Starts and Stops

A few years back, I began work on where I wanted to be (a mindset as opposed to a place). Positive thinking. Not being sucked into negativity and other people's quagmires of drama. And I did a decent job for a while.

So is it an explanation or an excuse to be able to chalk up where I fell off the wagon? Because I did fall off and struggle to catch back up. With all the grace of an albatross skateboarding with sparklers.

I start. I stop. I grow more frustrated. I carve out a bit of peace. I start again. Huge muddy pothole in the road. I stumble. In spectacular fashion. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It's life, simply put. It has that way of happening to you. Curve balls, change ups when you get used to those fast balls or low pitches. Sports. Holy hellfire, I went with a sports analogy.

Bah. This all devolves into motivational sayings ("Fall 99 times, rise 100", "Rest, don't quit", "Don't eat the yellow snow", etc ad nauseam) and yet they ring true. 

Despite frustrations, upheavals and the like, there's still reason to get up in the morning - even if it's because you've been jarred awake by the sound of a dog hurling up his toenails after chomping down a large bug. There's still a reason to keep moving forward and recommit to the direction you want to go. 

I scrapped 2 other blog post starts tonight and at least two more in the last two weeks. Stars and stops. Get something done to get back on the horse. Finishing something - a quick and dirty (alas, not that kind of dirty) blog post, a short story, a sketch, whatever - is a good start.

I've noticed a pattern to my writing over the last year and change. When I'm sucked into creative work to the point of obliviousness to everything else, my blog doesn't just take a back seat, it gets stuffed into a crate and shoved in the trunk. But when I'm struggling with the creative side, I can ramble on (and have) for days with blog posts. The same goes for writing in my journal. Nothing of any substance or wit, but a surrogate pressure valve release nonetheless.

Right now? Creative obsessiveness is on the incline. But here I sit awkwardly hurling words at the screen to keep a semi-regular posting schedule.

Come to think of it, 'awkwardly hurling words' pretty much sums up my approach to most things - verbal or written. I may have unexpectedly stumbled across the perfect phrase for my author's bio.

Changing gears slightly, I'm now about a month in to my little bullet journal experiment. On one hand, I am now more certain that ever that except for keeping track of my older folks' stuff I am so boring I don't really need this variety of journal. On the other hand, for the busy days and weeks and important due dates and deadlines, it's been kind of helpful. Provided I keep up with it. The end of January got away from me. Obsessive writing and a lack of a whole lot to keep track of.

In terms of personal things it can help you manage in one neat, overpriced analog package, I was briefly excited to add an area of character name inspirations and a log of names I've used in the past and which stories they belong to. And then I went right back to using a note app on my phone within a week of adding this section, because it was on hand and convenient when I came across an interesting name. It's not intentional resistance here, more like I'm a creature of habit. I currently carry a small purse with the bare necessities and not a messenger bag with my whole life at my fingertips as I think some who journal the .45 caliber way do. So basically, I'm not hauling this book everywhere I go.

So a current so-so rating on the whole experience. Which is better than I expected starting out.

Pondering a group existence

I have this knack for throwing myself into not particularly well charted territory. Navigating something on your own can make you feel like it's uncharted, but life has taught me time and again that I'm going to stumble across people at some point who get it. Whatever it may be.

And while typically the above image is a reminder to me about writing, an undercurrent to this otherwise less than shining year for me has been about groups. Can I find what I'm looking for? Are there groups in existence that are close by? Are there on-line options for those based further away? How do I let go of nerves and join in? And the most nagging of all: should I form my own?

This mostly started about writing. I moved to a somewhat rural area several years ago. I like living rural, without being in a zero-lot line subdivision with cookie cutter homes (well, that last part is kind of unavoidable in most neighborhoods in FL built after 1985, but it's a nice thought). I'm an introvert. Wide open spaces without tons of neighbors is cool by me. I do, however, enjoy being close to amenities. Theaters, libraries, access to good medical care, so on and so forth. I'm fine picking up dog food at the local farm and feed store and heading into the nearest high-end market 25 miles away to pick up fresh baked madeleines. I'm good like that.

You KNOW you want one, too.

Anyway, a bonus to the rural area I live in is the nearest town is kind of artsy. It's actually quite artsy for the area. And much to my surprise it boasts several writing groups. Some kind of snooty, some not. The hit and miss schedule of the more relaxed group I joined isn't helping me when I'm struggling. My issue, not theirs. But, if it's not working for me, I need to find something that does. So a group of writing friends and I have been tossing around the idea of starting our own group to meet our needs for a while now. I didn't want the headache of recruiting. Or scheduling. Or all the rest of the stuff that goes into it. But I want structure and support, something to get me a kick in the pants when I'm lagging on projects. So it's time to take on the crap (along with my friends) I don't want in order to try to get what I do what. 

Beyond writing, I've been looking into the idea of a support group to help me with the stress of caring for my mom. It's hard to watch your parents lose the ability to do certain things as they age. It's been a whole next level thing to handle the mental illness part that plays havoc with my mom. Therapy is expensive. Group meetings hosted by the local chapter of a national mental illness association is not. Still, I haven't ripped the bandage off and just gone to a meeting. I need to. An almost month long break from my parents recently was like somebody stopped holding my head under water. The change in how I felt day-to-day was startling. Now that they're back, I feel myself being submerged into the water more and more. 

My main source for support at this point has been reading the stories of others going through similar experiences. Books, blogs, articles, whatever. That sense of I'm not in it alone is vital to me. But the struggles continue no matter how helpful and extensive my reading list has been. Trying to tread water with my mom, the aging of all my parental units and another major piece of my life takes a toll. 

Recently my husband was diagnosed with autism. And yes, you read that correctly. An adult diagnosis. That is a story all on it's own, and one I have been working on for a few days to share in the future. He is ridiculously intelligent (so say we all and confirmed by testing). He has a great sense of humor and is damn good at his career. But his diagnosis, something we already suspected for a number of years, or rather the way his brain works impacts our relationship. I feel an unbelievable amount of pressure a great deal of the time, pressure he doesn't register. 

