Well, the sun is shining at last and it appears that spring is sincerely here and hinting at summer weather.
That means I need a summer project; hopefully one that I can complete. With two young adult books in various levels of completion, you will surely tells me how ridiculous I am to start yet another writing project. but, inspiration has no rules, right?
The entire month of March MS Awareness Month led to so many
awesome avenues of expressions, fueling my need to share and learn with
fellow MS Warriors. So, let's hare. Let's learn. In Letters to the MonSter,
my goal is to allow fellow Warriors to vent, scream, rant, and exorcise the MonSter out of our lives. Let's unite in this project to erase multiple sclerosis from our lives. As Leslie Hillburn stated in the preface to my last tome to this disease, "...the ONLY place you will get any support and understanding in dealing with me (MS) is with Other People with MS."
So, I am asking you to talk to your personal MonSter and over the summer months, share with this blog your thoughts.
Thank you in advance,
LETTERS TO THE MonSter
I know you are under my bed. I can hear you breathing. Even though I do not like you much, at least your presence is apparent this morning. Sometimes your silence is alarming. Although my mind knows you are a constant companion, you deceive anyone else in my presence. The way you allow me to physically appear “normal” is not fair. Other people do not know how difficult it is to function on a daily business. My smile is a lie.
You also hide in my closet, forcing me to tightly seal the door every night before going to sleep. My dreams are heavy enough without confusing images: hospitals and wheelchairs and colorful nightmares encouraged by the pharmacy that decorates the bedside table top. I do not need to see you in my slumber since I know you will hand me my daily costume in the morning. Your existence is apparent in the stretchy trousers, sensible shoes, and worn skirts that clutter the racks where once fashion heels and sexy jeans abound.
I saw you in my car yesterday, right smack dab in the driver’s seat, grinning like a lunatic while you beckoned me to take the wheel. Knowing full well that my foot would not and could not press the brake pedal quickly enough to keep me and other driver’s others out of harm. You plant memories of those wild sports car days, when I ripped down the highway enjoying the grind of gears as I shifted from one to the other.
Yes, those were the days. Now you have forced me to evaluate my ability to logically be the driver. It isn’t fun. It just makes sense. And since Common Sense is your arch enemy, I keep him close to me at all times.
You may enjoy reminding me that you are not finished with me yet, but I have a surprise for you. I have only just begun to wage my war. We are going to have years of conversation, most of which you will not like. But, that’s okay; at least we are on common ground in that respect.
So, talk to me, MonSter. Thumb your nose all you want. I’ve nothing but time and I am NOT going anywhere. In the immortal words of hell raising Pat Benatar, “Hit me with your best shot."
Hit Me With Your Best Shot