Simplicity and Honesty

I normally start all my blogs with a quote. Today - not so much.  I'm going to try to keep this simple and honest. No pretty pictures. Just raw and honest about a few things.

When I was a kid, I had all the unrealistic expectations you would expect a child to have. As I became a teenager, I had a couple of lofty ambitions. I expected I would become a journalist, the next Woodward/Bernstein, or I would work for Rolling Stone or Time magazine - travel the world and see the sights and hear the sounds the world has to offer.  But I grew older and I settled for less and I settled down. I got used to routine and the day-in/day-out became comfortable.

I never stopped to wonder why.

The time has come to take everything I have known and disenfranchise myself from my hometown and take on "new adventures." It's harder when we get older. Even though I remind myself I'm not old, right now - this very moment - I feel old. And afraid.

There. I said it. I'm afraid of starting completely over.

I'm afraid of moving to a new place that's not so comfortable. This town is like a well-worn pair of jeans. But I'm scared to see if that pair of jeans is just hanging on by a thread and if my underwear is starting to show.

I'm afraid of trying to find a new job.
I'm afraid of not finding a job.
I'm afraid of looking for a new place to live.
I'm afraid of homelessness.
I'm afraid of finding new doctors because mine know me so well.
I'm afraid of not finding doctors that have a clue.
I'm afraid of driving in a place I know nothing about that has a crap-ton more traffic.
I'm afraid of getting into an accident.
I'm afraid of not fitting in.
I'm afraid of people not understanding my warped sense of humor.
I'm afraid of being "alone" in a place with thousands of people.
I'm afraid of wanting to come running "home" and home just not being home anymore.

I never thought that my fearless teenage self would be sitting in front of a computer at middle age afraid to embrace change. But there it is in stark black and white. Simple and honest. 

Hypochondria, Handkerchiefs and Other Novel Adventures

"Being sick feels like you're wearing someone else's glasses." 

~Megan Boyle~

I have been down and out with the flu, influenza, or what I would not-so-lovingly call the plague.  After a week of anti-biotics, Tamiflu and a host of over the counter meds to help with the symptoms, I am still running a low-grade fever, coughing  and so congested it's not only hard to breathe, but open my jaw.  In fact, I contemplated the entire concept of lock-jaw today.  I can honestly say I didn't know much about it and found the following: 

In unvaccinated individuals, tetanus is contracted through a cut or deep wound which becomes contaminated with the organism. Tetanus has also been associated with clean wounds, surgical procedures, insect bites, dental infections, and intravenous drug use. It is not transmitted from person to person.  A common first sign of tetanus is muscular stiffness in the jaw (lockjaw), followed by stiffness of the neck, difficulty in swallowing, rigidity of abdominal muscles, spasms, sweating and fever.  The incubation period is usually eight days but may range from three days to three weeks. Shorter incubation periods are associated with more heavily contaminated wounds.  

Reassuring in the fact I can't think of a "recent" wound that would allow this and I'm good on the rest - no surgeries, bites, dental work and DEFINITELY no drugs. 

With this "plague," I have felt a bit like Typhoid Mary at work.   Yes.  I am going to work despite the fact I am still sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching and can't breathe.   I missed almost two weeks between being out of town training and last week when this evil organism took over my body.  I don't know of anyone at work that has this (yet), but the kids and hubby are getting a little ticked at me.  Something about "not feeling good" and sniffling, sneezing, coughing... I'm sure you get the picture. 

In fact, youngest came in earlier tonight to ask about Kleenex.  She needed some.  I don't have any --- perse. I have what's left of three boxes of Puffs Plus, the greatest tissue for severely congested people ever made.  (Lotion is such a blessing and helps with the chafing.) 

Strangely enough, most people call tissues "Kleenex" and with good cause.  It's the name brand that first became associated with the disposable tissues in the 1920's.  By the 30's Kleenex was being marketed with the slogan “Don’t Carry a Cold in Your Pocket." Its use as a disposable handkerchief replacement became predominant.