I've made my way as best I could by scouring the internet for help, pleased to come across even a small (but growing) number of sites focused on and NT (Neurotypical or someone without autism or other neurological difficulties) and Aspie (short for a person with Asperger's - considered the higher functioning spectrum of autism) relationships. I have a laundry list of books on the topic to read, though only 2 are available in my rural library and the rest are small press books that average quite a bit more than I am comfortable spending on a paperback of less than 200 pages. It's expensive to need assistance.

I have looked, so far to no avail, for a local support group. It's rather a niche market, I'm sure. But it's not as uncommon as you think. More and more people are receiving a later in life diagnosis and finally understanding difficulties they have had interacting with the NT world. There are groups forming in other parts of the country, groups in other English-speaking countries, even a new group in South Florida. Alas, a 5 hour drive each way for a 2-hr meeting isn't something I see myself fitting into my schedule. Local autism support groups are predominantly for parents of children with autism. And I see groups starting to pop up for people like my husband who were diagnosed as adults and are looking to connect with people who will get each other. So I come back to the same thing: is it time for me to make my own group? Is it time for me to finally do something about what I can't find (or in the case of the mental illness group, muster up the courage and go)?

The idea is daunting to this introvert. Then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

Which is a lot nicer than saying $h!t or get off the pot. Keeping it classy.

Playing catch up

So we meet again. Along with the dreaded blank screen.

I cannot count the number of blog posts I mentally composed in the last few days. And forgot.

August arrived hard and fast, an unyielding month of heat, humidity and family events. The first third of the month a blur of my mom's birthday and visiting niblings. So much drama. So much martyrdom - and that was just my mom talking to my siblings on her birthday!

I've accomplished absolutely nothing short of paying the first wave of this month's bills, entertaining children & teaching them to play Pokemon Go, and trying to help Mom navigate her birthday excitement and then the post birthday let-down as the world goes back to not revolving around her. Even if it kind of always does. (This is me dealing with my post-Mom's-birthday resentment at wanting more than we could possibly deliver.)

So I let go of the annoyance of blog posts (really nifty & inspired) long forgotten. Or I try to, anyway. I take a little solace in the fact that I did finish reading 1 book in two or three days - the latest Harry Potter script. While not necessarily winning the hearts of many diehard Potter fanatics, I felt like it was a fairly honest followup to what happens to a a character's life and family in the aftermath of such an amazing and scarred childhood. I know a lot of people haven't cared for it, and it wasn't something I'd likely re-read BUT I got it. I could see how all parties got to where they did.

In the spirit of cleaning out my brain of stray thoughts, despite my earlier post about not joining in with Camp NaNo this July, I ended up registering for it anyway. I wanted to give it a fair shake by joining a cabin of other writers who I didn't know in real life to see if there was anything I had missed out on my first time out with it last year.

There was not.

At least not with my group of last minute Nano'ers. It's a cute idea, but with no clear leader or unified goal, it just doesn't drive me in the same way November's writing event does. And that's okay. If it works for other people then that's great. Freeform is what I do regularly anyway, so I respond better to the writing kick in the pants that involves peer pressure.

Sand boxes and geek flags

Clearly blog posts are like anything else in life. They can't all be winners. And I have to fight the urge to delete, re-edit and what have you and just let it be.

Shoveling sand in the box. Sitting and putting words down, no matter how much I roll my eyes later, is still shoveling sand in the box.

This may explain quite a bit.

So whether it's truly vacant crap or something with honest potential, I'm trying to consider it all sand and temper the judgey voice in my head. While I'm still turning to blog posts on a regular basis, I've started diving back in to what I want to be working on. And aside from the agony and anxiety that goes into anything, it feels so good.

Patience, grasshopper, patience.

Switching gears, it's been a Netflix-heavy past week and a half. Have you seen what the television lineup is right now? Political pandering and slinging mud isn't my thing. So this election year I'm relieved to have streaming series to skirt the majority of the rabid attacks.

I have been casually making my way through Orange is the New Black. My husband started watching it just as I was beginning season 2 and a competition was born. I love my husband. And I enjoy watching shows and movies with him. What I don't like is when he's watched something first. Because, bless his heart, he's the king of spoilers.

He's not trying to be a festering carbuncle. (Sorry, honey!) He just wants to know what I'll think about a scene or a line and gets carried away. It's adorable. Really. In his own way. But it does make me want to put a few seasons between us as a buffer. I learned that after he passed me by while watching Kimmy Schmidt. It took me forever to get around to the second season, and by the time I did my husband had rounded second base and was halfway through the season I hadn't started yet.

So when he started OITNB this week, I decided to make some serious effort (Such a first world problem, Holy Pokéballs!) to get a season (or two) between us. Which is good (aside from watching much of anything rotting your brain) because I'm twitchy to get in deeper with Stranger Things. Which I cannot do until I'm done with OITNB for twitchy-itchy brain reasons. Ugh! Dear everyone making compelling shows, I hate the time suck but the entertainment value! Ugh, again. (P.S. Stranger Things is darkly delicious - what I've seen of it.)

Moving on...

I feel safe in saying that throughout my life I've carried both the nerd and geek flags. I haven't been a rabid fangirl (A relatively new term for my lifetime) since boy bands, immortal Scottish men, Mr. Medicine Woman, Seaquest and the like were riding high. And by riding high, I mean causing my laser focus to twitch (which may be a post for another time). I get a kick out of my own niece's fangirling as she's become an encyclopedia on a plethora of fandoms.

I am an equal fan of Star Wars and Star Trek. *Pauses to allow the internet to put itself back together again.* I grew up in a time when you had to wait *gasp* until Star Wars aired on tv to see it again. We didn't own a VCR until the end of the 80's. The struggle isn't waiting for your video to finish buffering from on-demand. The struggle was hoping your local video store wasn't out of both rental units AND the movie you wanted to see.

I've lived in a world before AND after Blockbuster. 

Also? Cassette decks. The meme both worked for my point and annoyed me. Now I'm distracted thinking about how much more difficult cassette tapes were to transport around than compact discs. See? Old AND cranky. Now get off my lawn!

Anyway...

