A sentence starts out like walking an old, frail woman up and down a hospital corridor. Her liver spotted hands shaking fiercely, while holding onto her walker. Back curved, always looking down at her feet that are not completely leaving the floor. And no matter how long she has been walking she is still in that same hallway in the hospital, never really getting anywhere. She turns to me and says, "HURRY UP!" with this cold, scratchy voice making you rather listen to nails on a chalkboard. We finally reach her dark room and as I place her in her bed I open up the curtains to let in some light. I turn around and see the woman getting comfortable and starting to relax. The physical exercise and treatment is over. Now on to the next patient.
This is how writing is for me. It is a slow process like walking an old woman and no matter how long I have been writing it is like I am still in the same place that I started. It is not till I am finished that I realized everything that I have done and have a short time to relax until my next essay.
This story of walking this woman is true. I helped my Dad over the summer at his job. He is a physical therapist and worked in the retirement home/hospital. There was one lady who always yell hurry up too.
I love your metaphor. I can just picture the old woman and someone writing an essay happening parallel to each other and having certain things overlap like yelling hurry up or the woman shaking while trying to grasp a hold on her walker and someone's hand shaking while holding a pen or pencil trying to touch the tip to the paper but not being able to come up with words. [Sorry for the mass amount of comments at once! I have absolutely no time to do these ever.]
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