I’ll admit it. I have a finite amount of space in my brain.
I have learned that over the years when I have tried to cram too much into it at one time. Either stuff starts spilling out the other side–I forget things–or I have my version of a nervous breakdown. Most of the time, I suffer burnout. I get cranky. And you would not like me when I am cranky. My daughter says I get a pinched forehead. And students tend to veer away from me. It’s not a pretty sight.
And so, knowing this, I have held off on writing projects when too many other things are going on in my life. I have mentioned earlier that my summer work project–my wife’s kitchen–got extended into the fall somehow. A couple of nights ago we spend an unmentionable amount of money on new countertops. But it is almost over.
Today I wrote the last article I am responsible for in the fall issue of Southwestern Spirit magazine, the publication I edit for my school. And the myriad doctor’s visits that came in the wake of my incident at the baseball game are over. The verdict: I’m still alive, but I need to eat more salad. At least that’s about all I took from the half dozen medical trips that I took.
And so I am clearing out my mental closet, getting ready to really do something creative. And that excites me. It’s been too long. Usually I spend at least part of my summer writing books, but this year I committed to launching four books that were already written. They were launched, and I am glad. But I didn’t get rid of that creative bug that I usually have, and so I am eager to do something about it.
Now that my brain is relatively empty (“Look Doc! No brains!”), I plan on waxing on with eloquence.