So how do you like that since I declared this blog would be dedicated to thinking about, talking about, and doing (about?) writing, I never updated again? Yeah, that's what I do...be afraid of the activity of writing, that is. I want to write, and I actually do enjoy the process, but fear of failure makes me want to just go to bed.
In order to combat fear and shrink WRITING back down to something smaller than myself, I believe I'm going to try to complete National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) this November. The quantity over quality aspect of the program really appeals to me in a sort of masochistic way since my instinct is to labor over individual lines and words for hours on end, (which is certainly a character flaw deserving of punishment). Also, what else am I really doing, anyway?
So, a challenge! Can I stick to the program? We'll see at the end of November.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Summer, friends, future directions...
Well, it's a summertime Friday and I can't keep my mind on my work for more than about 22 seconds. I have a tenacious headache, too, which isn't helping. I took an ibu-tab from the school medicine cabinet, but the pain has not abated as yet...boo. Anyway, I've been neglecting this blog, but no one has been clamoring for updates, so I suppose it doesn't matter much. I've been spending time doing fun summer things like going to the beach and performing pool maintenance and looking at real estate, so I haven't just been shirking my writing initiatives for no purpose...so if you have been waiting patiently for updates, know that I've actually been quite busy. :-) I've also been assisting with the ongoing grandparents' estate disposal/dispersal, which includes a lot of supportive conversations with my mother that somehow require a good deal of time.
In other news, some good friends from Minnesota have been visiting, and it's been great to spend time with them...too bad I have to work because I really hate cutting evening picnic table conversations short at midnight. Haha. I think my lack of sleep related to the sudden addition of friends is actually what's causing this pesky headache, but I'm not unhappy to suffer for a social life.
*many hours later*...so I got distracted doing actual work, but I wanted to say one thing before I close this entry related to the "future directions" portion of my post title. I'm thinking that in an effort to write more often, I am going to dedicate the future of this blog to talking about writing, posting writing samples, and recording inspirational stuff that might be used in my writing (and I'm not referring to pansy-ass "inspirational" quotes). I mean, I may have already been doing these things here in a less focused way, but I think I'm going to be more serious about it. To add some urgency to that sentiment, I truly believe that writing is the only thing I can do to save myself from a life of secretarial work. So what do you think?
In other news, some good friends from Minnesota have been visiting, and it's been great to spend time with them...too bad I have to work because I really hate cutting evening picnic table conversations short at midnight. Haha. I think my lack of sleep related to the sudden addition of friends is actually what's causing this pesky headache, but I'm not unhappy to suffer for a social life.
*many hours later*...so I got distracted doing actual work, but I wanted to say one thing before I close this entry related to the "future directions" portion of my post title. I'm thinking that in an effort to write more often, I am going to dedicate the future of this blog to talking about writing, posting writing samples, and recording inspirational stuff that might be used in my writing (and I'm not referring to pansy-ass "inspirational" quotes). I mean, I may have already been doing these things here in a less focused way, but I think I'm going to be more serious about it. To add some urgency to that sentiment, I truly believe that writing is the only thing I can do to save myself from a life of secretarial work. So what do you think?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
So I don't forget...
I've heard that grief is a strange thing in that it hits randomly and without warning. You could be doing something completely mundane (such as data entry into a new database system), and all of a sudden, there's sadness staring you in the face (or anger or panic or some other emotion associated with the grieving process). As I've mentioned before, I've experienced some familial loss in recent months, and I consider myself to be in a grieving process for this now. So please excuse the following, dear reader...I make an effort to record memories when they come to me because I really don't want to forget little daily-life details from my life with my grandparents.
Maybe it's the fault of spending an hour or so last night going through old family photos and realizing that there are more photos of me with my grandma than with probably anyone else. This made me feel good more than sad, but I think it planted a seed to remember this random thing today as I was going about my work-ish business: as a kid, and even into teen-hood and early adulthood, I spent a lot of time hanging around in my grandparents' attic as my grandma worked on the sewing machine. She loved sewing up there in her little finished room with her plants and her paintings that my mom did in school hanging on the wood-paneled walls. And she would listen to the radio, a plastic, wood-grain-printed clock radio (I think it was a GE; I know it had the flip-over plastic numbers that were obsolete since the invention of digital read-outs), tuned to this bizarre "easy listening" station that played violin-heavy renditions of hits "from the 70's to today." We've all heard muzak played in elevators and insurance company phone system holds, but I swear this was weirder, though I don't think the station still exists in order to verify that claim. In any case, I HATED that music...it poisoned my dreams at night and waltzed around in my head like a soundtrack to my young life. If I had to hear Lionel Richie's "Hello" on those cat-fight screechy violins with jazzy soprano sax solo one more time, I was probably going to commit arson.