Unlike the potential wait (and weekend usurping glory of a back-to-back movie marathon) of watching Star Wars, Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG, thank you very much) was a regularly airing series when I was growing up. And I loved it. Science fiction. Travel. Riker. Empathetic and smart female. (Who had a thing with Riker.) A female doctor. The brilliant glory that is Jean Luc Picard. People of just about any and all backgrounds having adventures for my weekly entertainment satisfaction. Yes, please.

Now, could I tell you the kind of details that hardcore fans can? Absolutely not. And I know this because I have friends who are hardcore fans. The kind of guys (yes, mostly guys) who worked hard to get me interested in engineering, ship schematics and introduced me to some of the backbone of intensive science fiction writing. And yes, all most of them own Star Trek uniforms. And yes, I mean that as uniformS, plural.

I have watched all the series, some better than others, up to the first season of Enterprise. (If that means absolutely nothing to you, don't worry about it.) I have not watched the original collection of movies. I don't know, maybe Shatner doesn't do it for me on the big screen, maybe I can only picture Ricardo Montalbán in Fantasy Island, maybe my Saturday nights were too full with Dr Quinn, SNL and cookies and cream ice cream. Who can say?

When the reboots started a few years ago, I was intrigued. Casting seemed sound & I was well versed with Mr. Abrams' work to date. I feel this is where I need to point out a simple fact. My husband? Doesn't particularly give two shits about Star Trek. He's got nothing against it necessarily, but the overall franchise doesn't do anything for him either. At least not anymore. I feel like he may have led me to believe he liked Voyager or Deep Space Nine when we were dating, but was ultimately ambivalent once we were married. A classic complaint in marriage, no? "He used to talk sci-fi with me, then once we were married, it's all action movies and rom-coms." You get it, I just know it.

So while my husband is a movie fan, he wasn't compelled to see the new Star Trek. So I picked up a copy once it came out on video (ahem, dvd), put it on the shelf and forgot to watch it. Second movie came out, I figured it would show up on cable, forgot about it. I really am a lackluster fandom supporter. Third time, however, was the charm. This weekend I finally watched Star Trek, lamenting the loss of Leonard Nimoy once more.

I enjoyed it. Good, not great. Pleasing to look at (the cast is obscenely photogenic). ST #2 is cued up for me to watch next. I go into it realizing if you're trying to make a movie that's accessible to a broader audience, some of the more delicate points are lost. But at least now I feel like I don't have this particular fangirl secret hanging over my head anymore.

Potpourri for 200

Answer: List of random topics compiled together for lack of a unifying topic.
Question: What is today's blog post?

I'll kick things off with the fact that I should really be in bed right now. Which is fairly accurate for most of the times I write blog posts. This week I have had a gnarly case of insomnia. Up at the butt crack of dawn and not so much as a yawn come 3 AM. Towards the end of the week I started gaining ground on this, but my hubby and I were out l-a-t-e Friday night and I was exhausted tonight after an errand-filled Saturday so I passed out for an unexpected nap. And woke up at bedtime. Shit.

Being unable to function tired aside, in my defense not long after I fell asleep, girl dog freaked out from some serious thunder and uncharacteristically jumped up to snuggle in beside me. I defy you not to get all next level comfortable when a hound dog gets cuddly-needy.

This is becoming a new issue around my house. The divine Miss M, she was a touch skittish during thunderstorms or fireworks the first year after we adopted her. Her anxiety seemed to disappear with the batting of her diva-level lashes, and she slept through anything except the opening of a bag with food in it. With our elder statesman gone now, she has become downright terrified during intense storms and the recent Independence Day fireworks. She is an exceptionally elfin and docile sphinx of a thing who has not so much as growled or snapped and is mainly a danger to lizard tails, frogs and squirrels. Tonight, she tried to knock my bedroom door down to get to me. My hubby, in the midst of a work project (thus why the door was closed) had to let her in since between my $10 headphones and coma-like slumber I was oblivious to her distress. I woke up to a furry, four-legged growth with space heating capabilities attached to my side. Bless her sweet, twitchy heart. As soon as the storm was over & I was awake, she was out the door and stretched out in her regal pose on the couch.

Up next in my random assortment of topics is what I'm most excited about for this weekend.

Sunday  morning, we're off to see the new Ghostbusters. I am super excited. Love, love, love me some Ghostbusters. (Yes, even the second one. Get over it.) The original Ghostbusters is one of the first movies I remember going to the theater to see. The only memory I have of the experience was the librarian scene and I F-R-E-A-K-E-D out. Covered my face in terror, turned to my parents for comfort, scared poopless. To this day, despite having seen so many ghost movies and shows, that scene makes me squirm in anticipation at the memory of 4 year old me being properly spooked. I'm so ready. Also, if I'm being completely honest, Thor in nerd glasses? Hubba, hubba.

And finally, I loaded up on the bandwagon and just downloaded Pokemon Go.

As I mentioned when I discussed Camp NaNoWriMo a few posts ago, I'm not really the kind of person who joins in and does things. At least not without a lot of dragging my heels and making the whole thing awkward. I tend to avoid books and movies that 'everyone' tells you that you 'have to' read/watch. I'm usually let down. But in the interest of exploration (and since I can easily delete the app in a week after not catching a single thing) I got the app, created a poke-account and away we go.

Caregivers Anonymous

A few weeks ago I vented wrote a post about being a stay-at-home caregiver that I ended up scrapping. It was defensive and overall negative in tone and in the end not what I wanted to send out into the world.

People are judgmental. It feels hardwired into our society, a kind of self-soothing defense mechanism for some. When you are, by all appearances, a fully functioning adult living in the modern world, if you are not fitting into a particular idea - be it size, race, religion, gender, employment, sexual orientation, child-bearing status, etc - people let you know. And if you hit several boxes that go against perceived 'norms', hang on for dear life.

