#writing • Someone on the internet I have never met just poked me. So hard that it hurt. Her name is Liz and I forgive her because she didn’t poke me personally. I might even liken it to jabbing myself, and all because she defined the word “enough” in my context.

In January of 2020, two months before it would have a name, my little family of three caught Covid-19. While we didn’t experience any respiratory complications or need hospitalization, it was painful and exhausting, and I was dealing with a bout of Shingles at the same time. My right hip, thigh, and lower back have never recovered and still feel slightly numb. I blame the Covid.

Well, more precisely, I blame Long Covid. My particular variety includes brain fog, exhaustion, constipation, dry mouth, diminished taste and smell, and what’s been termed by some as Post Exertion Malaise. I’ve also been dealing with a cavalcade of musculoskeletal issues, mostly due to a motorcycle accident I had in 1990.

I’ve had my left knee replaced and will need to get the right one replaced at some point, a cervical spinal fusion, will probably need to get one of my arm bones shortened to alleviate wrist pain, and have been dealing with Degenerative Disc Disease since I was 19. Oh, and the arthritis, near non-stop tinnitus, and sciatica down both legs. I have a feeling I’m forgetting some things, but this is enough.

In short, loads of fun.

All of these issues have had a significant impact on my ability to write. Writing is what I’ve done professionally and as a blogger since 1996, with about twenty of those years in the computer book publishing industry where I contributed to about one hundred books. I started PDA Handyman in 2002 and ran that blog for about eight years, as well. I’ve written hundreds of blog posts, many I’ve lost over time due to moving servers and being dumb, and some of which I still host here on my website.

Writing has been a part of my essence since I decided I wanted to be a writer when I was nine, and while it took many years for me to realize that dream, it has always been an endeavor filled with pain and joy… which is where Liz comes on. In her short, concise post on Writer Unboxed entitled “Enough” she managed to poke me with a sharp stick and draw emotional blood. She didn’t do it on purpose. She has no idea who I am. She simply related her experience, like a good writer. (You should read her post now. It’ll be quick.)

But it hurt nonetheless. Maybe even more, since she was again able to find joy in writing. I, on the other hand, feel lost, like I might never again recover those aspects of writing that at once brought me happiness and the satisfaction of having accomplished something through the adversity of putting down words on a page. Creation, after all, is pain, but it’s more than that. It’s about all of the emotions, the good and the bad, that swirl around the process.

I can’t focus. I have never had good memory recall, but in the past few years it’s gotten significantly worse. I have days where my various sources of pain are just too intense. Following a terrible experience with opioids after my knee replacement, I haven’t used them since, so all I have for pain relief are ibuprofen, pregabalin, and tylenol. As I go into my second day trying to complete this post my tinnitus is at a 9/10. It could be infuriating, but I’ve been dealing with it for so long now I’ve gotten used to it. That doesn’t make it easier to manage, but I don’t get mad about it much any more.

I used to have ideas just pop into my head all the time. That’s mostly gone now. And yet, despite all these challenges, I still try. And that’s when I realized that what Liz was saying about “enough” is what I’ve been doing. I post about nerdy news and animation and comics I like and some politics here and there, but I’ve really enjoyed sharing what I’m #NowPlaying as one of my deepest loves is for music.

So maybe you are right, Liz. As a writer, it just has to be enough, I think. At least for now.