The Year That Was

So long 2017. Greetings '18.

I thought I'd take a few minutes and ponder the year that was my 2017.

Our pack size regained it's happy medium (in theory) when without warning I committed our family to a new four-legged member. It took almost a year after the loss of our other dog and everyone else was more than ready by the time the wild hair took hold and a squirming, furry bundle of kinetic energy chewed through our front door and into our lives. I made it through the "puppy blues". I made it through teething (barely). He's my little snuggle buddy (or more accurately, I'm his) and has livened up all our lives.

The bullet journal didn't revolutionize my life. Sigh. I am chronically, systemically, hopeless unorganized. My life is also humdrum, mundane and predictable - until it's so far into explosive chaos without warning that I can't see straight. That's the two settings of my life. These things I was not able to reconcile with the addition of a bujo.  I either had the exact same daily to-do's to keep track of for weeks on end OR didn't have time to slow down to track a single thing. I gave up on the bujo attempt after several months but still consider perhaps turning the fancy notebook into some kind of personal reference book - lists of meds for each of my folks, character name ideas I come across You know, like I already have an app for in my phone. Just analog. Because I've got a spiffy journal sitting around with glorious, glorious empty pages...

I surpassed my (admittedly low) books read goal for the year. I read half again more than the goal, so I definitely think I've got room to stretch 2018's bar. Considering I've got more books on my TBR list that I can finish in a lifetime and more being added all the time, I need to move my ass. Or, sit kind of still and focus. Whatever.

My foreign language lessons fell by the wayside. Boo!

Writing group is (dare I say) flourishing. Regular meet-ups. New faces. Semi-regular outings. Sharing projects & entering contests together. It has been a sanity saver on so many levels for 2017 that I cannot begin to explain. Which speaks so well of my vocabulary and wordsmithing, doesn't it?

Which leads me to NaNoWriMo. As if I could leave that out. Grueling as ever. Super bummed that the local group didn't host all the events. A mixed bag as ever. Still not done with this $@)*&*&@) work in progress. I want to get it to some sense of completion, put it away for a while and start on a new story that has been clamoring for my attention since about summertime.

While my blog posts have been spotty at best this year, my fiction ideas continue to multiply. Must write freaking faster. Must block out distractions. Look at that. I made myself laugh. How bad do I want to keep going though? I want it, so I keep plodding away at the pace I've got to work with and dream of a time when I can hammer out exactly what I want at a faster pace. Practice, practice, practice. With a bit of peace in my home. So a miracle basically.

And I cannot review 2017 without the co-headliner to the new dog: breaking my foot and the wacky chaos that ensued. Is still on going. I'm healing. Bone is repaired. Musculature, nerves, etc takes longer but is on the mend. My healing foot looks kind of skeletal from atrophy, but I'm working on it.

Less social media. What would you do if you didn't scroll endlessly through instant pot recipes, selfies and endless ego stroking pleadings for attention? I'm scaling back my viewing and what a breath of fresh air.

I'd like to travel some in 2018 (okay, a lot but I'll take what I can get). Though if travel isn't in the cards again this year, I hope there's a kinder way to let me know than a series of car repairs and surgery. I want to read more. Write more. Laugh more. Nap more. I want to record family stories from my dad. I want to have ridiculous fun with my husband. More doggie snuggles.

Happy Near Year! May 2018 be more wonderful than we can imagine.

How Bad Do You Want It?

I have been completely and totally out of focus when it comes to blog posts the last several months.

Yeah, I'm real broken up about that.

I'm a little bummed in that I had, with a few slow times, kept up to a twice a month posting schedule a LOT longer than I expected. I could highlight how everything going on can be best summed up by describing my life as dangling off the side of the Titanic just before it makes its final descent.

But that would be a bit dramatic. Plus, it's just not that cold where I live.

Social media reminded me that about this time last year I wrote a blog post about that nerdiest of nerd holidays: National Novel Writing Month.

