I don’t know how to feel sometimes. It’s one thing have a broken coffee pot and laugh at how much fuss I make over it, but there are other things. First world problems are everywhere. The end piece of bread never soaks up enough French Toast batter. It’s not cold enough for me to wear my awesome furry hat. There are too many songs on my iPod. Oh my, whatever will I do?
Another bothersome problem for me is that I feel burned out of writing. I love it when I am writing. I have ideas, too many actually, (another problem). But a lot of the time I just sigh inwardly and think, what’s the use? I was considering taking the month of February off for my blog. I’m afraid however, that if I took the month off of all my writing I might have trouble starting up again. Writing is like exercise and it’s a bad idea to take too much of a break.
So yes, I have ideas, but they’re for fiction. I don’t want to post incomplete story snippets here on my blog. I like each entry to have some kind of resolution. That means I need to write what I’m thinking about. So what am I thinking about? I’m thinking I’m tired of blogging lately, that’s what. I’ve felt presumptuous and self-absorbed blogging lately. I don’t want it to be about that.
But if I think hard, what else am I thinking about? Well we lost two hens this week. They were two of my favorites. And like I said, I don’t know how to feel. Is this a first world problem too? With all the pain and suffering in the world, is it okay for me to grieve over a couple of chickens? The one we lost Friday was a Rhode Island Red, very friendly. She would let anyone pick her up. She was a good layer too. The other hen was a Plymouth Partridge Rock. She was part of the first flock we got. This one was blustery, louder than a rooster sometimes, squawking and scolding. She is featured in my blog a year back aboutbroody hens. That’s her being dunked in cold water.
So they were two of my favorites. I feel terribly sad that they were killed. Is it okay for me to feel that way or should I just shrug it off and say that they were only a couple of birds with a limited lifespan. There’s too much real anguish in the world for me to justify feeling this way, right?
When I told Sarah this, she reminded me that feeling sad for something, even something like this, is okay. It just proves that I’m a human being with feelings. She’s right. And I ought to know better than to deny pain. Sure maybe I shouldn’t be too broken up over something so trivial, but if it hurts, then it hurts. Pain is real and if I deny it, it won’t just go away.
So I’m very sad for losing these hens. I will miss the one’s affection and the other’s attitude and noise. I’ll get over it soon, I’m sure. I know from experience that even the most devastating pain from crippling loss will ease over time.
So I made it through the first blog in February. It took an unpleasant event to prompt me, but I got it out. I hope that this week I can work on Sidewinder at least a few mornings. I have put off my memoir a while longer. I liked my November novel so much that I wanted to re-write it and see how good it could actually get. And what’s good writing without pain and loss to fuel the writer? It takes more than coffee to give me ideas. And this time, it took more than just loss. It took a reminder from someone that feeling pain just means I’m human.