Last week, when things felt a little meltdown-y in my personal space, I was at the pharmacy for what felt like hours trying to getting something straightened out about a prescription. The pharmacy team at my pharmacy are my own personal angels and go above and beyond to help out when doctor's offices, insurance companies and suppliers are an issue. (That being said, it can be discouraging to have spent so much time at a pharmacy that you get to know each other well. Also? I just spend way too much time there. It's exhausting.) While waiting for the problematic prescription to finally be filled, one of the staff asked me if I was off work that day. Remembering my caregiver post-that-wasn't, I paused and said this is my job. I got a puzzled look from everyone behind the counter and instantly a defensive smirk twisted my lips. I explained I don't work outside of the house (and fought the urge to say 'anymore', as though to somehow prove my worth) and that I take care of my older folks.

In response, a deflated expression and a neutral, "That's a full time job."

You have no idea. Literally, no idea. These people who fill my mom's multitude of anti-psychotics... they don't know that today I talked my mom out of suggesting to my dad that he should divorce her because she's got too many problems and he should be able to lead a happier life. They don't know what it takes to get her to bathe, eat properly, just live. They don't know that she went so far out into the galaxy two nights ago and was so hysterical, new medicine be damned, that I wasn't sure I'd be able to calm her down.

I have found that the majority of people who don't have to hide some level of distaste at my answer are the ones who have had to or currently provide care for someone. I wonder too, if some of the responses are because my taking care of my parents brings up an uncomfortable topic. Parents aging. Parents being sick. Parents dying. Death in general.

Tomorrow, I will take my dad in for the first of two surgeries. He's all but climbing the walls with anxiety. And I may have to order a tranq gun from a zoo if my mom worries about it much more. My dad doesn't like to include himself in my 'caregiving' umbrella, and he can think that all he likes, but I know better. I re-wrote his pre-op instructions so he could follow what he had to do the past few days easier. He still skipped around the page and took medications out of order or missed something. He gets aggravated that I checked, but I caught and corrected the issue. His idea of making dinner if I'm not around is to cook meat. No vegetables. No sides. Just meat. The man who gave me hell for wasting electricity by watching music videos instead of listening to the radio now leaves the television and lights on in every room he's goes through during the day.

The funny thing is, if I had been able to have children, a lot of the looks and comments I get about being a caregiver would be replaced in the working mom/stay-at-home mom wars. When I tell certain women that I have news or something in my life has changed, I'm asked one of two questions. Did I get a job (finally)? or Am I having a baby (also, finally)?

So how do you define yourself when society dictates that you must have value by virtue of your career or your family? How do you ignore the scoffs and derision from the people judging you? Even your own family perhaps. How do you stifle anger or hurt when 'friends' or relatives make comments about all the free time you must have?

By owning who you are. By accepting you're doing what needs to be done. By not seeking validation & accepting none is needed. By realizing that every person has their own issues and you don't need to be sucked into their negativity. It's as simple and as difficult as that. It's a process, as everything else in life is.

In the grand scheme of what's going on in the world, this is not something that keeps me up at night. It's like a gnat, irritating and in your face at times, but temporary. Then again, if you can work on that inner peace I keep seeing lovely brochures for, maybe you can send out more peace and love in the world.

The Olympic Choice

I had a different post all put together and even posted it briefly. About 30 minutes after I did, I wanted to take it down. Revamp it. So I did. After spending hours, yes hours, on getting it close enough just right, I've decided to go in a different direction.

I may revisit that diatribe in the future. But the tone as it stands bothered me. Because I'm trying to rework my brain back to being more positive. The nice thing about this blog is it gives me an instant forum to work through thoughts or events as I experience them. The unfortunate thing about this blog is exactly the same thing. Not everything I want to vent about needs to see the light of day. Some things can be addressed in a different approach once the initial flood of what.I.feel.in.this.moment passes.

So while I wrote and it felt damn good to express myself, where do I go next to try to keep my blog updated on a (fairly) regular basis? First thing that came to mind was the Olympics.

When I was a kid, I loved, loved, loved watching the Olympics. Swimming most especially, followed by figure skating, gymnastics and diving. I entertained dreams of being an Olympic swimmer for a few brief, naive years. Some of which I maybe didn't even know how to swim yet. What can I say, imagination was always my strong suit.

I vividly remember staying up late into the night in the summer to watch all kinds of competition during my last pre-teen summer games. This was back when the winter and summer games weren't staggered two years apart like they are now. My interest in the games waned during the awkward teenage thru mid-twenties decade.

For the first time probably ever, I've been watching the US Olympic trials this week. It's something my father-in-law and I do together. My husband's family have been fans of collegiate/"amateur" sports. My dad watches pro, American football and that's about it. While I can't sit through the college world series... or whatever it's called, my father-in-law is tickled to come into the living room and I already have the Olympic coverage ready to go for us.

I can't imagine the pressure these athletes face. I also can't imagine what it's like to have literally millions of people cheering you on. It is the kind of heroic inspiration that I direct into my characters as they face their own situations. It is the kind of unity I wish the world population could get behind on a more regular basis to be more human to each other. Millions of people collectively screaming at the judges of gymnastics for an undeserved deduction. Millions of people holding their breath as the diver breaks through the surface of the water awaiting splash or no splash. Millions of people overwhelmed with pride, tears leaking from the corner of eyes as someone overcomes adversity/injury/being dead last to excel and stick the landing, cross the line first, make history.

I'm a little sad that the coming games are being overshadowed by a virus and the potential of facilities not being ready. It's not right that people with Olympic dreams and talent have had to make the choice to skip these games because of that virus. It's not fair for people to make the team, take the risk and not even have a prepared, even playing field ready to go. Such is life. I'm sure the athletes involved, the ones who truly deserve their place, will make the best of it.

Enjoy! Cheer! Marvel at 12 pack abs & buns of steel! Embrace good sportsmanship! Wear clean underwear! You can do it!

Climbing out of the rut

I should be writing. The lost in thought, internal movie playing, searching for just the right way to describe, squeezing blood onto the page exquisite agony.

But, like an unfocused, scared, doody head, I'm not. I'm blogging. And not that there is anything wrong with blogging - when anyone but me does it. But when I do it, when I'm put together 3+ posts in a row on varying topics and have another halfway completed one in my brain... well, I'm stalling.

Writer's block? I don't know that it really applies. I don't lack for ideas, regardless of quality. I don't lack for characters. Even when I struggle to find a particular way to phrase something for days on end. I don't think writer's block is really the issue. Unless my view of writer's block is narrow or lacking perspective.

