Preparing to Turn to a Blank Page

It was after 3am Monday morning and I could only drift on the edge of sleep because the giant pinball machine in my head was cranked up to full speed and didn't show signs of slowing anytime soon. My brain was screaming, "sleep? Who needs sleep??? Stay awake and write!" I tried. Really tried. And I failed.

I could only get down the first sentence before my neck and right shoulder were whining in pain from the awkward position in which I was laying in bed, while trying to type on my phone. I can't always stay at the computer as long as I'd like at night because it means a night of badly broken sleep for my dad.  He usually crashes on my couch to help me get in bed, etc. and then gets up before sunrise to go to a full time insurance job.  This never-ceasing battle of wills between my mind and muscles is one of my strongest contentions about being a writer with a disability – my physical limitations often severely hinder my tangible productivity at opportune times, while still depriving my mind of necessary rest (you can read my quirky illustration of this phenomenon in my 12/27/08 post entitled, "A Nightly Argument").  But, conversely, writing is also my true means of freedom. I can do anything with the right words and ink always carries my voice perfectly, with no chance of misunderstanding. Therein lies the reason I continue to endure the numerous aggravations of my obstinate muscles. What other choice do I have if truly want to be "heard" in this endlessly noisy and judgmental world?
So, what was I trying to write in the first place, you ask? Actually, I'm not entirely sure. I was just toying with some ideas for my two current projects for my next "roll in faith" and how this blog will be the link between them.  The first is the memoir people have been persistently "suggesting" I write for years. The second is one I'm not quite ready to announce yet; waiting for a certain phone call to make it official. It will come soon.
When it was time to start again, I was going to revert to the original plan, but then thought, facing my own words means clearing the first hurtle first.  Mind over muscle. It just took two days. Still, thank you, Lord, for small victories.