MetaWriting

Got e-mails from a bunch of my old friends at the DFW Writers’ Workshop today and yesterday–DFWWW Prez Steve Manning decided to pass on my website link to the group at large, including the photos I have posted of my weight loss journey since gastric bypass .  It was very sweet of him, and provided a much-needed boost to my ego, as I’ve looked like warmed-over death for the last three weeks.  Pain is not exactly a rejuvenator. 

But, it’s mostly done, the gall-bladder-ectomistostomy*, or whatever-you-call-it, was successful, and the medicos evicted the evil-doer on Wednesday, April 4, 2007.  Then I got to deal with three days of horrendous pain in my shoulders and diaphragm from the insufflation, where they pump you full of air so they have visibility while they’re working in the laparascopic incisions.  The ubiquitous ”them” who apparently make these decisions have decided that the following pain is from the carbon dioxide pressure on your diaphragm, which is then “referred” up to your shoulders.  It’s this sick, horrible feeling of pressure and pain wandering  throughout your upper chest that had me in tears, even on the Percocet.

Now all that’s left is the usual muscle soreness and pain from being cut open (admittedly small cuts, don’t want to over-dramatize) (too late! sorry…), which in the scheme of things doesn’t feel that awful.  Down to three pills a day instead of ten or twelve, so my brains are almost completely functional.  Well, they’re as functional as they’ve ever been, anyway.

Anyway - the lovely folks from DFW Writers’ Workshop made me feel so good about myself visually from the compliments regarding the photographs.  They also made me feel good on the writerly side, as one of the e-mails was from Del Cain asking for five seven-word poems** and my selection of five of my other poems for potential publication in an anthology of the poetry of  the Workshop over the last few years.  That was to be my next project, had I stayed, but now Del and Ginnie Bivona are taking it on.  Hope I didn’t rat you out, Del, or announce it in advance, when you hadn’t planned to say anything yet.  Anyway, I’m flattered and pleased that they didn’t just take current members, that they remembered that I was there.

So, it was an interesting Easter.  Back to work tomorrow, certainly not full-time, but back anyway.  I will be wearing sweats, something I expressly asked folks not to do, but that’s OK.  Won’t make it if I wear my khakis.  I’ll be back in ‘em soon enough.

Notes: 

*It’s a cholecystectomy, I know… it’s called writing for effect!

**Seven-word poems were (and are) a workshop tool for inspiration and perspiration on the part of the poets.  Everyone puts a word in the hat, and seven are chosen for the next poetry workshop.  You may participate or not, but it gives something concrete to work with.  People also bring their other works, as well, but the seven-word poetry has provided some enormous boosts to making me put things together that drew me out of my ordinarily self-focused style.  Great hint for any poetry workshop.

Due for gall bladder surgery in three days, and am euphemistically “managing my pain” in the meantime. In other words, I’m blissed out on Percocet about twelve hours a day. The pain begins a few hours after I eat for the first time, and ends about four to six hours after my last meal of the day. If I’m lucky. If I want to sleep at night at all, I eat my last meal of the day around three o’clock.

The good part is that I’ve lost nearly ten pounds since this hit two weeks ago today.  The bad part?  Well, hell, it’s pretty much all bad.  Can’t write most of the time–the window is vanishingly small when my mind works at all.  I guess the upside is that I’ll be able to write about how the drug addict feels when I need to do so for a character, but my nervousness about getting addicted diminishes what little joy I take in that possibility.

But, it will soon be over.  I will have put my life on hold for three solid weeks by the time this is over.  Were my boss not an understanding soul, I probably wouldn’t have a job to go back to at the end of it.  I think they’re just enjoying the financial break that not paying my salary is giving their bottom line.  And, in the end, it will be good for them to miss me.  I guess.  I’m easy about it either way–I already budgeted our finances for the rest of the year for me not getting a paycheck at all.  That way, if I do get a paycheck, it will be gravy - money to put in savings (ha!) or just play around with…not always a good idea in a town with a casino!

Did send Pig out to an agent over e-mail, which took a lot of nerve, it really did.  Wrote a prologue for it, changed the name to Old Flames Burning.  Haven’t heard a word back from the agent yet.  Need to start lining up other possibilities–just can’t wrap my mind around it while I’m “managing my pain.”  If I sound disgusted with it all, then I’m writing something well enough to be understood anyway.  I’ve got cabin fever.  And a terrorist gall bladder that tries to bend my gut into a pretzel for about twelve hours a day.  Tired of it.