That's right, it's NaNoWriMo time, kids! That batshit crazy time of the year when thousands of people lose all good sense and try to cram writing 50,000 words into 30 days and try to act like it's the most fun ever. All while trying not to crack like Humpty freaking Dumpty.

For all my bitching and moaning (a beloved past time, frankly), the idea of NaNoWriMo in October is kind of thrilling to my creative-esque brain. The idea of it November first is still kind of thrilling yet slightly daunting. Beyond that it's a mad dash of swear words, caffeine, loathing (both self- and for those who interrupt your process) and anxiety. There may or may not be a serious chocolate addiction to make it through the day as well.

We're one week in (Sweet baby arugula, one week down already?!) and I've already had to play a bit of catch up. But I rallied. And stumbled. And hopefully I'll rally again, because the quicker I rally, the less daunting my catch up mode has to be.

My family... Ahem, my husband and dad are supportive. And distracting. They really do mean well. And they patiently inquire about word counts and how I'm doing for the day.

And none of them know what I'm writing. Yes, I'm terribly squirrelly about explaining what I'm working on even to them and they have not, in the history of the universe, ever asked. Probably because I'm squirrelly. Or they're afraid it's about people talking about angst. Or wallpaper designs. Who can say?

The nice thing about this year, because I'm all about grasping for silver linings at this point, is I've conned my friends into doing it I have more friends participating than before. It's easier to stick with it in the rough moments when you're in this with other people. Mostly because you don't want to be the one who doesn't make it to the end and get all bitter when they celebrate.

I'm still on the mend from that broken bone (without the joy of prescription grade pain killers), my mother is still so far off her rocker she's in a different galaxy (and as loving and charming with me as barbed wire), and life in general has the audacity to continue on as if I'm not chest deep in a bizarre writing event. Must be November.

Good luck to everyone participating in NaNoWriMo - or any other nerdy endeavor that may be going on. May you be inspired, properly caffeinated, supported and a bunch of other stuff that helps.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

All year long various people have been asking me about taking a vacation. Which is weird, because usually the only people who talk to me about traveling are the few people I actually travel with. Because a vacation implies there is time and money and availability and resources and a shit ton of other factors that magically align. 

With the addition of our new dog this year, I officially wrote off any hope of traveling - let alone 'vacationing'. (I'm sure this reflects poorly on me, but somehow I can't shake the idea of a vacation being something wealthy television characters take in the 1950s. Or in the case of a particular doctor who has asked at each visit this year, multi-week world-tour like expeditions to amazing and exotic locales. 'Cause doesn't everyone go to Australia on a whim for their 5th or 6th trip of the year?)

And then once we rounded summer for the autumn, the urge to see an actual seasonal change starting kicking me in the gut. My family and I talked about the possibility of a brief trip, a there and back again kind of jaunt to one of our favorite fall locations to restock from orchards and delightful treats we've missed. 

And before you could say "Is that your check engine light?" our vehicle was in the shop. My father refers to the kind of known but not-covered-under-warranty issue it was as planned obsolescence - we could make this little tiny valve more durable, but we're not so you've got to buy something from us again AND pay for the labor cost - somewhere in the ballpark of your current monthly car payment.

Ouch.

Okay, but while not ideal it wasn't the worst case scenario. Maybe we could still pull of a quick getaway. 

Ha! Ha ha, I say!

Because a quick run over of the car (confirmed by us after picked up the vehicle) shows we need a new set of tires and brakes. 

He's going to pay $500 for 4 bald tires and a tow. Sounds about right.

(Wheezing choke) Ouch ouch.

For the briefest of moments I wondered if I could still somehow make it work. 

*Crashboombang*

I broke a bone for the first time in my life.  

Gawrsh! That looks painful - and expensive!

I spent most of my childhood wrapped in sports bandages, swollen joints and blood dripping down after falling off bikes. I fell up stairs, I fell down stairs. I tripped over my own feet and over nothing at all. All the grace and coordination of a blindfolded colt born on ice. And nothing, not so much as a hairline fracture until now. 