I'm not a fan of the handkerchief.  In fact, I have an almost "Sheldon Cooper Aversion" to them.  There's something about its reusability that rather disgusts me.  I don't care if they are "green" or "coming back into style."  I have a hard time with the concept of, despite being washed and theoretically clean, carrying around a piece of cloth that has been used to absorb some of the grossest bodily fluids to emit from a human is somehow wrong. 

There is also the legitimate problem of absorbency.  

I have personally gone through TWO large boxes of Puffs and an entire "mega" roll of Charmin Extra Soft bath tissue during this illness. There are not enough handkerchiefs to keep my nose dry in this city.  

And sanitation... 

The amount of laundry it would entail is insane and frankly, where does one store a used 'kerchief? I don't wanna carry my own snot around in my purse.  Quite the conundrum, eh?
So typically, I avoid the problem completely by carrying around a wad of tissue and a plastic zip-lock bag in case I can't get to a trash can to dispose of the bacteria-laden paper product. 

During this viral attack on my persona, I have also found out a few things about being sick. 

1) The higher the fever, the less I give a crap about anything or anyone.  Pretty much my family could be starving or walking around naked and my only thought is, "so?" Sad, I think, when I get too far into myself to care for others.

2) Breathing is not to be taken for granted and apparently I do.  I woke up in the middle of the night the other night and I couldn't breathe.  I'm not sure what happened, but I was gasping for air like a fish plucked from the water and dropped into the boat.  It passed, but I realized at that moment oxygen is a beautiful thing. 

3) I've always got to be doing something and NOT doing anything other than laying in bed is torture. 

With that said, it's a conundrum wrapped in paradox. 
There is no energy to do anything so I torture myself by thinking of all the things I need to be doing and then really not caring about it so much as I try to take a few deep breaths.   
Lather, rinse and repeat. 

Finally, I should be working on the novel.  I don't have the energy so I am blogging. It's easier on the mind, clouded by good drugs.  I haven't written diddly-squat in  a couple of weeks, the plot line is still messed up and I am cranky about it.  I'm not sure how yet to fix it and that too is bothering me.  

Scrivener looks promising, but at this point, I'm not sure if it's helping or hurting the process.  I actually have used it for a few things, but I'm thinking at this point breaking out index cards and a notebook might be better. I don't know.  For me this feels like one of those things that's supposed to make writing easier and because of all the bells and whistles makes it harder.  I don't know if others have this issue.  I should go on the forums and ask, but again... rule 1 comes into play.  I haven't really cared THAT much to do so.  

I am hoping to get the ball rolling again by this weekend.  I want to feel productive, aside from doing laundry, and get the words back down on the page.  Maybe, just maybe, this fever will FINALLY break and I'll get back to caring about something. 

For now though, my only concern is sleep and sleeping a few hours without having to blow my nose 437 times.  Maybe tonight is the night. 

A Quick Update...

“THE EDGE, there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.”
― Hunter S. Thompson

I swear there is a fine line between sanity and insanity.  For the past few months my schedule has been absolutely, positively, without a doubt, insane.  However, once in a blue moon there have been moments of clarity and in those moments I come up and take a breath of air and chew on a filbert.

So you do have my most sincere apologies for not hanging out and being social, such as I am. Sociality is relative, you see.

I've been working on the novel for the past few months.  It's slow progress, hampered in part by life's little intrusions and my own roadblocks.  Chapter Six is in the making though and I'm pleased with how far I've made it and the way the characters have developed. I know each writer has their own method of producing a piece, but I cannot write without a sound track. So, to clue you in to what's going on right now....

* Michael Buble - Feelin' Good
* John Heintz - Rain
* Secret Garden - Lore of the Loom
* Loreena McKennitt - Kecharitomene
* Rosie Thomas - All the Way to New York City
* Train - Drops of Jupiter

Quite the eclectic mix of tunes, but each song has some relevance to what I'm working on at any given point in time and carries over to the next section within a chapter.  So far, I'm up to approximately 20 songs I have used for this book. By the time I'm done, I am pretty sure I will be around 50. (Gad-zooks!)

Well, now that I have checked in for the time being, such as it is. I am off to Dreamland. I've pulled a few 50+ hour work weeks lately and am still adapting to the new migraine medicine dosages. This means more sleep is necessary. Bummer.  Ta-Ta for now... 

