October 16, 2014
You reminisced about your life this past week and you started to panic about what you wanted to write about. You thought of the word ‘Panic!’ and what it means to you. Of course, when you panic about writing, you sit and sit and stare at the screen in front of you because words aren’t flying just yet. However, there have been several instances when you didn’t panic in life.
When your oldest daughter decided to come into the world, she came in a hurry. While on the delivery table you looked over and saw the head nurse, an RN, freaking. You watched the nurse wring her hands in front of her staff because the doctor went to lunch right after he broke your water. You were the one having the baby, but she stood there wringing her hands and going around in circles. You couldn’t fathom her problem; you worried about the baby being born. She ended up getting fired from her job because of the way she handled the situation. That’s panic.
And then there’s the time when your little girls jumped into your stick car and knocked it out of gear, and you froze up, not being able to move your feet from the porch. You stood petrified. Then you watched as your brave son tried to hold the car from rolling back, and he quickly moved out of the way. The car rolled backwards till it hit a big rock and stopped. Then you screamed, scared out of your wits. You thanked God your girls didn’t have a scratched mark on them. You made sure from then on that the doors stayed locked and keys kept away from the kids. That’s panic.
Then you remembered that time your son played basketball and he cracked one of his ribs during a game. He told you he got hurt a week later when he showed you his bandage, and then when you yelled, “OMG, are you ok?” he said that’s why he won’t tell you anything. He rolled his eyes at you, but should you not care when your grown son gets hurt? You guess not. He waits till the bad news is over before you’re told, and you never quite know what is happening sometimes. That’s panic.
And then, there’s your youngest daughter, when you visited her the last time, you nearly killed yourself being around her two boxer dogs, a husky dog, and a little mixed dog, and a baby. She keeps forgetting to sweep up the dog hairs. And by the time you climbed the stairs full of dog hairs that you’re allergic to, she yelled, “Stop that! The dogs are not going to bother you or the baby.” You stood there gasping for breath trying to reach for the baby. If you made a move, the dogs either licked you to death or growled loud enough it made you stop in your tracks. That’s panic.
You panicked when the blank screen just made you blind; its white glare leaves black dots in your eyesight. Words didn’t come to mind. That’s panic, with a big exclamation point!
You thought about the word, panic, and what that word meant to you. Panic means a lot of things, yes?
You started thinking about your own faults and how to write about them, and you almost panicked there, didn’t you?
Remember; just be ‘You.’
Just write, Mary. Smile once in a while. Just don’t panic!
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