by Lauren Persons
It happened again--another night that I fall asleep quickly while trying to read a great novel or movie I have wanted to see for months. I sleep well and then it happens … I wake up, staring into the dark. A heavy weight lies upon my chest, perhaps an elephant.
It is the designated hour for solving all problems of my day, my life, my lack. It is three a.m. What do I do? Where do I start? I can go to a 24-hour grocery store but that would require getting dressed and what would I buy? I am sure it would be a gallon of salted caramel ice cream, and then that would compound my problem.
I lie in bed and try to make the world right. I start with deep breathing exercises—I am inhaling for one … I am exhaling … I am inhaling for two … I am exhaling for two … and so forth …
Now I am relaxed enough to start the Blame Game. The rules are to blame anyone in my life that I can pin the blame on without leaving any visible puncture wounds. I start with Mother. Her biting humor has gotten me in trouble. But she did give me the love of words. That won’t work. How about Dad. He was always melancholy. Things were always half empty. Yet, he was incredibly strong and loyal. That won’t float. Ahhh. It is my husband’s fault--the kindest, most generous, most loving man in the world. He fought gracefully, gallantly, and unsuccessfully, a three-year battle with cancer. Forget that.
So who does that leave? Me.
Yes, the litany begins. I am a bad daughter, bad wife, bad mother, bad teacher. Even as a retiree after twenty-eight years of teaching, I am a bad retiree. I am still working many hours to pay for what I want to do now that I am retired.
So I get up and turn on my light and grab my journal. When my eyes finally stop burning and squinting, I write in my journal. I ask for direction. I ask to be forgiven. I may have been a bad parent or daughter or mother a few times but not every day. So I write and write and write. I only stop writing when what I write crawls over a previous line of writing. I put my journal on the bed table.
The next morning, I awaken to a new day. I feel better, ready to tackle another. A poem is creeping in my brain, not necessarily distracting or mean-spirited, just creeping around to let me know that sometime soon I will need to give it the floor. What is the name of that poem, I think. Damn. I knew it intimately forty years ago. The Box…The Box…I google that. A poem pops up. Not the one I knew so well. A better one pops up. A powerful one that creates the magical triumvirate of voice, dance and music. Perfect!
Is there a God? Or a higher power? Do I have an angel? Maybe it’s just coincidence or even dumb luck?
Yet, does it really matter what it’s called? No. By journaling, putting those thoughts down, they get loose. Get unstuck. I got unstuck. My problems are solved until the next log jam. Next time, I will know what to do. WRITE.
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Lauren Persons has had a love affair with words since she adapted, directed and starred in “Sleeping Beauty” in third grade. Since then, she has made a career out of teaching high school students dramatic arts, creative writing and English. While she recently retired from teaching after twenty-eight years, Lauren continues to act out in area schools and theatres in Cleveland, Ohio.
Do you find yourself dwelling on missed opportunities? Or perhaps you're having trouble making sense of it all? Please download our free ebook, CreateWriteNow's Expert Guide to Therapeutic Journaling, shows you journaling can provide the tools you need to achieve the happiness we all deserve.
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