The Hardest Part of Being a Writer is…

            I realized I was late with this blog yesterday. But before I could actually do anything about it I had to:
            Start on the problem of my upright freezer. Somehow the door had been left open. Stuff had to be tossed, saved for a friend, and the damage assessed. Then I took to the friend what might be ok. Maybe. She’s has the maturity and experience to know if she opens something up that might be skeevy to NOT EAT IT!  Six huge bags left.  The not possible to save, Alaskan King crab legs (whined over that one), ice cream in every form, multitudes of vegetables, as well as all that had been dripped on. Luckily, the crab was in the bottom. However, our garage smells like a bait shop.
            I took the bags of trash to the dumpster in the closest town at one of our seed cleaning facilities (unmanned at this time, thank goodness). Delivered the possible skeevy stuff to the friend forty-five miles away (yes, a friend I might see weekly on grocery/part runs). And all seemed to be going ok, when I saw a sexy Harley parked alongside the road with the passenger examining a large floppy book. It looked like a map book to me. It is supposed to get to ninety-eight degrees this afternoon and they already looked cooked, so I stopped. Oh, yea, they were in trouble. They'd called the nearest Harley roadside help. I let them know the nearest was two and a half hours away and offered to take them to the nearest town so they could wait in the cool with a water source, food, and…a bathroom. They locked that sucker up so quick and jumped in my little small pickup seat like they were afraid I'd evaporate. We squeezed together but I got a kiss on the cheek when they were delivered for being an angel. Sixteen miles out of my way, but hey, that's nothing out here. After a call to the Sheriff’s department to let them know about the Harley and the whereabouts of the owners, I got to come home and start cooking.
            Harvest starts Monday. Cooking for fifteen this year.
            I still need to fine tune the big game plan, but I needed to pay bills and get this blog out. I put off the bill paying a few minutes more to see if I couldn't get creative. Nothing came to mind except that it is difficult to be a writer, no matter who you are. There are always challenges to be faced in anyone’s life. Time to suck it up and get back to work. Time to save and recharge your batteries before life breaks your legs and makes you rest.
            You see, on the way to deliver the food, I called ahead to ask for coffee. I hadn't had a chance to have any yet. Then, when I arrived and after the food was away, I got to savor the coffee, homemade cookies, and some serious conversation as I whined about the four people who needed some constant help this last week through some serious problems. My friend explained to me that there are people who will use you up and then go on to the next. That to survive sometimes a person must refuse to help with someone else’s needs. Being a reverent sort, I got treated to a bit of Bible wisdom that is seldom said these days because cooperation and teamwork is currently espoused by our society. Help those willing to help themselves. I got to thinking on that drive home that maybe I should also look at the non-human things that also suck me an aphid on a rose bush. 
            Therefore, I helped myself to a Google search. I asked what is the hardest part of being a writer. Oh, my. It turns out I have a lot of the ‘hardest parts’.  Maybe you do too.  Here’s a link to the search.  Have fun.

            Warm regards to everyone.  Happy June.