And I didn't just break something half-way relatively easy to navigate around. Oh no. I broke a bone in a place that will not heal on its own on in my foot. On my dominant side. That pushes the pedals in the car. 

I got to have surgery. My foot is so wrapped up in bandages and packing, topped with an immobilizing boot, that my husband keeps laughing that I should dress up for Halloween as the Wicked Witch and tell kids that Dorothy missed me with the house and it only got my foot. 

I'm completely non-weight bearing for a month and a half at a minimum. The person I despise most at the moment is the WASPy house designer who decided she needed to make popular the idea of adding an extra door to the toilet that is already inside a home bathroom. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to navigate a toilet hidden inside your bathroom so a handful of squeamish people can believe their spouses don't know they poop when you've only got 1 foot to balance on?

I hope you're laughing at that. Seriously. Because I have lost count of the number of times I've burst out laughing when I'm on the verge of crying the past few weeks. We've rounded ridiculous and are sliding into absurd. 

So let me sum this up a bit. I'm supposed to basically be on bed rest (using a little scooter I kneel on when I do need to move) until the bone heals. I take care of a household. I am forever running to the pharmacy or grocery store or doctor's office for a house full of my older folks. But I can't drive. For several weeks. 

In October. 

October is one of the two months my mother's mental illness goes completely bananas and her psychiatrist lets me use her personal cell number to reach her 24/7. And I'm out of commission. Let me clarify that for how my mother views things. I'm not out of commission. I'm getting all the attention. That's 200% how she sees this. And she's not going to stand for that. 

Necessary PSA that not all mental illnesses are the same and this is in no way meant to be derogatory in any way. My mother has more than a few things going on in her brain at the same time as her mental illness - something she's been treated for since before I was born. But at some point in her mind, right around the time I hit puberty, my mom took a very serious look at me and saw A. the bratty baby sister she fought with in her youth and B. competition for attention. I have been fair game for routine hatred ever since. 

A few days ago, my mom tried to convince me that she was the one with the broken bone (she eventually settled on her foot, but for an hour or two she said it was her arm). Later she told me I used to be so sweet to her, but that's mostly gone now. Yesterday and today she's been remarking that she needs to get ready because I'm having people over. A long and winding conversation gives way in the long run for her to make me feel guilty because I have friends and sometimes I go out and do things with them. There's so much more, so many more disheartening things, but you get the basic idea.

What I can't stop wondering though, is what horrible fate awaited me should I have pressed on with my longing thoughts of a fall trip that this was what had to stop me. At this point, I'll settle in with my homemade version of The Exorcist, a stack of books to read and now that I'm shaking the cobwebs of the painkiller out of my brain, writing.

Adventures of a different sort

One week ago, I, along with whoever else remained in the state of Florida, braced for the coming hurricane. Hurricane Irma was a big ole beast of a storm. And I've got to tell you, it took everything I've learned over the course of nearly a lifetime in this state to make it through the past two weeks with a dose of relief.

Irma went on her merry, destructive, psycho-ex-girlfriend-level-crazy way by Monday afternoon.

Let me rewind a little though. The week leading up to her arrival, my spidey-hurricane sense tingled. I began a snotty blog post about rising hurricane hysteria but never got back to it. And while the hysteria doesn't help anybody and it's a big part of frustration during hurricane season, I'm kind of glad I didn't finish that bitch session before Irma bitch slapped us.

It's exceptionally rare that I do any kind of hurricane prep. Seriously. The local news stations whip everyone in a frenzy, and usually it doesn't come near us. Last year was the first time in 12 years a major storm headed our way and at the last minute, as they are want to do like a dizzy toddler, Hurricane Matthew weaved to the right and spared my area the direct hit the weathermen were salivating over.