Regrettably, I think I'm in the territory of pullum stercore. See? 'Cause wasting the time to look up how to say chicken shit was such a brilliant use of my time.

If I remark, for surely the four hundredth time on here, that it's been an off kind of time lately for not just me but plenty of the people I know, I'm not covering any new territory here. I feel dangerously close to wallowing. Which probably means I've been wallowing for some time and I'm getting uncomfortable as self-awareness dawns.

The writing community around my area has ebbed. The kick in the pants of getting together regularly that may have helped me get my groove back when I personally hit a nonproductive rut, is kind of having an off year as well. Not that my lack of motivation/energy/mental state is their fault. Or their problem. It's always going to come back to me. I finished one manuscript in artistic isolation. I don't really have an excuse. But if you've got a few minutes, I could readily expound on any number of reasons (*cough* rationalizing *cough*).

And I know I'm not alone. Not alone with struggling to get my rhythm back. Not alone struggling to make progress and keep up a viable momentum with life projects. Not alone, period.This past week I met up with friends several times. Went & saw a movie that gave me full on goosebumps for the first time in I can't remember when. We took in a regional attraction, and though underwhelmed, got in some exploring and tested out a new coffee shop. And chattered at one another.

It's helpful for morale. Alas, I'm still ankle-deep in a blog post.

I have been thinking about trying a different genre on for size. And then I get lost in an internal debate about am I just not finishing other projects I'm starting or realizing I need a change of pace? Overthinking until I cannot make a move.

Out of fear. Fear of being rubbish. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of success. Fear of being overwhelmed.

Out of guilt. There is so much I should/could be doing at the moment instead of playing make believe and dream of being a 'respected' *cough* paid *cough* author some day.

Self-inflicted mumbo jumbo drives so much of our own inner crap. And in the interest of being honest, it is this self-inflicted crap that is tying me in knots. I work out my inner sludge through writing. I entertain myself through writing. I express myself, liberate myself, unburden thousands of chaotic thoughts through writing. So when I notice that I've stopped reading, that I've pulled away from my characters and stories, that new ideas are no longer coming to me rapidfire, I'm in a muddy, stinking rut. I've let my self-inflicted crap get the better of me. It serves no purpose other than to make me feel less than and effectively take away that which personally brings me joy.

I'd love to finish this post with some rah-rah go get 'em ending. I'm still detached. I'm still sad. I do see the dawning of a new day and I know this will pass. I will make progress. I will get back into my writing groove. I will finish a project. And then another one. And then the next.

Two kinds of people in the world

Truth be told, I tend to think in all kinds of shades of ... well.. midway between black and white. (Go ahead, snicker anyway, I'll wait.) But you've heard the "two kinds of people" thing applied to all sorts of labels. People who use one alarm or fifteen. People who do something or people who are wrong. People who like X or people who like Y. People who either know what I'm talking about or don't. 

For today's post, do you think we get messages from angels/a benevolent deity/spirits/the universe to guide/reassure you or do you absolutely believe that's BS and we're on our own to figure out our lives?

In my (limited) experience, I've known plenty of non-religious people who utter the phrase "it must be a sign" in the face of an occurrence that confirms or rules out something on their mind or going on in their life. I've known deeply religious people who scoff at the idea of messages (for lack of a better term) being sent over mild mannered life decisions. 

Do you think a butt-load (technical term) of social media posts/advertisements/etc is a sign from the universe to cool your jets and wait for something or someone to come to you or just the result of intensive marketing research indicating people are busier and more stressed out than ever, burning the candle at both ends and thus more receptive to investigate these peaceful, patience touting 'messages'?

Do you find these messages, be patient or let go negative people or buy triple ply toilet paper for better life satisfaction, to be eerie in terms of timeliness or annoying in their frequency? I read an article last week about a woman claiming one of the biggest social media sites is recording conversations and using the content to adjust what advertisements you see. If you're inundated with repeated ideas or suggestions, is it simply because an algorithm decided you'd be more apt to click, investigate and create web traffic ($$)?

That's both cynical and a triggering thought. Let's move to potentially less paranoid thoughts.

My newsfeed overflows with astrological sign memes by people who are nothing like they believe their signs claim they are. At least once or twice a week I scroll past a numerology article asking if I see 11:11 all the time. (I don't, FYI. I do see repeating numbers from time to time, just not anything anyone ever writes articles about, apparently.) Everybody and their uncle share inspirational posts (moi included) the tickle their fancy, speak to friends or family in a difficult situation, or to preach a viewpoint.

So A. I have a lot of people on my newsfeed who are looking for answers/guidance B. I follow groups/pages that post random stuff (full disclosure, most of my newsfeed is flooded with puppy stuff) & C. does it mean a darn thing?

Coincidence or sign? Intervention or algorithm? Pants or plotter? (Er... NaNoWriMo flashback. Kinda fits.)

Since I'm the one posing the question, where do I fit? I don't know, agnostic maybe? My father taught me to question things. But at the same time, this practical man of science also uses the phrase "it must be a sign". Not necessarily in conjunction with seeing something on social media. Let's not beat the example into a pulp, hmm? I'm openly skeptical, open to the idea that anything is possible but suspicious as a general rule.

So where do you fall on this? Do you believe in/look for/see signs in your life or do you take things as they come, your life being the direct result of free will alone. By all means, comment below and give me some more food for thought.

In like a lion...out like a lunatic lamb

To the trees!

Twas the night before Easter... and I've got a dozen and a half hard-boiled eggs cooling and a 20 lb ham in the fridge. This is not a drill - I've got teenagers coming dinner tomorrow. Have you ever fed teenagers at a feasting holiday (or, you know, in general)? They're a cross between rabid hyenas and starving raptors. Pile it high and stay the hell out of the way. To be completely honest, feeding them keeps the passive aggressive (or blatant antagonism) back and forth between them to a minimum. So I'll prep a double-sized po-tate-er casserole and practice hurling asparagus spears aimed for their mouths without a second thought in the name of my own personal brand of holiday sanity. Mmmm, taters...

