Where I Learn to Play Again

My routine is off. I’m not sure if I can point to one single thing that did it. But it’s interesting to me what is going on.

I’ve lost my regular writing mojo. I’ve got this sort of floaty rule for myself. I like to write 70,000 words every month. I came close in April and May, ending up with 68,000 words each month. Not exactly, but close enough for government work to call it 68,000.

The original goal of 50,000 words dates back to the old NaNoWriMo writing challenges, where we would meet every November to write a novel of at least 50,000 words. One time, I wrote a book about how to get a job. That book evolved into a series of three books, which have not yet been published. I might do something about it this year. Times a tickin’ as I’m 70 years old now.

Basically, it boils down to a loose average of writing 2,000 words a day. Divided up between my journal, where stuff boils, and the articles I write, an average of two articles a day for various writing platforms happens. Easy.

Yesterday was not easy. Nor was the day before. I only count words for finished articles. I’ve got five partially written articles, including this one, on my computer’s desktop right now. My word count has tanked.

I ask myself, “Why?”

We’ve had some neighbors for the last few years. There is a little girl in the household. Seeing as how I’ve never had children nor been around them much, I felt that the universe was helping me. I welcomed having a little girl in my life. What better way for me to remember what it was like?

Right.

She is very, very slowly learning what the word no is. She’s got some learning issues, and being rejected and told no is like pushing a button for a horrible crying situation. Don’t get me wrong, I fully understand, at least I think I do. Her mother always comes along for a visit, so I have her to measure my responses against.

Also, for a time, I was busy making videos on YouTube for kids. They were all educational, and although I am not trained specifically to educate the young people, I remember what it was like to be a little girl. My love for reading and writing came to me when I wasn’t much older than she is.

My mission in life these days is to encourage curiosity, help people grow emotionally, and pretty much share the wisdom I’ve gained just from being 70 years old. There is a patience I didn’t have in my 30s. I still find it interesting, but I wondered what had affected me this week.

I believe it might have something to do with how I tend to brace myself for life’s vagaries. Say, you’ve got something coming up. It could be the end of the week, or it could be something that comes to you via the news. For whatever reason, you need to brace yourself.

I’m doing that with a little seven-year-old girl. I mean, how silly is that? However, one of my big learning lessons was to learn how to create boundaries. I thought I was done.

Evidently, not.

Her school just let out for the summer. Instead of her usual visits once a week, suddenly she was outside my house every day. I tend to write in the mornings and am generally done by early afternoon. Then I’ll have a breakfast-and-lunch sort of meal, watch some television, or read, and then either take a nap or go back to the study and write some more.

This no longer coincides with her schedule. I was thinking of mentioning it to her mother, but then I thought that I need to learn how to say no again. Gently. To a little girl who does not like hearing the word "no".

That’s a tough one, folks. It’s really tough.

So, I’m waffling. On the one hand, I’m there to say, “I’m writing” or “I’m busy,” neither of which she understands or accepts. It’s tough saying no.

Instead of writing when the mood moves me, I could say to her, “You can come at 3:30,” and just be sure that I’m ready. I’ll be missing my nap, but I could live with that. If I had a regular job, I wouldn’t be having one.

You know something? Just talking it through here in this article, I feel better. She is so funny when she comes to the door to ask if I’m available for a playdate. And we do play. She is able to find every stinking hair ditty I’ve got and pin them all up in my hair.

She brought over a bubble machine. I stood with her on our patio to watch the bubbles fly across the street. A few drifted into our house, and my cat Molly was interested. Sort of. Then, she hid. The cats have not gotten used to the fireball that is my next-door neighbor. It gave me the idea of having a podcast with bubbles in the background. Then, the thought of them floating up and smashing on the ceiling and all the little marks they’d make gave me pause. Fun though. I just realized I could make an overlay for the video with the editing software in Canva.

Her latest thing has been slime. She’s given me some, and a bit of it was some sort of air-drying clay. I’ve made a horsey for her, which she dropped off the balcony to see it fly. Last night I made another one, this time per my husband’s suggestion, with wings. I also made a person. These are not professional-quality sculptures. This is me learning to play again, which, now that I think about it, is what this whole situation is about.

I’ve come full circle.

Thanks for reading.

Pauline Evanosky