Stuffs on the Brainz

There’s something out there in the cold strong winds that are whipping around my house this morning.  In the spring this would most definitely be tornado weather, the eire sky, the lack of wildlife, the cold and hot airs that make no sense, pulling at your hair, making it fly in several directions at once, drawing your insides to want to stay in the midst of it all, as if there might just be something to see.

But it’s winter, there’s nothing to see but scattering leaves and rolling clouds.  The air is too wet, too heavy, too even for anything exciting.  But it still has that charge to it.  The kind that begs for attention and stirs my mind.

Things have been so much clearer lately, my thoughts, my words… I credit it all to my non-ending interwebs vacation.  Without warning or planning I unlogged my brain from everything that was cluttering it.  Stats, blogs, drama, competition.  I walked away from it all.  And slowly, very slowly the only voice I could hear in my head was my own. 

So what if I screwed up the whole NaBloPoMo, it was only stats after all, and I was beyond frustrated with what I was producing.  A large vault of nothing and self despise.  I could only hear the stats yelling at me, the voices of other writers kept pushing their way through my fingertips.  That’s not to say that I couldn’t have done it, I could.  And that’s not to say I won’t do it again, I will. 

I also was able to finally read the Hunger Games, which also was an eye opener.  Not the story it’s self, although I like it very much, although a tad bit predictable (imo), it was the writer’s style that grabbed me.  Lately my choice of literature had left me feeling, eh, stupid.  Maybe stupid isn’t the right word, but the writers’ choice of words kept me longing for a dictionary, and had me thinking that I was well undereducated to write a successful book.  Whereas Collins in her trilogy has not once given me a word to look up, yet she still has carried out the whole plot perfectly.  Her simple writing still works incredibly well (and granted fits in with the plot), which gives me hope that mine will too, one day.  And YES M. reading does count as working on my book!  It’s research!  I swear.

The minions are now starting to chew on my ankles and my coffee is growing cold, and this post did not go in the direction I had planned, so its way past time to wrap this up.  ❤

~Ten Years~

In ten years I’d like to see my name on a paycheck coming from somewhere that requires me to do something I enjoy.  I’d like to see driving banned so my boy who will then be 16 will not be on the roads.  I’d like my house to be 100% renovated, my garden 100% tilled and fenced and me looking like I did 10 years ago before the dawn of minions. 

Is that so much to ask?

Ten years seem impossible.  How can ten years from now actually ever exist?  Decades on decades must pass before we get there… right? 

And then I look back.  10 years ago I was in college (of sorts), without minions, without a husband, living in my mother’s house, working for the “man” and traveling with the band.  That had to be only yesterday…

Yet there’s some small person sitting in front of me, he looks almost like me, skinny with ridiculously long legs.  He’s calling me mom, and telling me about school and the weather.  There’s another one in the other room, resembling me in the hair and eyes, she’s running and climbing while cussing some one out on her pretend cell phone.  (baby talk sort of cussing of course)  There’s bills sitting behind my coffee… and wait, I’m drinking coffee, when did that happen?  And this house, it defiantly does not belong to my mother, otherwise that pile of laundry would not be sitting there.  And why can I no longer remember the name of that band?  And am I wearing a robe?!

10 years go by much too quickly.

As does my 10 minutes in which to write this. 

❤

Mamma Wants a Stunt Double

There’s a list in the back of my head.  It’s my list of things I’ll do when I become rich and famous.  Things like opening a cafe’/fabric store/knitting club/book store/bar, traveling to Denali, and sleeping in past 6am. 

Today I have decided to add a “Stunt Double” to that list.  Can you see how useful/awesome it would be?!  Dirty Diaper, STUNT DOUBLE!  Trips of boring adult errands, STUNT DOUBLE! Need a nap?  STUNT DOUBLE! 

I do suppose that most people would call this a maid or a butler… but there’s not much fun in that.  I want some one who at the drop of a hat will roll in with a dramatic entry and take my place no matter what the situation is.

They’ll scale trees for me, catching chickens, while I sit back and giggle with a glass of wine.  They’ll climb that scary 30 foot ladder to see where that noise is coming from while I get a tan from the safety of my deck.  They’ll fish out the goop from the sink drains as I remember how to put on nail polish.

The possibilities are endless!

But my life can be quite exhausting, maybe I should hire a few stunt doubles, I wouldn’t want to break them… 

*starts digging in couch cushions for change*

I Wanna Fly

Surly you have heard of Fly Lady right?  She’s an organizing, decluttering, cleaning guru that focuses on loosing “that stinking thinking” that our daily tasks can bring us.  (you can check her out at http://flylady.org )  In Fly Lady’s book FLY stands for Finally Loving Yourself.  Aka, doing things because you deserve to have them done instead of doing them because they have to be done. 

I’m trying to lose my stinkin thinkin.

I’ve been wrapping myself head to toe in stinkin thinkin.

Granted, I’ll give myself a little break, as my face/jaw is convinced that it must mimic labor pains, and I have had just enough hours of sleep the past few days to keep me more human than zombie.  But I’m ready to FLY.  I need to FLY. 