Visiting relatives, especially of the sibling variety, bring out a special blend of my mom's personalities. This is an evolving thing lately as well though. Most of my life, Mom's managed to hide a lot of what I've seen from my siblings, which made it easier for them to believe whatever stories about me she'd make up after I hit puberty (the magical age when everything turned to shit).

The trouble she's had day-to-day over the last few years has erased some of the magic she's used to keep the facade in place and now she's more flaky, less stable and sometimes down right weird around them. It's uncomfortable for my siblings but like a day ending in -y around here. I'll admit to some mixed feelings where my mom's illness and my siblings are concerned, but they grew up with her issues, and if I'm being fair, are entitled to however they deal with it. Or not.  And for at least one or two of them, there is some kind of resentment back my way for how close I am with our parents. Which I find hilarious, but that's a topic for another day.

Just kidding. Not really. 

Girding my loins for family drah-ma aside, I had a good day today. I got errands taken care of. I finished reading a good book. I wrote. I had a carefully crafted coffee beverage. I frenetically fangirled, babbled, and extensively critiqued chatted with a friend about the latest blockbuster movie we both saw with our respective snuggle bunnies. My husband and I sat on the glider swing on our back porch while it rained. He read & I worked on some French lessons. I nuked leftovers for dinner. Winner winner, leftover bbq chicken for dinner. It was a delightfully ordinary and completely wonderful kind of day.

What came to mind as I was driving home tonight is how nice it is, at this point in my adult life, to have happily married friends. People who understand venting is at worst a blip of a rough day or period and at best commiserating shared peccadilloes of significant others. When I was first married, all my friends were young and single, some not even sure who or what they were attracted to. If my husband didn't put the toilet seat down, or some equally goofy but annoying offense, they swiftly advised me to divorce the vile heathen. FYI, I can count on one hand the number of times my husband has forgotten to lower the seat in our entire marriage. #toiletseathero

Years and a fairly clean sweep of friends later, we graduated to married, in committed relationships or divorced friends. This seemed super cool to us. Couples dates! Shared experiences! We laughed at the newer couples' foibles - "What do you mean you've never left the bathroom door open? It'll happen, just wait until you share a stomach bug or get dicey takeout one night." We watched marriages/relationships disintegrate and nervously reassured each other it wouldn't happen to us. But even there, the people we hung out with the most, whose own relationship issues erupted in public and private, seemed to thrive on our run-of-the-mill rough patches. He's a butthead, I'm a harpy. You know, the snipey stuff that comes out when you both need Midol and a candy bar. It's not like he bought drugs with the mortgage money. (Hand to God, I knew someone...) It's not like either one of us ever hit or abused the other one. (Witnessed it. Made sure the abused party got out of the relationship.) We had what was our garden variety marital growing pains. You figure out and grow closer or you grow apart. But some 'friends' seemed strangely fixated on us splitting up.

So it's nice to start having more and more friends who are clearly good matches for each other. It's nice to be able to blow off steam about some silly nothing I won't remember happened in a week with another person who gets it. Group chats with wildly inappropriate gifs, dinner out, movies, theme parks, grabbing a drink. Really, this adult thing doesn't always suck. But it probably helps that I still laugh at poop jokes like I'm in elementary school.

We're a little more cabbage patch and a little less tango.

Writing: Wrote more days this week than not.

Reading: Finished 2 books, picked up 4 at the library and promised a nibling I'd start reading his/her newest favorite book. In other words, I've fallen off the careful self-pacing wagon and reverted back to picking up too many books at once. :-D

Foreign Language: I have met my daily course goal for more than 20 days.

Coffee: Happy medium. Less than I could be drinking, but enough to keep me going.

Nap: Not nearly enough.

Positivity: Not too shabby. I'll be dreaming of ab-a-licious super heros for the next few days, so that doesn't hurt.

March Madness

It occurred to me today that in just two more week's we'll be a quarter of the way through this year. Time flies when you live paycheck to paycheck, am I right? In all seriousness though, I've decided that what makes time seem to speed by so quickly as an adult is swinging from one moment/set of bills/responsibility/drama-filled meltdown/appointment/etc to the next. When I was a kid, the things I waited for felt like months or years away and time crawled across a partially inflated air mattress to get there. Christmas was always f-o-r-e-v-e-r away. Now that I'm the one in charge of holidays, they appear with no apparent warning, as though not clearly marked & advertised well in advance. 

Point being, the pace certainly has not slowed down as we skid past the Ides of March. 

My sniffly-ness has been (fingers crossed) cast aside. Although that thought reminds me that I forgot to pick up a refill on my now-empty new allergy medicine. Let's hope I remember to pick that up tomorrow. My back and I have reached an uneasy truce. I still walk funny & it hurts like a bitch, but I'm able to get around more or less and even stand up straight a little each day. I'm sure I'll push it a little too far too soon, but I'll complain about that when the time comes. 

Feeling the year racing away with me should make me feel like I'm running out of time to accomplish what I wanted to this year. And if I'm being honest, there are moments when I wonder where in the hell my life has run off to. But, however, not withstanding, so on and forthwith... Er... BUT, I feel like I'm starting to gain a bit of traction. I'm declaring the beginning of this year to be framed by the act of learning to accept what you can't change, adjust and do what you can. Decent advice in general obviously, but I'm stubborn and grumpy when it feels like life is going off the rails. It doesn't matter if I had a plan, if this is a seat-of-my-pants kind of time then go with it. 

So while life happens, writing is getting back on track. Had a minor setback when my hard drive bit it, but that set back was quickly overcome, my computer now in better shape than ever (knock on blessed, virgin wood). A few extra writing nights out to save my sanity over the last week or so helped as well. I will find a workable, productive rhythm. I will start producing enough material in order to get feedback to ultimately produce more material to publish. Deadlines here I come. You know, hopefully.

I've got to say, finally working on renewing my acquaintance with a foreign language I enjoyed learning 20 *coughchokesnort* years ago has been awesome. I am a quarter of the way through the program after 17 days of moderate use. It makes me feel good and I'm anxious to start a list of other languages offered. This is 100% just for me. It serves no definable purpose other than fulfilling a personal aspiration. And I love it. 