This year, when the projection said this angry drunk of a storm was heading our way, I picked up bottled water and canned goods like it was my destiny. I'd like to point out, I was NOT one of those assholes who bought up 20-30 cases of water leaving the rest of their neighbors scrambling to find supplies. I got what my family & animals would need for about a week and stayed the hell out of the stores.

Because to a point, there's not a whole lot you can do about the storm. You might need to put up plywood to cover your windows. You might need to bring in outside furniture, bird feeders and the like. But once that storm's howling (literally howling) outside, you're playing a waiting game. What you plan for, what most of Central Florida learned the super, duper grueling way about 13 years ago, is that you plan for the after. You plan for no running water. You plan for no power. You plan for no stores, restaurants or gas stations to have those things or anything else for that matter. And you've got to plan for that for at least a week, longer if you live outside of a subdivision where there are centralized substations.

I've gone through several hurricanes. I posted about that last year after Matthew. I've gone through a couple of impressive blizzards. Irma covered the whole state. The entire thing. There was not a place in the state that wasn't touched by at least one or two storm bands. I couldn't really tell you what the news was saying for the first several days after Irma, what without having power, phone or internet, but I know there is a sense of awe, pants-shitting awe, at the size and capability of this storm.

My family and I were fortunate. Our power was out from Sunday night until Wednesday night. I have a couple of friends who are still without power and were told to expect to be so anywhere from 2 more days to another week or longer. I don't care what your religious beliefs may or may not be, God, the universe or just collective consciousness needs to bless the power company linemen & tree trimmers, many out of state workers flooding in this week to help get the state back up and running. As soon as people are getting power up, they're cooking them hot meals, bringing them beer, liquor and cold water, bringing them pizza as restaurants reopen. Some kids are baking cookies or pastries or bringing them hand drawn thank yous with trays of store bought cookies.

We're a little dizzy here now. Last week was hurry up and panic, prepare as best you could and wait. Wait. W...a...i...t.  Sunday the very air around us was deadly. Snapping power polls like I'd snap dry spaghetti. Uprooting trees like their roots were made of tissue paper. Monday we crept out of our darkened houses for fresh air and to check the damage. Tuesday we sweated. It was kind of like everyone in the state was doing a sweat gland potency test. This continued until you got power and then the food nervousness began. Stores were refilling - and emptying as soon as trucks came in. It wasn't until Friday afternoon that perishables started returning to the shelves faster than they could be bought up. What a relief it was to buy a carton of eggs. Fresh milk. No canned goods. Not that I wasn't glad to have them, but not my first choice at the moment.

All in the span of a week, barely two if you count the panicked week of watching Irma's arrival.

So here I sit, in a coffee shop that's recently reopened, sucking down coffee at a vaguely alarming rate and so grateful that my life is able to return to it's weird normalcy in a headspinning week's time.

What a ride

After hopping off one of my favorite theme park rides last night during a quick evening visit with my husband, I thought of a half-way viable blog post. 

What one ride from each of the four local Disney parks would I love to ride non-stop if given the chance.* At least once (though a vague memory says maybe two or three times) cast members let me stay on a ride as many times through as I wanted during a slow evening. It was magical. There, I said it. Alas, last night's visit didn't have an extended-ride-experience but the ride I was on is one I'd love to stay on. 

*I'm restricting this to the mouse's house for a simple reason: Every single ride at Universal Studios' parks (with the exception of the Dr. Seuss and ET rides) I've been on is gone or been overhauled. Which should give a fairly good idea of how long I've spent away from theme parks until recently. Speaking of which, why isn't 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea or Mr. Toad's Wild Ride on the mouse's maps anymore? WeIrD!

With the newest addition to the animal-themed park, my choice is now either of the two rides in Pandora - the slow moving river ride or the immersive flight simulator. 

Hands down, simulated hang-gliding around the world. For someone with a fear of flying and heights, this is one of my favorite rides ever.

