Wednesday's Words, by Brenda Williamson

Generally speaking, I try very, very hard not to think too highly of myself, or my abilities. As soon as I do, something happens that lets me know I’m not such a hot shot, after all.

Just over a week ago, I was nearing the end of a manuscript, and needed to submit it by a certain date that very week. I was all, “yeah, I’ve got this”, positive I’d have no problem whatsoever meeting the deadline. It is in fact a point of professional pride for me that I have never been late with a single submission or editing deadline.

I was so positive that I’d have no problem, in fact, that I agreed to have “family dinner” at our house Monday evening. We don’t usually do dinners on a week day, but our second daughter had the day off, and she really wanted us all to get together.

It’s not much work to prepare a simple meal, and I did keep it simple because I was working on that manuscript. Bone-in ham, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, veggies and a salad. We bought a cake for dessert, one of the frozen brands available here that everyone really likes.

We didn’t know if the great-grandbabies and their parents would make it to the dinner or not. The day before our little Abby had been sick, and the consensus was she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her. But she’d bounced back as little ones usually do. There were ten of us in all for dinner including the babies, and it was a very nice time.

I worked diligently on Tuesday, and then got up and at it early Wednesday, right after I posted my essay. I was within a thousand or so words of finishing my first draft when, about noon hour, I realized I just didn’t feel well. That does happen from time to time, and usually, all I need to do is to lie down for an hour or so, and I’m right as rain.

Fifteen minutes into my lie-down, I realized that I was not going to feel better. I was going to need a bucket. I was actually sick! I haven’t been sick like that, not counting my gall bladder attacks, in years. But it was worse than just me being sick. So, too, were our second daughter, her two kids...and Abby’s parents.

It wasn’t something the little one ate that disagreed with her—she’d had a 24 hour gastro bug.
I could do nothing but stay close to my bed—and the bucket—and believe that I would finish my work on time the next day.

The next morning, I awoke feeling better. Really better. I had to take the dog to the groomer first thing (just a few blocks away, where I leave him and pick him up when he’s finished, around two hours later). I had gotten a start on my work, took the dog, came home and computer had crashed.

I must confess at that point, I had a mini melt down.

Fortunately, my beloved has a computer, and I do all my work in Drop Box. It took some time to download the writing program and the drop box that I needed, but by the time it was time to go get the dog again, I was able to come home and resume my writing. I had to leave the house once more for an hour and a half in the late afternoon in order to go and get David from work—of course that was the one and only time I’ve ever had to do that on a Thursday, it’s usually Friday—but then I came home and worked, and met my deadline. Just.

We were able to resurrect my computer, but it was mostly so I could say goodbye. By the time you read this, I should be on my new one, and learning Windows 10. It’s being set up by the Geek Squad, including the installation of an icon I can click on and get them to help me when I’m stuck.

And maybe I’ll tape a little note on the tower to remind me to watch my attitude. Something, perhaps, like “pride goeth before a fall”.


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