The most annoying thing about getting my thumb squashed by the door to the balcony, was that I wasn’t able to write. Not because my left thumb was instrumental to either holding a pen, or typing, because it wasn’t. But because the pain would get so intense it would immediately draw all awareness to the band-aid covered digit.
Instead, I was allowed to do what normal people do on a weekend. Meet a friend in Utrecht. Sleepover at my mother’s house. Travel. Go to warm sunlit birthday parties. But the moment I reached for my new diary to take some notes in order to write about it, when I could write about it, the pain in my thumb shrieked.
“You CAN’T write about it!”
Aside from not being able to write there were other costs as well. Cab fare to and from the hospital in the middle of the night. One whole night of sleep, because I couldn’t sleep from the pain. Not even after they had drilled a whole in the nail, to take the pressure off.
It got the edges off, the strongest pain was gone, but it was still not enough to be able to sleep. I think I slept 2,5 hours total that night.
The thumb cost me a show from Rafael, who turned out to have a gig in Utrecht that night. I was convinced I was predestined to go, but in the end I realized I was more predestined to go to the ER for the second time to get my thumb checked out.
The nightly treatment had not been the miracle cure the doctor had promised, and I wanted to make sure the thumb was not going to cost me a second night of sleep.
But all the other things? The things that after the incident, I knew I HAD TO change; that I was DONE with? The things that suddenly became crystal clear?
That was the message this whole accident was about.
Because I have been in ER only once before in my life, after a strikingly similar buildup of events. Just like now, I had totally nailed “life”. I knew exactly what to do, and when to do it. I had a planning, which included an editorial calendar for both my writing biz as well as my yoga. I created content for both on a regular basis and I knew where I was going, why, and what I was doing along the way.
I was a productivity machine then, as I was now.
THAT’s when God started throwing bricks.
In 2014 it was with a painful burn with boiling water, now it was the balcony door. And in all the other years, the rest of my life, where I just did whatever I liked? Nothing.
God was quiet.
He only steps in when I plan out my life to the minute and promise myself I can take the weekends off, if I have everything done by Thursday.
Fridays are always filled with obligations and appointments that take me away from home from 10 AM till 8 PM, so my desk workweek is four days.
And if in those four days, I do what my calendar tells me to do?
Then I can have the weekend off.
No, no, no, no no.
The weekends are ALWAYS off. And the moment you forget that, on a Friday night opening a work filled “holiday” week by writing a blog post (Mr.Big) which you consider a downtime activity after coming home at 8 PM- then God will throw you a brick.
A black, pierced nail.
And for six months it will stick to you and be a visible reminder that;
The weekends are off.
Holidays are off.
And you can write any time you like, but if He catches you again – wearing yourself out and punishing yourself with an idiotic work schedule – He will take writing away from you too.
So that you will not be able to write for a whole weekend, and instead you will have to spend it in the way normal people spend their weekends.
I write diary entries, like the one above, and I post videos of my course
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