I need just a little taste of success to get me inspired again.  I need a sparkling (not glittery) clean slate, and a fresh outlook.  I need me space and me time.  I deserve to make it happen.  I don’t need to compare myself, to belittle myself, to judge myself.  I need to re-read my post from a few weeks back on how I have my own skills, and that I’m not everyone else.  I need to swallow my own big horse pill and keep on moving.

I also need a lot more sleep.  *staples eyes open*  It’s hard to conquer the world, let alone your own mind on 3 hours of sleep.

Maybe for today I should just focus on cleaning off my desk, staying awake, and chasing the bebe minion. 

*slams more coffee*

Thanks for stopping in.

 

 

 

 

TMJ and NaBloPoMo

*stretches fingers, pops knuckles*

*slams back a few more Advils*

*gulps down coffee*

I have two post written that never became published, which equals not completing NaBloPoMo.  It simply was not a priority this weekend.

My dear TMJ (a funky shape to the jaw joints) decided to come at me with everything it had and left me walking around much like a zombie with half of a face.  The pain it brought was WORSE than labor. 

Somehow a few weeks back I did something to set off it’s rage.  Apparently tmj makes it easy to injure the muscles, tissues and ligament things around that joint… and I ignored the injury.  So this weekend it put it’s foot down and took me out. 

A bottle of pain relievers, a bottle of muscle relaxers, 3 bags of thawed veggies and over 48 hours with no sleep later and I’m almost human again.  I’m treading carefully avoiding popping my jaw, not chewing anything, talking as little as possible, and not sitting at the desk (bad postures leads to un-noticed clenching). 

The times when my face wasn’t throbbing to the point of locking up my whole face were spent with the family, not here trying to keep up with the challenge. 

So we’ll just see what happens next.  ❤

500 Drafts and a Look Inside NaNo ’08

It has been a 500 drafts trashed kind of day.  Not joking at all.

Nothing fits, nothing works, and I’m really not interested in writing about Nothing, once again. 

So instead of pulling myself down a dark tunnel, beating my own self up, I’m just going to allow myself to be uninspired for today. 

But since I refuse to quit on this whole NaBloPoMo deal, I shall still give you something to read, written by me… just not from today.  So for your viewing pleasure I present for you a section from the very first NaNoWriMo book I ever wrote.  (Please note that I do have a handy license over there -> that gives me full rights to eating your soul if you take any piece of this.)

The leaves crunched, the twigs snapped as I sped through the darkening woods. I could feel the sharp and thorny branches digging and grasping into my skin and clothes trying with all their strength to hold me back. How could he leave me?

The blood boiling and surging through my veins pushed my aching straining legs to stride faster, harder, beyond their natural abilities. My feet pounding the earth with each word that rang through my head, “He left me, he left me.” I had no clue as to where I was heading, just not here, not now. I was hoping I could outrun the hurt, maybe I could escape the truth, if I just could run fast enough. The cold, crisp fall air stung my lungs and eyes as I demanded my body to continue on, I must not stop. For the sake of my heart, I cannot stop.

I started slapping at the branches, damning them for being in my way of flight. Cursing my tears for blinding my sight. Everything seemed to be in my way of exile, damn them all, damn him for leaving. I didn’t care that my legs were screaming with pain, I would not allow them to buckle. I was running to stay alive.

Out of the corner of my eyes, in the midst of the cumbersome forest I had lost myself in, a dark figure flew through the trees, distracting me just long enough. My foot caught in a small fallen tree, slamming me down onto the earth. The forest flew by in a flash, as my head crashed down, engulfing me in momentary darkness.

I cautiously opened my eyes, fighting the last of the suns rays that were shining through the leaves before it set. I laid there in my moist bed of leaves shivering, unwilling to move. Life had caught up with me, and I had no strength left to fight it with. The tears flooded through my eyes and engulfed my throat.

I had only been gone three hours from him, just three. I had no idea.

And there ya go.  And here I go to make more coffee…

 

 

~6~

I once visited Hell. 

Six years ago I was forced through the firey gates of what most would call Labor. And I am NOT exaggerating.

48 hours of induced labor, 2 days of no food, ice chips only, 2 days of laying on my left side.  2 days of a non-functional epidural <- that I only found out later you really aren’t supposed to feel anything with those, I felt it all.  48 hours of student doctors flowing in and out of my room, doing nothing more than ticking me off.

And then He was Born.

The Boy, 1 day old.

 A jaundiced, sedated, beautiful, chinese looking, baby boy.

Yes somedays it feels like there's three of him.

Today he is 6 years old.  Which means that tomorrow he’ll be Twenty years old and running off to Miami with some chick that I will not approve of.

Two Years Old and Always Handsome

But today he’s still 6, still my baby, still my boy.

Watch Your Girls Ladies

So for today it’s a Kung Zhu Zhu Birthday Cake for him and a bottle of wine for me. 

