Member-only story

Writing. Always writing. In my head.

Susan McCorkindale
2 min readDec 2, 2021

--

And sometimes at my desk.

Photo by on

One of the things I’ve realized in my years of writing is this:

I’m always .

Staring out the window, sipping my coffee, I’m writing.

Driving along, trying not to get lost, (something I could teach, by the way), I’m writing.

Humping my way to the , using my weights, doing my sit ups (grr), I’m writing.

In the drugstore, checking out behind someone who’s purchasing one of those exorbitantly expensive, locked-behind-plexiglass creams that promise to firm your butt or erase your wrinkles (which I actually have on my butt), I’m writing.

In the parking lot, waiting to go in for my second mammogram and first sonogram (because the first mammo was “a little funky,” my words, ), I’m writing.

And then, laying on my back, having the aforementioned sonogram on my little bittys, I’m writing.

Writing. Always writing.

In my head.

Most of it is God awful but sometimes, sometimes, it’s salvageable. And sometimes it’s funny and I burst out laughing. Then people look at me — in the drugstore, on the sonogram table — like Maybe she missed her .

--

--

Susan McCorkindale
Susan McCorkindale

Written by Susan McCorkindale

Mom, wife, autism advocate, author.

No responses yet