Zìjǐ Xiězuò (自己寫作) I Write for Myself: A Day in the Life

ORIGINAL CONTENT

There’s a constant gentle breeze nudging the nearby trees sway this way and that. The air is dense and warm, feels sort of like trying to breathe in a plastic bag and it is only mid June. Large dark ominous clouds scattered across the sky, with the sun totally hidden.

My hand dangled off the side of the bed and I am slow to wake to the licks of the Weimaraner. He’s telling me it is time to leave the comforts of my fresh cotton sheets but I resist and withdrew my hand underneath the covers. The Dane makes a huge commotion on the bed getting up, turning around, and lurk at me patiently. I opened one eye to see a set of nostrils and floppy face, in fear impending slingers, I leap out of bed and begin my daily routine.

It’s my day off and I am especially slow in my movement. I looked forward to going to an early morning OJ class so that I can go about my day. The Weimaraner caught a glimpse of the Lucky Japanese Jizo Family Praying garden statute temporarily propped up on top of the bookcase in the living room and growled at it. He must have forgotten it was there after barking at it for a solid 15 minutes the day before. My day is filled with the jingling of dog tags, the low hum of the refrigerator, and the ceiling fan leisurely circulating the air between the air conditioning coming on.

I sit at the kitchen table procrastinating on writing with a few rounds of Bejeweled. Then I searched for a new featured image to top off my posts, followed by refilling all the dogs’ water bowls with fresh water. I glanced over at the sink full of dishes and at last, I chose to open a new daunting blank page to fill with words.

It’s rear to be off work, at home, without the constant blaring of the television. It has almost become an anomaly as the Hubs prefers the background noise where as I prefer the stillness, the calm, the elusive hush which allows me to think and formulate coherent thoughts. It’s a compromise that I have learned to accept after 26 years of marriage. However when moments as today surfaces, I cherish it as a gift, a reward, one I should not waste on playing MouseCraft.

Writing, like any other art form is a perishable skill. However, on the flip side of that, is the more one writes the easier it is to write more – at least it is true for me. I have committed myself to journaling/scrapbooking in my Hobonichi everyday in order to be accustomed to the act of writing daily. It has provided a very liberating platform to write as I please while capturing glimpses of my day-to-day life. The act of having to formulate a complete and coherent thought has made a significant difference in fostering a more consistent blogger which I hope is one step closer to finishing my CNF manuscript.

Zìjǐ Xiězuò (自己寫作) I Write for Myself: Just Not Bad

ORIGINAL CONTENT

It took me a year and a half to lose close to 40 lbs. It took an additional five years for me to give up on struggling to maintain an illusive number in exchange to pushing my body to do things beyond my own expectations three to five times a week. OrangeTheory Fitness is a workout regimen that has built-in goals called “Benchmarks.” These Benchmarks keeps me motivated and provide continuous new goals to work towards.

I remember when I ran 10.0 mph for 30 seconds, I thought to myself, ‘that’s not bad for an old lady.’ And then I remember when I continuously improved my 1-mile benchmark time from 9:43 to 7:42, again, I thought to myself with satisfaction, ‘that’s not bad for an old lady.’ And when I completed my first full Dri-Tri (2000m row followed by 300 bodyweight exercises and finished with a 5k) in 47:46, I thankfully did not finish last in my heat and again, I thought to myself, ‘that’s not bad for an old lady.’

Up until I saw the 1-mile benchmark results and was pleasantly surprised that I out ran others 5,10, 15 years my junior. I thought to myself, ‘that’s not bad for an old lady.’ When I finished my first full Dri-Tri, I was shocked that I came in first for my age group and completed the simulated triathlon under participants 5,10,15 years my junior. And still I diminished my accomplishments and thought quietly to myself, ‘that’s not bad for an old lady.’

I just completed installing a paver patio by myself and I came to conclusion that maybe I have been selling myself short and instead of saying ‘that’s not bad for an old lady‘ maybe it should be ‘just not bad.’

Zìjǐ Xiězuò (自己寫作) I Write for Myself: Never Alone

ORIGINAL CONTENT

I looked up from the toilet and see one bright blue dopey eye peeking through the crack of the bathroom door. A little sigh escaped past my lips and I reached up to close the door a bit more but not latch it. A bulbus nose nudges the door open enough so that I can see the one brown, one blue eye, harlequin Great Dane impatiently waiting for me to finish my business so that I can let him out to do his. Since I’ve had children and one dog after another, I can’t remember the last time I went to the bathroom without an audience. It is one of life’s little luxuries that a mother and dog owner freely surrenders.

The pandemic triggered safety protocols to work from home. And as the universe would have it, a once-in-a-life time offer to permanently work from home came about. Each morning my eyes open to a pair of yellow eyes of the Weimaraner, eerily staring at me to my left and a giant Great Dane anus connected to four outstretched legs to my right. I reluctantly leave the warmth of my covers and fresh cotton sheets to go downstairs surrounded by overexcited dogs eager to relieve themselves. Sometimes I have to rush out to the backyard before the morning light with my high power flashlight looking to bag up dog feces, hoping that I do not step in it first. I absent mindedly fill the dog bowls with food & water and the early morning stillness is abruptly interrupted with the sounds of savages scarfing down their breakfast as if they have been fasting for weeks followed by tongues lapping up water with equal velocity.

We all return to bed for a nap until it was time for me to log in for work. I sit in front of the dual monitors clicking away for 8 hours, periodically disrupted by a large bulbus head nudging my elbow for attention. The college sophomore frequently bounces downstairs with some revelation or complaint, often in the middle of a video conference call. I force myself to break for a 30-minute lunch and often make a cup of tea that sits neglected for hours because an unexpected urgent matter demands my immediate attention. At 5:30, I log off and four times a week I make my homage to Orange Theory Fitness, otherwise I do not leave the house and I am never alone.

At night when the Hubs is home, I attempt to steal a few minutes of solitary quietness and retreat to the bedroom. I sneak upstairs hoping to evade the Great Dane following me like a baby duck, softly closing the bedroom door behind me. On successful escapes, I giddily smooth the sheets on my bed before getting in and savor the few minutes of being alone, not needed by anyone, not having to fulfill a need. The temporary tranquility is often short lived as the college sophomore bursts in to share his frustrations of online courses or the sound of dogs stampeding up the stairs to retire for the evening … and my day restarts like Groundhog Day.