I am sitting here, trying to concentrate. We keep the door to the hallway open because the room is cold and the thermostat is broken. I’m hoping some warm air will find its way inside.
There is intermittent noise–carts rolling down the hall, the ding of the “cow bells” as Jim calls the call bells, the roar of the floor polisher, canned laughter from the television in a neighboring room, aides laughing or talking.
We’ve been here a week now, so I’ve become accustomed to the daily routine of meds, meals, and rehab exercises, which is when I slip outside to the real world and do some shopping or run home to check the cat and the mail.
Then there is a quiet time while Jim naps. I thought I could use this time to write, but so far I am distracted, not by the noise or interruptions, but by my own mind, I find it difficult to think about much more than getting Jim well enough to go home.
And yet, the story I am working on keeps insisting that it not be forgotten. I thought I had ended it with a big climactic scene and an explanation of the events leading up to it, but now I realize there is more to it. The characters cannot be let off so easily. They have not made the decisions they need to make in order for them to go forward. So I’ve been thinking about that, letting my mind go over the story and imagining dialogue and action that will get them to a real, not contrived HEV (Happy Ever After).
During the quiet times–when I am not letting my mind wander to the dark places I don’t want to go.