This morning, I responded to a writing prompt presented in Ann Linquist's creative writing site. As a follower, I was invited to consider what plans I'd make if I found out I only had six months to live. I normally submit a response to writing prompts quickly and easily. It's unheard of for me to wait three days to put in my two cents. Ann threw me with this one.
When I first read the prompt, I was taken aback. A few minutes later, I jotted down my initial thoughts on the back of an envelope. My plans were simply lovely. Among them were: I'd write letters telling folks how fond I was of them. I'd pray and read scripture more. I'd banish anxious thoughts. I'd smell the roses. I'd say I love you at every opportunity.
I was haunted by my list. I longed to know what my true reaction would be. Hours and then an entire day passed. I gave the possibility of an aborted future more consideration and I doubted that I would respond as I'd first predicted. I became angry and frustrated at my need to submit something. I made a very different list. It was far from lovely. I foretold things like this: I'd write hate letters. I'd break things. I'd cuss. I'd regret the good things I've done. I'd get even.
My second list seemed more realistic, knowing myself as I do. I decided to submit both of my lists to the writing site. After I clicked the submit button, I wept briefly. I seldom cry.
Maybe in a day or two I'll understand why.
[I can't leave my thoughts for a day or two. I'm still sitting here. I'm often puzzled when I experience negative feelings. I constantly try to fathom issues, myself and others and when I can't (99% of the time), I'm unsettled. Maybe I don't deserve six more months when I see myself as I truly am. I personally know many people who have died prematurely or are now facing the real possibility of death in spite of their goodness].
I've had enough of this for now. It's time to click PUBLISH POST and walk away. Bye.