As I sat on the bed in my hospital gown (and making it look good, if I do say so myself), the nurse laughed, “Man, you sure know how to celebrate the last day of school!” I smiled back and said, “Ice cream party and blood work! Standard, right?”
To say that the end of the school year almost killed me would be an overstatement. I will never let my tombstone say, “Death by Substitute Teaching”. But three doctors and several appointments later found that most of my ailments could be attributed to stress. A lot of it. Thank goodness it is summer “vacation”, though I use the term loosely because it is already packed with jobs and commutes and long hours in a cubicle. Still, it’s not so packed that I can’t sit by the pool with a book, lounge at Barton Springs with a friend, cook elegant meals or watch the entire new season of Arrested Development on Netflix (and love it!). I am already one novel down and a few hundred pages into the next. I’m reading the newspaper again and I play old jazz records and listen with my eyes closed and let the sounds carry me away. I have taken time to visit with friends and catch up on all of my uncrossed-off lists. I think the stress is subsiding. I am starting to feel like myself again.
I have many stories to tell, but am not quite ready to tell them yet. My creative brain is still recovering. But I am working on it and they are coming. I promise.