bit of a schemozzle

I had to look up the spelling of schemozzle; it's a variant of shemozzle, according to the Canadian Oxford Dictionary, which is my favourite for checking out words. It's a Yiddish expression, which is why I favour the variant spelling. If the logic of that eludes you, well, it eludes me too. But I think it's because, even if I don't pronounce it differently it has a different feel in my brain.

I've been in a kerfuffle lately too. That's another word I looked up, just to be sure. The spell check on this site is happy with it (though it doesn't recognize schemozzle). I expect this is because kerfuffle has a British Isles origin. Makes sense, given that that's where English comes from. Mind you, this spell check doesn't recognize favour either, even though it's the British Isles spelling. So I guess English is only English when it feels like it. But spelling with the u has a different feel in my brain too. These things are kind of strange. I know that so-called Canadian spelling is a schemozzle of English and American, and includes local-to-Canada (imagine!) words tossed in.

Anyway, this should illustrate to you the schemozzle I'm in. One thing leads to another with no apparent direction. I have to-do lists building, and am on task with a few things. My calendar is full of appointments and events. I know I have some deadlines. I will likely meet them. But my house is a mess, and I feel kind of rudderless.

Sounds like a pretty typical life, doesn't it?

Some things are going quite well. I decided early this summer that I needed to lost some weight, and I've managed to shed between five and ten pounds. I'm hazy as to the exact amount, as I was in denial about the upper number. But my clothes are loosening up, and that's always a good indicator of success. My winter coat will fit me this winter. Hurray!

The reason I decided to lose weight was because I've got a (laparoscopic) surgery coming up, and I thought the surgeon might have an easier time of it if there was a bit  less of me. I saw the surgeon in June, found out this week that my surgery will be in December. Healthcare takes its time, doesn't it?

It's kind of funny, because I'm generally very healthy. It's just that I have a gall bladder that is jammed with pebbles and stones, and when I slip up and eat the wrong foods (too much fat mainly, which means no fish & chips) it lets me know loud and clear. It's quite unnerving, because I can't tell how long an attack will last. They've ranged from fifteen minutes, to fifteen hours (that's the one that got me to the doctor).

So I've been eating differently, which is not a bad thing. Everything I read tells me to eat less, and in particular to eat less fat, so this is all good. It's become a bit of a habit, which is something. More veggies, more fruit. All good. Not much booze. Also good.

But anticipation of this thing maybe is what leaves me feeling rudderless. I've been hesitating about some travel plans, because of it. It's harder to avoid fat foods when away from home.

And I still haven't got the writing habit nailed down. That's probably the biggest source of my rudderless feeling. I am a writer, and I don't write, much. I can make a case that reading is part of the process, but I've got that nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I'm supposed to be doing something. Being just never seems enough. It's weird. Even though I can be busy all day, nothing shows.

Maybe I need to imagine some upcoming surgery for that. Get my writer's blockage removed, that massive sack of fretfulness and indirection.

We'll see. The gall bladder may be the source of all this, in more ways than one. It's a reasonable metaphor, I suppose.