Sunday, June 26, 2016


Dear God --

Just between you and me, I was wondering what it is you wanted me to do with my life. I wonder this in general, in the big picture, the years remaining, but also in the short term, this time recovering the torn Achilles.

Healing is going so slow I don't see any progress. Day after day I am still stiff, in pain, and sick feeling. It's hard to pee; I can't sleep; and everything from washing dishes to changing clothes is a hassle. Sweeping the porch after the storm yesterday was exhausting.

I don't want to complain or seem ungrateful for this opportunity to learn something, but the days are getting pretty boring, if not downright depressing.

Part of me wonders if this is some kind of punishment for having failed so miserably at having fulfilled my potential. I admit that I did not marry my talents as a writer to the work necessary to succeed. I did not commit to my art, or suffer all that much for it, but chose security and comfort.

For that I am sorry and have to live with regret. I do still have some time though. I can make something of what remains.

In this down time, this dead spot of nothing to do, nowhere to go, of weakness and funk, I see where I have failed to act, to meet my demons, and have chosen instead to put things off, to procrastinate, thinking -- erroneously -- that there was plenty of time.

I need some help to see this injury as something other than just a painful disaster that has destroyed my summer. I need to get up, in spite of the pain and carry on.

If I am honest with myself, I feel that I am done, that I have gone as far as I can. What I don't know is whether or not you feel that way. Am I done? If I am not, how far do I still need to go?

I don't know how far that is, but I am not one to give up; I am, as you know, too damned dumb to quit.

So I will sit here in the place of slowness, of boredom, of discomfort and wait for your reply.

Thanks for your time,


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