March is traditionally a difficult month for my mom, which in turn is a difficult time for us. She hasn't escaped the busyness of the year, be it a slew of her own doctor visits or just being discombobulated from the constant changing of schedules and coming and going of grandchildren lately. The extra chaos bothers her, but it's almost been too busy for her to have the usual DEFCON 2 level of problems. Not enough to need to be committed, but enough that day to day you know something's going to happen. Today was moderate passive aggressive martyrdom regarding my dad because he wasn't paying attention to her while he was reading. She didn't cry or become hysterical, though I think we were nearly there, but then again she had two pieces of pie today so that may have been what saved us. I'm completely serious.

I've got fun plans later on in the week, I'm productive, I may have binge-watched the Full House reboot while re-installing software on my computer & I'm almost finished with one of the two books I'm reading. Now to figure out how to humanely persuade the mockingbird outside my window to find a new home - somewhere I can't hear it's chattering from sundown to sunup. 

Doggie Update: Good days and enh days. He had been eating less and less, down to a few bites at most. And then the other day, after eating three bites of dinner and walking away, he started barking at my dad later in the evening. He ate part of a can of wet dog food and has been cleaning his bowl ever since. Today he got up and greeted me when I got home from the pharmacy. The cancer is still there. The end is still coming. But he continues to do it his way. Today goes down as a good day for him. I'm sure he would consider it a better day if he'd gotten a bacon cheeseburger. He's funny that way.

Writing: Writing several days a week for the last two weeks. Working my way back to where I want to be.

Reading: Averaging about a chapter a day, more depending on doctor appointment wait times. Ready to move on to new books I just so happen to have already picked out. Shocker.

Language: Getting.it.done. 

Coffee: Synapses say thumbs up. Not too much but still room for more. 

Positivity: Still on board. Life is beautiful. Life is difficult. Still believe it's worthwhile to practice & share positivity. Basically, yeah, still trying to be positive and happy. 

A Hard Day's Night

What's it like to have a traditional (as if the idea even really exists) mother? What's it like having your mom call and nag you about who you're dating, your marriage, when you are having kids, why you don't have kids, why you have so many kids, why you make your meatloaf with breadcrumbs instead of corn flakes, etc etc etc? What's it like to be able to call your mom at times of immense stress for advice or support? What's it like to have a mom who doesn't look at you at least once a month like you're dog poop on new shoes or the devil in the flesh?

It's not my intent to sound whiny. Truly, I have been very clear that aside from the strain of watching your parents decline, it has been special to spend time with them. However my thoughts come across tonight, I am grateful my parents are still here and are with me.

Tonight though, is the reflection of a typically difficult evening with my mother. She cycles, and right now we are in the midst of an obsession about her health. Specifically, about a malady she is convinced she has.

This has been a fairly common thing for her to struggle with, but over the last few years as she's aged, as all of our lives grow and change, the rest periods are fewer and farther between. It's my understanding that hypochondria and medical obsessions can be common/co-morbid with various mental illnesses. This is not to be confused with some doctors who believe anything outside of what they expect a patient to say is all in their head. Those people are assholes. And are all too common to find.

In my youth, I was aware of my mom having a few medical problems in addition to whatever she saw the psychiatrist for. Aside from her being in the hospital for a procedure once or twice when I was a kid, I wasn't really aware of what specifically was wrong with my mother. Her medical problems (along with her psychiatric issues) seemed to slowly increase after I was a teenager. When I was in college and we lived apart, I remember her needing a few surgeries but also that there started to be lots of testing for everything under the sun.

Around the time my first nibling was born, the dam burst and she had what ended up being a physical manifestation of her mental illness. And it went on for years. The slightest stress, the slightest worry, her mind wandering far away from us and dwelling on the dark recesses hidden from the world would send my mom into what looked like a seizure. Except they weren't. Endless testing and doctors and tinkering with medications proved it. I noticed the correlation and if I distracted her before the tremors progressed beyond her hands, I could stop what was coming. Over time (like almost a decade) this psychosomatic situation slowly dissipated until we realized she hadn't had one in more than a year. From time to time, especially over the last year or two, the tremors in her hands start up when she's getting lost in her own head, but it hasn't moved beyond that stage. Thankfully.

My mom portrays herself as a very fragile and unloved victim when she's not well. I can't begin to count the number of times she's manipulated people to try to get them to believe she's mistreated - to the point I was once almost arrested and another time my freaking siblings believed it. And I know that part of it is her illness and part of this is because she was abused as a child and wants someone to recognize that something's been done to her. There's a disconnect that she's safe and comfortable now. The rational part of my mom's brain set sail a long, long time ago.

The short version of her medical obsessions is that nothing has ever been found. Which I understand better than some that medical testing is not infallible. But if you had even the slightest understanding of the diversity and inconstant nature of her maladies you would understand that there isn't anything to be found. I've taken her to just about every kind of specialist known to man. She's got some medical issues, absolutely. But then she reads the warning label for whatever prescriptions she gets and we spend months (or longer) hearing that she's got every single fatal symptom listed. Her doctors have asked us not to let her see the inserts on the medicines anymore.

Also, her symptoms and complaints vary depending on problems or illnesses being experienced by other members of the household. If I have a sinus infection, within 2 days of her knowing, she's taken to her bed. My mother has had maybe 4 colds in my lifetime. Tops. If I'm having an arthritis flare up, suddenly she needs a cane to walk. If my father's sick... well, when he's sick she's convinced he's dying, but once he's on the mend she's 'sick' for the next week. My husband had tendonitis and she needed a sling for her arm.

So I'm on day two and a half of fighting a crappy bug I must have picked up this last weekend. I've recently suggested that a contributing factor to my mom's 'crippling' back and knee pain is the chair she spends 65% of her day in - because I sat in it for an hour and could barely walk afterwards. Which means it's time for her to switch her obsession to something I can't fix. If that sounds narcissistic, trust me, I get it. But I'm also 30+ years into my mom's weird relationship with me. The minute I suggest something practical to help with her pain, discomfort, illness, whatever, her eyes bulge, she leans towards me and starts slinging as much sludge as she can my way. I am mean. And I am evil. And I don't provide the care and necessities she needs. Today she tried to tell me that she's never allowed to go see the doctor. I asked her about her regularly scheduled visits with at least 3 doctors and why she hasn't made an appointment to see a doctor about the current illness du jour if it's as serious as she believes. She didn't care for reality and became even more hostile.

