of Buckets

It’s been a more than year since I’ve really been able to write.

It’s hard for me to believe that – for a number of years, I was chugging along at a reasonable clip at my writing. Not screaming fast, not even noticeably fast, but it was a steady pace. Stories were forming, plots were coming together, yayddayaddayadda.

A friend of mine died about a year ago.

I can’t say that we were close. I didn’t know much of Archer’s story. I knew he liked peanut butter sandwiches at 2am and good whiskey.  He was an archer who’d agreed to teach me, but between our scheduling conflicts things just never happened. Then he died.

Both hurt me hard in different ways.

I have deeply ingrained trust issues. I have very few friends because of that. Most of my friends are imaginary, in point of fact. The few that are real, well, part of me is always waiting for the other shoe to drop. When imaginary friends piss you off you can delete them while screaming “Fine! I’ll just recast you! BWAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!”

*ahem*

After Archer died, I started writing in a journal, as though I was talking to him. And while I don’t journal every night (I have lots of trust issues with straight up journaling, too), it is the longest I’ve ever kept a written journal.

Archer’s death was sudden – 59 and BAM! Heart-attack. DOA.

In the last few weeks, I’ve been pondering the decline of my writing, the 1 year anniversary of my friend’s death and the question mark of potential health problems that may or may not be looming in my immediate now-future. (Gotta wait for tests to come back.)

The end result of all this melodramatic  maudlin has turned into a kind of bucket list. Zip-lining, circus camp, travel (doesn’t everyone have that on their list? I wouldn’t want to be too different. People might think I’m strange or something…), sleeping in a haunted house, that kind of thing.

Of course, self-publishing my own work is on the list (duh), but there are other things, too. Other things I want to do because I always did but never had the chance, or because people said I couldn’t/shouldn’t/not the right time/no budget/whatever so I didn’t. Mud runs, ballroom dance, eating bugs – those things. (Yes, you can buy bugs for human consumption – they’re usually a type a cricket. I thought about getting scorpion lollipops, but I can’t guarantee the candy part is gluten-free. The joys of food sensitivities…)

I never found out if Archer left things unfinished; if he’d always told himself “Someday, I’ll do this…”

It could be a mid-life crisis. I am 40, after all. Aren’t 40 year-olds supposed to flip out and do odd things because “JesusIshtarandBuddhamylifeishalfover!” Perhaps I’m still cycling through my grief over Archer and it went into the weirdo lane. Maybe it’s because my brain is still stuck in neutral with the writing and I’m leaning towards acquiring different experiences in the hope that it will shake something loose.

I dunno.

I suppose this is a bit of a heads-up – I’ll be occasionally posting some of the pictures when I accomplish something.

See if you can spot the accomplishments in between the random wackiness that frequently appears here as well.

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About kattywampusbooks

A SAHM with delusions of literacy.
This entry was posted in People, Random, Uncategorized, Writer and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to A Pile of Buckets

  1. MimiTa says:

    I’m sorry for your loss, and I hope to see some more of your posts soon! I hope that things work out for you. Have a nice day!

    Like

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