The article she spent five hours writing in Word Press disappeared on her laptop while she was editing. She could not recover it.
She couldn’t breathe. Tears overwhelmed her. She does not cry.
She had not slept more than three hours a night since she listed her house for sale in February 2020.
She moved to another state and did her best to adjust, but everything was so different. The climate has more cloudy than sunny days; she has Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Relocating during the Pandemic prevented new friendships. She never felt alone until she left her home state.
What kept her going was her promise to the feral cats she had adopted—that she would provide a safe home for them as long as they lived—and discovering the trail with tall trees on both sides, mere blocks from her bug-infected, rented house.
When she moved to the house she bought to escape the bugs, most of her CDs did not come with her, and those were not the only things missing.
When she bought a new cell phone in December, she asked the woman who was setting it up if she liked cats. She did. So she said, “If I die before my cats do, would you take care of them?”
And then the internet situation in the new house got so much worse, despite making phone calls to Customer Service and writing letters enclosed with her bill and monthly payments.
Filing a complaint on the Attorney General website helped, but she’s on round two of swapping letters with the man who can make a difference via email with her caseworker. How she responds to that second letter she received only yesterday could determine whether or not she has internet; her service provider has a monopoly in this town.
Her fear escalated.
How could she keep up with her friends and family without the internet? How could she continue to write not only her blog but the second dissertation that requires so much research? As an indie author, how would she rewrite her published books and the novels that long to be written?
And how will she continue to write anything when her right arm, hand, and fingers no longer work as of three weeks after her first vaccine? She had typed that article with one finger.
So, when the HVAC guy came back to turn it on so she could have heat or air again (he forgot to turn it on after cleaning the HVAC screen several days before) she asked him what his sister’s answer was to the same question she asked of the cell phone girl. “Will she take care of my cats…?”
And then the cell phone she never wanted to buy made the sound for email. It was from her new doctor saying, “I love this BLOG! Thanks for sharing with me.”
Still crying, she typed her reply, “Thank you. You saved my life this morning.”
This event was not a dark night of the soul like the story in my Burnout Series. I believe it was the inevitable mini-crash from “sleepless for a year” so Spirit could remind me that I am never alone. The truth is, I know Who I Am, and all my needs are met before I realize I have them. So why would I want to share this? Because I want readers to understand that everyone has challenges. Being kind to everyone we meet, we can make a difference. We can create a new world. And yes, I am now typing with one finger on my left hand.
Till next time,
Please be kind to everyone you meet, for we all have our hidden sorrows. ~Tzaddi, aka Pam Young