Look Out World

We’ve made it kid.  Congratulations. ❤

Versatile Be Thy Name~

And “Thy” would be in reference to an Award… not actually me.  Ummm…

First go visit Amira at Mind Blur.  Her posts will define and demonstrate Versatile better than I could ever hope to do.  Especially her About page, I’m head over heels in love with her About page.  And I might be head over heels in love with her homeland of Maldives.  And because I’m feeling extra helpful and linky today here’s a wee bit about Maldives: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maldives

And I’d much rather continue talking about Amira who generously passed this award on to me, but rules are rules, and I must privilege you with the infamous 7 things about me…

Can I come up with 7 new things?

1. Heights frighten me to death.  I’m talking paralyzing fear here.  I’m talking not even that bottle of rum, or $500.00 in your hands will get me to go up in the Arch again fear.  (google: St.Louis Arch)
2. I’m  probably the only person in the world who despises texting.  I’m a wordy person, I need real words, lots of them to get my message across… how am I supposed to complete thoughts with a short text?!  I only text when I don’t want you to call me.  I also hate using the phone.  So send me a letter.
3. I prefer on most days to have my coffee BLACK.  Cowboy style, where a horseshoe can stand straight up in it.  Cremer cannot be found in my house, please bring your own.
4. TV absolutely bores the living heck out of me.  Unless I’m dying I can’t just sit there and watch.  I must be writing, sewing, knitting, crocheting… doing something useful with the time.  And honestly, by nature, I can’t just sit there during anything… even sleeping I try doing other things at the same time.
5. I truly do hate glitter.  I despise how it always gets all over everything.  And even if you just look at something with glitter on it, it will indeed end up on your face… and it won’t come off. 
6. I cannot bake chocolate chip cookies that don’t turn out like pancakes.  I bribe my mother with money and kisses from the grandkids to make them for me. (Don’t tell Martha!)
7. I cannot dance.  <nothing witty to add there, I just can’t do it.

And now to pass on the Award. 

Which is harder than it sounds.  But only because I just nominated all the awesome bloggers I know- last week for another award.  So in the spirit of being versatile I want YOU the reader to introduce US to your favorite Versatile Blogger!  Link them up in the comments, talk them up a bit and let them know that they have received this award!

If you have been nominated please:

1. Thank the person who nominated you and link them up in your post.
2. Share 7 things about yourself!
3. And pass the award on to 15 bloggers.

Thanks!

Lost in a Book

Night has come, and the minions are safely away in their beds.  I fill my cup, grab a snack, and settle onto my couch.  Tonight will be the night I finally read that book.  You know the book with two inches of dust on it, the book I just had to read.

I snuggle into the blanket, and begin.  Page one.

“Hun, did you call the phone company?”  My husband questions.

“Yup, it’s fixed.”  I respond quickly, and restart the first sentence.

“Can you even believe what Obama said today!  Yada yada, blah, blah, yada, and so on…..”

I let out a deep sigh, reply and again restart the first sentence.

“And then at work today… (add in lots of visual demonstrations)”

I nod, sigh again and exaggerate the movement of me once again picking up my book.

“Mommy, I can’t sleep.” the boy calls out from the hallway.

Half an hour later I am still on the first sentence.

They tell me that one day this will change.  I’m betting it will happen when I’m finally in a nursing home, but my vision will probably be gone, and I’ll have to wait for some ungrateful teenager who’s only there for service hours to scream it at me in my right ear while texting their bff that the drool on my chin is grossing them out.  Punk kids, they have no respect.

And I’ll tell that bastard child about back in the days when I had to drive a whole hour, up hill, in the snow to buy that book, with two young children in tow, using my own change that I stole out of the laundry.  And then I’ll hit that young snot with my cane on top of their head. 

Then I’ll probably get locked up in the crazy hallway where the volunteers aren’t allowed to go down, the one with all of the alarms, and mashed peas on the menu every night, so we don’t choke ourselves, and I’ll cry out at night to the nurses about how all I ever wanted in life was to read a whole damn book. 

 And then I’ll die.  And out of boredom one of the nurses will google my name and find this blog and then, THEN, she’ll be feeling real bad. 

It could happen. 

Really.

*starts googling canes*

ps. This is post #13 of NaBloPoMo, I think my crazy is showing.

~She Writes~

She sits.  With coffee in hand, grasping onto its warmth. 

She struggles to force her mind to form the thoughts, the words, the ideas that it needs to say, drowning out her made up worlds to quench the status quo of reality.

She forgot where she flourishes, where she thrives.  Trying to fit in where the air can’t fill her lungs.

She stares deeply into her blackened coffee, watching the reflections from the dim lights dance into fragile rings. 

She remembers.  She pauses.  She breathes. 

That’s why it all has been so incredibly hard, all crammed into the conformities of true life.  She belongs in the fiction, in the dreaming, in the impossible.  That’s where she belongs.

She pours the coffee down her throat, treasuring the warmth and comfort it brings.  She closes down the browsers, the blogs, the social sites and she boots up her pretend worlds. 

Slaying Writer’s block with one swift move.

She writes.