For the studio-based park, I'd love a full day on the Toy Story ride. What makes carnival games even better? Being slung around from game to game on a ride that keeps score between you and your companion. 

Oh bother. I have so many favorites at this park AND this is the park I've had the most opportunity to ride something until I scream "Uncle!".* Excluding the ride I've spent the most non-stop time on, my pick's the Haunted Mansion. That being said, it would be easier to list the rides I wouldn't want to ride continuously here than ones I would. 

*Point of fact, it was my companions who begged off that ended my ride as much as I wanted to streak. I came disturbingly close to having a toddler-style tantrum at the park.  How often do you get that kind of opportunity?! *deep, calming breaths*

What rides would you love to stay on as long as you wanted? 

In The End

An act of aging or pretentious music stage, call it what you will, but in my (very) early twenties I hit a point where I scoffed at pretty much anything new being played on radio stations. I hit my teens as grunge snatched the airwaves away from hairbands and then pop-punk hit hard partway through high school. Pop fluctuated between sex heavy to sugary sweet implied sex heavy. I'd hit saturation of whatever new(-ish) sound was du jour. 

So, when the next big thing in rock flooded radio stations, I wasn't having it. I wasn't interested in the.next.big.thing. I stuck with my familiar tunes. Until I was at work one day and somebody was rocking out to Linkin Park. A spark. A connection.

From 'Faint'

From 'Papercut'

I could be here all night posting lyrics. And while the lyrics and the music are solid (IMHO) it's the delivery that takes it to a whole different emotional connection. 

Today, the man who poured raw emotion into songs that hit me at just the right time of my life, took his own life. 

I didn't know this person outside of his public persona. I had over the years read some of his story, about a traumatic childhood. About his struggles during adolescence. I always hope someone with a rough start finds a way to reach a peace and happiness in life. It's always heartbreaking when that's not the case. 

The Journey of Characters

A positive for me as a lifelong reader is that I'm ahead of my reading goal for the year. If you just read 'reading goal' with an eye roll, I thought it that way myself. This is my second year with some kind of arbitrary goal, brought up by the site Goodreads. My goal so far is to aim for a minimum of two to three new-to-me books a month and I'm already on book 26 for the year. 

Before I added my 26th book to my currently reading list, my attention caught on a review for a book I'd read several years ago - the first entry of an urban fantasy series. I am doing a quick reread of the series in preparation of reading the four most recently published books (which are new-to-me). The reviewer gave the book two stars and complained about how much she disliked the heroine. 

I wasn't bothered by the rating or review, but I was struck by the reason she disliked the character as a kind of vital reason that character existed, at least to my analysis. In a potentially gritty and action packed world, a pretty girl with low general life ambition maybe doesn't have the best life expectancy. And yet as the first book (and then series) progresses, you experience her evolution. A hero's journey. 

My second thought from this character-based dislike is that this kind of character, in my humble way of thinking, tends to act as the safe gateway for 'regular' people to find themselves suspending disbelief and more fully immersing themselves in the story. A flawed guide who makes stumbling into a strange world perfectly accessible. Why yes, I'd puke my last three lunches up if I saw a man's face get eaten in an alley, too.

I'm all for warrior queens (or any variation of strong female characters), and yeah aimless characters who just get by tend not to do it for me in general - except there is an entire drive to want to see how people, how characters, evolve into what they're capable of. If you're writing off the character who cries over cutting her perfect blonde hair (and believe me, if that's the extent of the emotional depth I'm out, too) then you're probably going to miss her disemboweling a creature and feasting on it's wriggling flesh to heal a mortal wound. Or...something. 

The reviewer's complaints were all totally valid. I didn't much like this character either. At first. If she lamented about her matching outfit and lip gloss one more time I was going to lose it. But it didn't last. Her life becomes a series of thresholds that change everything about herself. What a shame the reviewer didn't take the journey to see that girls with pretty pink nail polish and white capri pants and sandals can become more. That anyone can become more.