The First Fifty

"The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter - it's the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning." 

~Mark Twain, letter to George Bainton, 1888

I am a writer.

I wrote my first story when I was seven years old.  It was a page long and not well written, but I knew then the power of the pencil and Big Chief tablet.  My father, the story-teller, seemed to like it and he tucked it away saved it for a rainy day.

When I was twelve, I began forming the idea for a story that was much longer and more detailed, but I didn't have the life experience to emotionally connect to the characters. So the characters went on a vacation to Europe for a few years.

I tried to write the story again in high school, but I got "busy" with friends, social activities and writing of another form - journalism. I learned the craft of the who, what, where, when, why and how.  Pieces of craft started coming together and I discovered what I thought I knew, I didn't really know. So I practiced writing for the school newspaper, song lyrics, poetry and other things that would expand not only my mind, but my style.

After high school came college and then "life."  It's trite, but life gets in the way of our plans. So, the Pulitzer in journalism, which I was sure I was going to win, went by the wayside and in its place came a husband, two beautiful children, a few dogs and an assortment of adventures that adulthood brings.

My characters though were growing tired of Europe. However, I wasn't ready to bring them home, so I created a new bunch of characters and tried writing a story in a genre that was more mainstream and "accepted."  I use the word accepted because at this point, I had my own demons to battle and I wanted to write a story my family would "approve" of.  It was a hard story to write. There was no emotional connection to the characters and frankly, the story fizzled in a big way. It's still two-thirds done sitting in the attic collecting dust.

Because of more life changes and other events, I quit writing. I stopped journaling, stopped doodling poetry, and I stopped everything including reading. I went through a personal winter and the soils of my soul needed some time to just lay fallow for a while.  Several seasons later, seeds were planted when I started reading again.

A writer must read.  We get inspiration from what others have written.  You see, a writer is zipping along a good book and then BAM! A word, a turn of phrase, or something else catches our eye and the muse within plants a seed. Further reading waters and nurtures the seedling and before you know it, you have a field of ideas and you just have to harvest them.

After a long and barren winter, I would have to thank too many writers to list that inspired me to pick up the pen and write again. But gone was the notion I had to write to please anyone, but myself, my worst critic. 

My characters rejoiced. They finally came home from their long hiatus and I discovered something about them. They were well-rounded and flushed out from their adventures and living life abroad. They had matured and become more than I had ever dreamed of. Their story isn't torture to write, it's in a genre I love and most importantly, I finally found my "voice."

The first fifty pages are done and some re-writes have already been completed. After all, being a writer doesn't mean that you slop down some words on paper and submit them. You take what you have written, rewrite them until they are crisp and then rewrite them until they are razor sharp. As a friend told me once, "the writing is easy, the re-writing is a bitch."

I wanted to share this achivement today because I didn't know if this day would come. But in being true to myself, it has. I look forward to what the next pages have to offer, what my characters are going to do next and when I get to write the final words that will close out this novel.

Fifty down - a few hundred to go.

Today I realized...

I AM a writer.

The Fork in the Road

I'm introspective and contemplative -

stopped at the fork in the road.

To the left lay an unknown future

To the right lay the path foretold

I'm pondering and I'm reflecting 

on choices and where they've led

I've taken the highway and stumbled
I've taken the low road and bled

I can't.

Stop.

Now...

Determination and Concentration
Drive me toward the finish line
To where I will finally get my rest
and wipe the sweat from my forehead

I can't.

Stop.

Time.

By: Celeste High 4/30/2012

Back in the Saddle

I have been on a hiatus for a while. I've been working on those pesky New Year's Resolutions and trying to get my life into some semblance of order. So far, I've made some progress and I'm pretty happy with how things have gone. I've lost weight and have reached my first goal (lost about 30 pounds total thus far!!!.) I've simplified a lot of things and am working on my relationships. All of that falls under the category of "Work in Progress."
Ok, it really falls under the category of "Rome Wasn't Built in A Day," but carry on I shall.

