Along similar lines to an athlete getting Athlete’s Foot or a tennis player suffering from Tennis Elbow, I think I have caught Writer’s Bum.
This in itself is not actually a bad thing since it shows I’ve been writing recently but what is worrying is the fact that I’ve hardly been writing at all. An hour here and there. Sometimes just a few minutes. And only for this piddly blog. What will happen if I ever want to write more than five hundred words in a row? If I decide to attack a short story? Or worse, a book? How will my bum survive? How in fact do real writers’ bums make it through the hours, days, weeks, months and even years spent sitting on a chair? I wonder how J.K. Rowling managed hers? Maybe I’ll drop her a wee email to find out.
Because my bum hurts. It goes numb. It gets uncomfortable. It becomes fidgety and I have to stand up and walk about a bit to keep it happy. When I sit back down it complains immediately:
“What the hell are you up to? You never used to sit around so much, you big Lazybones!”
My bum of course doesn’t know why I have become more sedentary over the last few months. It doesn’t realise or care that I now have this rather mind-absorbing little blog which keeps me stuck to my chair for far too long. Like an un-walked dog it wants me to get up, get going and start strolling again. If my bum could bring me a leash it would. It would sit up, paw my knee, pant in my face and beg me to take it out.
So today I did. I took it outside into the garden where we pottered around, raked up leaves, played with the cats, pruned bushes and generally moved around a lot in the fresh February air. I have to admit that I too was happy to get away for a while from my clingy little iPad.
But not for long, as you can see.
Sorry Bum. We’ll go out for walkies again tomorrow. Just keep still for a little longer please. There’s a good girl!