A Writer Writes

A writer writes, huh? Well what if a writer has nothing to say? Some days, there are plenty of words to fill a page, or pages. Then there are days when you have absolutely nothing to share. Today is one of those days, or is it? When the girls are in school, I spend about 30 hours a week alone. I'm not what you would call a social person, so it's hard for me to make friends. Making new friends to me is equivalent to a first date. It's awkward, uncomfortable, and you feel obligated to dredge up the history of your life in order to make polite conversation—no thanks. I'm the kind of person who would much rather spill my guts out on the blank pages of a journal than in the ear of someone who has enough problems without having mine dumped in their lap. Fortunately, I can count three women (you know who you are) who will listen to my bullshit, and offer up some good advice when it's necessary—thank you. So today, my house is a mess, there are bills to pay, dogs to walk, a blog to post, and a book to finish. The garbage truck outside reminds me that I must collect the can from the curb. The hum of the dishwasher means there will be dishes to put away later. The timer on the dryer is buzzing calling me to fold clothes before they become a wrinkled mess. The silence of the telephone and the absence of e-mail is perhaps the loudest noise I hear. I am alone, with few friends after all. Could I reach out? Would any one of them be there for me if I did? Yes, of course they would, but I choose instead, to fill a blank page...because a writer...writes.