My mom just called and it was probably one of the weirdest conversations of my life. Her co-worker somehow managed to find "my blog" (I'm not sure if it's this one or the blogspot account I set up a long time ago, which I have not returned to in quite awhile.) She read it. Her co-worker told my mom that I'm a great writer, and my mom said something non-commital, 'yeah he told me he's been writing stuff' which is her way of dealing with me, I guess, and her co-worker stopped her and said, "No, he's a great writer. He needs to be writing. For pay. He's great at what he does."
Now, this is strange for several reasons. The timing is the most pertinent, though. I have had an incredibly depressing week. After getting out of surgery the doctor wanted to see me again, so I've been in pain, trying to schedule more appointments and trying not to think about the probable bad news I'm getting at the appointment with the neurosurgeon on Thursday. Thinking about life as always being about pain and hospitals and doctors, for years, or even decades, really can drain someone. You just think, is this, like, it? Surely this can't be everything that's going to happen from now on. I mean, I've been a good guy, I deserve better, right? And then life reassures you that it doesn't matter how good you are at all, you just get what you get.
(Incidentally, I watch House a lot, and he often says that and I always liked it, because it's so true - "people don't get what they deserve; they just get what they get." Much as you think this is a fair and just place, look at life through the eyes of a gay paraplegic stuck in the south (or, to be honest, pretty much any minority anywhere) and the illusion is shattered. (It's never the same after that.))
And you know, really, writing? Writing is already hard enough. I'm not one to write entire posts about how unfair life can be (and I'll be done with that part in just a second, but I'm getting to something, I promise) but I don't really have the best health and it makes a lot of things difficult.