The odd thing about keeping this blog is that after I miss a certain number of days I start to have some odd performance anxiety where what I say has to be doubly profound or entertaining to somehow compensate for the days that pass, then instead of just saying what’s on my mind, I wait to see if I will have something more profound or entertaining on my mind tomorrow or the next day. I suffer in contrast to some friends, who maintain more frequent posts while traveling, raising children, working and battling major illnesses. Huh.
Another deterrent, as I start to write on some days, is that I feel alternately that what I want to write is too frivolous (like what I think of the new Superman movie), too self absorbed (like me, my TV writing projects, my little mental demons, my obsession with regular digestion), or too serious or even a bit out of my jurisdiction. For instance, although my father’s health has for years been an open topic of discussion, my mother has always less likely to allow her health to cause ripples in the water. Thankfully she tends to enjoy good health. However, in the past week, she was diagnosed with emphysema. This was very unexpected, as she lives an active lifestyle, doesn’t smoke, and was not having trouble breathing. In terms of illness, our family has been a bit of a one hit wonder, and when something arises that isn’t cancer, I find myself at a loss. From my back pocket I can pull at least a dozen stories of people who have recovered from “fatal” cancers. I don’t have any stories about emphysema. Maybe some of you do?