I can’t write. Had a lot free time today. I wandered the house. I swept. I cleaned the toilets. I cooked a meal. But I couldn’t pick up the computer and write, though I did spend a lot of time on it…not writing. I picked it up to use iMessage, and look at Facebook, and look for rentals back in the states, reading reviews of used cars. Yesterday I was on the computer signing up on the Marketplace for health insurance for the family, and buying plane tickets.
But when you’re waiting, waiting, waiting for your loved one to come home from the hospital, I think creativity shuts down. And even though my husband is home now, I find myself vigilant, watching him for signs of too much fatigue (he sometimes doesn’t listen when I tell him to sit down and let me make the tea), worrying if he’ll be able to fly home in two weeks. When I’m not watching him, I’m watching my boys. Worrying about whether they’re burying their emotions, worrying how they are managing to cope.
It makes me wonder how amazing, tortured artists managed to remain creative when they were gripped by mental illness or sorrow or fear. What happens to your creativity in the face of emotional turmoil?