The kick in the pants is my writing life. I just can't seem to get a grip on that. I'm not sure what direction I want to take and I probably should keep up with the blog just so I can keep writing something creative and "me." I mean, I write every day. However, I can't really say that my reports are titillating for the average bear and definitely NOT accessible for anyone else to read. So what to do, I don't know.
I'm telling ya... this is a conundrum for the ages.
I wonder if Shakespeare, Twain, etc went through this kind of angst or if it just "came" to them.

In other news... eldest graduates in about a month and will start working at the vet clinic full time. Yay! Youngest is making plans for college and culinary school in Rhode Island in a couple of years. Wow!
Darling is doing really well at work and is getting to travel some and do a lot of interesting things since he found a job that really takes care of employees. A rarity and we are blessed.
The dogs are all good. I guess all in all, the family is doing pretty well.

Mother... oy. Maybe I should write about mother, but no one would believe me. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but even then I don't think I could properly convey the proper tone of borderline lucidity/insanity that prevails in her universe. I'm gearing up for her nervous breakdown any day now. This will be breakdown number 3 or 4. If she doesn't break, either myself or my Gotham sister may instead. We love her. We also do a lot of head shaking because we can't adequately explain her thoughts, words or actions. If I could, I am pretty sure I would have some sort of DSM-IV medical miracle on my hands.

Well, I need to get some sleep. The alarm rings early (anything before 10am is early) and I have to try to get a bunch of stuff done at work tomorrow. This writing thing though... lots to mull over.
G'night.

Day 71 - Interesting Way to End the Day

I love the written word and while I may not always follow the MBA rules of composition exactly, I do succeed in getting my point across in a fairly easy and conversational manner. The rhetorical question I have, is do I try to take up writing again as a side-line career? My dad used to breakout a yellow-pad to make pro and con lists. I would actually prefer a Big Chief tablet, but the end game is still the same. This is something I think I will be working on for the next little bit. It could be I just keep my blog and be happy with that until some other changes are made at the casa.
Side note: Now I really DO want to go out and get a Big Chief tablet but they stopped making them in 2001 after 80 years of production. It's rather sad really. Big Chief tablets were the BEST and I now wonder what kind of crap kids today have to use in their place. AND I could go into the metamorphosis of all the different chiefs and the sons of the chief depicted on the covers over the 80 years, but I have a feeling it would be only for my personal gratification and you wouldn't find it overly interesting. If you would though, please advise.

And speaking of careers... a friend of mine at work told me today that I should be a stand-up comic. While my anecdotes can be amusing, I don't know if they would qualify for the Improv, which is pretty much the mother of all comedy clubs.

(Insert abrupt change of subject here at 2111 hours.)

I appreciate the fact I have raised my girls to be honest with me. This was experienced first hand tonight when my youngest called and said she and a friend had "gas problems" and would be late coming in thereby missing curfew. When she came in, she came straight to me and admitted she lied and explained what really happened at John Stiff Memorial Park @ the skate park. I was upset, but not angry. Had she not told me the truth, anger would have taken hold and I'm sure I would have erupted like Mt. Vesuvius. I'm not sure how to handle the situation that occurred, but I'm sure I will think of something - something fair because I certainly don't want to pull an "O. William." (Sorry dad, you're idea of discipline was outlawed by the Geneva Convention in 1949...)

And for your learning pleasure this evening... we all have heard about it, but this is the summary of the protections afforded to prisoners of war and war criminals.

Protected persons are entitled, in all circumstances, to respect for their persons, their honour, their family rights, their religious convictions and practices, and their manners and customs. They shall, at all times, be humanely treated, and shall be protected, especially against all acts of violence or threats thereof and against insults and public curiosity. Women shall be especially protected against any attack on their honour, in particular against rape, enforced prostitution, or any form of indecent assault. Without prejudice to the provisions relating to their state of health, age and sex, all protected persons shall be treated with the same consideration by the Party to the conflict in whose power they are, without any adverse distinction based, in particular, on race, religion or political opinion. However, the Parties to the conflict may take such measures of control and security in regard to protected persons as may be necessary as a result of the war. ”
—- Article 27, Fourth Geneva Convention