First, am I supposed to call it that? Or Covid-19. I don’t want to appear pandemic ignorant my first week back here.
Ahhh… trash. Garbology. This used to be a favorite topic of mine. Today’s morning walk made me dust it off. (I did forget to take a shot of the, hand’s down, Amazon winner. They had to have 20 boxes out.)
“Write!”, he said. Actually, he didn’t use the exclamation point. He never does. Truthfully, he has the most calming voice on earth, he needs no punctuation.
No, I am not hearing the voice of G-d, or having some crazy ass hallucinations (yet). I am talking about a conversation with my hypertension doc last week.
Me: Things are getting a little crazy out there, I’ve had a few spikes, do you want to change my meds.
Him: No. I don’t. Have a drink.
You can see why this man is my doctor.
Him: Yes. You’re fine. You will regulate. But, I have another idea… write.
Me: Wow. Write! (this must be where the exclamation point came in).
So, the story continues that he did not know that I was an ex-blogger. But he does know me. And he is a hypertension wizard from another dimension who practices and writes about the mind/body connection and knows who his patients are. Oh, and he sort of saved my life.
His directive to write was to Write it Out. Write what you feel, fear, think, obsess about… write the whole damn roller coaster tape loop running in your head. Read it once. And then just put it away.
Yeh, I might do that. But tonight while I was walking the dog a lightbulb went off in my head.