Sigh.

This too shall pass. She'll either cycle out of the obsession or fixate on something else. I'd like to hope she'll have a lull, but so far I don't see that on the horizon. Tomorrow my dad is supposed to call her doctor about today's concern to get a recommendation of treating at home, coming in for a check-up or going straight to the specialist Mom's seen in the past.

Hopefully, tomorrow is a calmer day.

The Great Company Holiday Party

My husband started a new job this year, which meant that we would eventually come to the ultimate test for shy folks each holiday season: the corporate holiday party. 

Our first company party was with his first job out of college. It was held at what used to be Downtown Disney and had to have cost a pretty penny. We got little drink vouchers for the bar, a dinner buffet, entertainment - and that was before some of the department heads got lit and stumbled around the crowded rooms. I didn't know a single soul there besides my husband and he wasn't comfortable enough with anyone there yet to do more than sit in one spot the whole time. It was a cool idea though, a fun thing to say we did once even if at the time it was a pretty slow night for us. 

It was the last event that company held that invited spouses. After that, most holiday parties were in-office potlucks. I think cutting out the company sponsored parties paid for more golf trips for the higher ups. Seriously. 

Fast forward several years to my own company Christmas parties. I had changed careers from therapy and non-profits to management. My first party was at my boss' favorite authentic Chinese restaurant. I'm talking chicken feet, octopus, fish eyes, tofu: things this corn-fed Midwestern by heritage/Southern by marriage girl was having a hard time with. My boss loved it. The rest of the office stopped at a drive thru on the way home. Another year my company took a stab at a Disney holiday party. We ate well.  We were thoroughly entertained. It was a cool way to celebrate. To this day I think of going to celebrate the holiday season with a visit to the Great Mouse Kingdom nearby because I can't think of anyplace else that does holiday magic as well as they do. 

When the economy did a header and my job went away (just like countless others at the time) it was the end of company holiday parties for us for almost six years. And then my husband got a new job. It was my first experience with an open bar. And that's a funny thing about me. To my sheltered experience, an open bar is the epitome of holiday parties. A company means business at a party when the drinks are flowing. I think I may have had one cocktail at two separate Christmas parties. But having spent a fair amount of time organizing and paying for company holiday minutia, I know money was spent here. Money that could have paid for several rounds of golf. 

Following the memories of the two Disney parties, my other favorite party had to be at one of our favorite restaurants. It was easily the best food we ever had at any of the parties we'd been to (At least according to my husband. Our second Disney party is neck and neck in my opinion.) At this event, my husband was friends with some of his co-workers (party after anyone?) and we hung out with some of the couples. Silly activities or not, we no longer sat in a room full of people without recognizing a single other face. 

So here we are, the first party of his new job. It's the biggest company he's ever worked for. It's one of the biggest companies anyone I know has ever worked for for that matter. And I'll tell you what, they know how to party. I explained to someone today that it was like the biggest, most expensive wedding reception I'd ever been to. There was no stuffed shirt standing in front of a room full of bored employees patting him- or herself on the back for another good year. There was a professional dj & a dance floor. There was an overflow seating area (where we ended up so the department could sit together and actually talk) with a pool table and shuffleboard. There were strobe lights and a projection light with holiday messages. Honest to goodness waitstaff with platters of  horse doovers hors d'oeuvres. Buffets with passable food, dessert stands with mixed desserts. Two open bars with top shelf liquor. And a bartender who was totally hitting on me. (My husband noticed, which means she was just short of slapping my ass and shoving her number down my bra. There is a difference between being charming for tips and what that was. Not that it wasn't flattering. Because as a middle-aged married woman, it totally was.)

I met some of the folks my honey works with, awkwardly sitting with other spouses trying to navigate the night. (My husband, bless his heart, on our way home said he thought one of the spouses didn't want to be there because she looked around the room, bored the whole time. Laughing, I asked him what he thought I did all night.) I did end up chatting with a few of my husband's co-workers, some really interesting guys from all over the world. That was probably one of the highlights for me, talking about culture, tech and such with people from almost every continent on the globe. Did I mention it's a really big company? And this was just the local division. 

There was one less than stellar moment (awkward shyness doesn't count because that's my thing in general, thank you very much) early on. One of the spouses was trying to be polite and break the silence at the table, so he turned to me and asked if we had any children. Our first holiday party at this place with hundreds of people I've never met is not the place to mention my medical history (Or is it? I tend to think not.). So I gave him a friendly smile and a no, then asked if he and his wife did. He kind of flustered a bit and said something about how I must not want them to mess up my house and then didn't speak to me again the rest of the night. 

Um, what? 

Now I was actually relieved about the last part. He didn't strike me as the kind of person I could discuss anything from existentialism to fart jokes with. But the (perceived) sanctimonious judgement irked me. I mean, WTF dude?! For all you know I just lost a child. For all you know I had cancer. Or a childhood illness. Or a parasite ate my ovaries. Or my fallopian tubes exploded because of aliens. Or a demon rents out my womb in exchange for free cable tv for life. You. Don't. Know.

This is the first time I've had such a blatant negative response when someone asks me if I have kids. Most of the time it's shrugged off. Sometimes there is a thinly veiled reference to how much easier my life is without them. *snort* *eye roll* *bitch slap* Or that I could take one of theirs.

As annoyed as I was and as much as I considered saying something to him, it's none of his judgmental business. 

But all in all, one of our better first Christmas parties. It's nice to see people being nice or joking around with my husband. He's been shit on plenty in his career. And the people watching at a company event this size? Forget about it. Outside of our inner tech cocoon, there were clear plastic platform heels, tutus, pink AND gold lamé outfits, prom dresses and at least one tuxedo with tails. The rest of the folks wore suits and cocktail dresses, so it looked like a cruise dining room fused with a prom. Total writing fuel, boys and girls.