Really Strange

I mentioned a while back that I fell and hurt my wrist.  I did, under duress, make every effort to be compliant and give my wrist adequate rest.  Family can be most demanding!  However, not only has my wrist continued to bother me, but also, I’ve missed writing.  Now, here’s the really strange part.  I don’t like to write!!!  Makes no sense, does it? 

I read up minimally on Art Therapy.  Just trying to figure out the paradox.  There are, according to what I read, two categories or definitions of this type of therapy.  As I understand it, one category focuses on the art created.  The art “product” itself is viewed as communicating something.  The other definition of art therapy stresses the process rather than the art itself.  The creative process, regardless of the finished project, is considered therapeutic and restorative.  I did not find, because of the inadequacy of my reading, if writing is included in either definition.  It did not appear to be.  But I would like to read more.

In the meantime, I’ve determined to wear my wrist brace until I can get back to the doctor (I’ve promised Trista I will call today.) and begin to write a little bit.  Why would I NOT like to write and yet want to write when I have a “legitimate” excuse not to?  Because my best friend, Mrs. G., who will be 84 next week, and whom I’ve never called by her first name, told me I’m thinking about too much.  She advised me, “Regenia, honey, you’ve got to get that out!”    So I wrote “Artificially Sculpted” this past Saturday.  And Mrs. G. was right.  I felt better.  Considerably better.  Immediately. 

Whether or not writing is considered art, per se, within the Art Therapy world, is irrelevant.  The process of writing is helping me.  It allows me to think out loud, I guess.   I am getting no answers whatsoever; no clarity that I can see.  Certainly I am getting no improved ability to focus.  My family says I am still extremely distracted.  I think their perception is accurate.  And yet, there is something about writing out my thoughts and questions, something beneficial.  

I don’t have to like medicine to take it.  If I know it helps, I take it.  I’ll treat writing the same way.  So I intend to keep writing for a while longer.  At least until I feel the process has lost the calming and healing effect it has on me.  And, maybe, just maybe, I’ll get around to writing about all the topics on my list that is now several pages long.  Literally.  But I doubt it.  I seem to have more questions and things I need to try to understand, certainly not less.