I was the victim of a drive by Egging yesterday. It didn't hit me because the person throwing the Egg obviously suffered from some degenerative mental condition preventing them from developing proper motor skills but it certainly spooked me. What would drive people to do something so spiteful I wonder. General impotence I suppose.
Instantly the event made me think however, about life, about work and about writing. There are always Eggs flying around, little things we have to put up with. There's the fact that people are not always open to new ideas, a lack of free seats at Starbucks and there's the beginnings of a headache preventing me from finishing work on a spreadsheet.
Just one of these things stops us in our tracks and forces us to go back home and possibly have our coats dry-cleaned but we don't let it stop us. We're back the next day, working even harder. The thing is that it's easy for somebody to throw an Egg, that's why people do it. It requires no skill to provide a spanner in somebody else’s works.
Following many set backs I've finally revised most of my novel as it stands and I'll soon be starting the final section. It's good, really good. I've been reading through it with pride and you know. Despite all of the Eggs, there are no stains. In the end all of the barriers and little annoyances wash away and all that is left is what we strived for.
Our work has a permanence that the Egg throwers will never know.
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