But you know, I thought of the lyrics to "Hello" a little bit ago and had to laugh at my juvenile rage over "grandma's radio station." And I just had to record that silly memory. I still loathe muzak (my hate fueled by many many years of musical instruction throughout my life), but the thought of it reminds me of my gram and her quirkiness. We dismantled the attic several weeks ago in the now-for sale house on South Hazel Street, but I will always see it in my head (if I can count on memory not to fade too badly) in the same warm, woody-toned way. The sewing machine perpendicular to the windows in the dormer and the radio (which was always perched on the top of an old black and white TV that was pretty much never on because it only got like one channel) at my grandma's back as she worked away hemming pants or whatever. The dangerous electric space heater plugged in near her feet in the winter, its coils glowing red just beyond a screen that you could easily poke your fingers through (and something she repeatedly warned me against). So funny and strange.
Maybe it's the fault of spending an hour or so last night going through old family photos and realizing that there are more photos of me with my grandma than with probably anyone else. This made me feel good more than sad, but I think it planted a seed to remember this random thing today as I was going about my work-ish business: as a kid, and even into teen-hood and early adulthood, I spent a lot of time hanging around in my grandparents' attic as my grandma worked on the sewing machine. She loved sewing up there in her little finished room with her plants and her paintings that my mom did in school hanging on the wood-paneled walls. And she would listen to the radio, a plastic, wood-grain-printed clock radio (I think it was a GE; I know it had the flip-over plastic numbers that were obsolete since the invention of digital read-outs), tuned to this bizarre "easy listening" station that played violin-heavy renditions of hits "from the 70's to today." We've all heard muzak played in elevators and insurance company phone system holds, but I swear this was weirder, though I don't think the station still exists in order to verify that claim. In any case, I HATED that music...it poisoned my dreams at night and waltzed around in my head like a soundtrack to my young life. If I had to hear Lionel Richie's "Hello" on those cat-fight screechy violins with jazzy soprano sax solo one more time, I was probably going to commit arson.
But you know, I thought of the lyrics to "Hello" a little bit ago and had to laugh at my juvenile rage over "grandma's radio station." And I just had to record that silly memory. I still loathe muzak (my hate fueled by many many years of musical instruction throughout my life), but the thought of it reminds me of my gram and her quirkiness. We dismantled the attic several weeks ago in the now-for sale house on South Hazel Street, but I will always see it in my head (if I can count on memory not to fade too badly) in the same warm, woody-toned way. The sewing machine perpendicular to the windows in the dormer and the radio (which was always perched on the top of an old black and white TV that was pretty much never on because it only got like one channel) at my grandma's back as she worked away hemming pants or whatever. The dangerous electric space heater plugged in near her feet in the winter, its coils glowing red just beyond a screen that you could easily poke your fingers through (and something she repeatedly warned me against). So funny and strange.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Sad. Tired.
I know that this blog should probably be called "Heartbreak and Crying" or "Sad Violins," or some such misery-evoking title. It seems all I do here is highlight my sadness and worry and desperate need for pity. For this I offer an apology...and a request that you don't pity me; my life really isn't that bad...I just have some sort of chemical imbalance, I think, that makes me sad a lot (especially when exhausted, as now). Just make me laugh now and then and I will love you forever (whether or not you really want me to). :-)
Anyway, so I am sad and tired today. Probably more tired than truly sad, but the tiredness makes me weepy, so it's hard to tell. (In case you don't know, I have two main stages of exhaustion -- the first is an inexplicable near-constant recall of random German phrases in my head. The second is weepiness, which progresses from a point of mild hide-able over-emotional reactions to full-on tears streaming down my face beyond my ability to control. Seriously, I am not making this up even though it probably sounds insane). There is good reason for sadness, I assume...I feel trapped in my job, I'm trapped in a living situation that continues to get more and more stressful, I lost two very wonderful grandparents within the last 8 months, and I have no money. Though it gets me in trouble to tie those all together, they are linked (well, some of them anyway) -- I think it's pretty clear. I realize that my life could be much worse, of course -- I could be on the street eating out of garbage cans or have some terrible disease or something along those tragic lines -- I could be fighting to survive. Instead, I am surviving. But that's all I feel like I'm doing most of the time...just numbly pulling myself along. And I am heavy...the effort takes considerable energy.
What does it take to feel like I'm actually living?
Anyway, so I am sad and tired today. Probably more tired than truly sad, but the tiredness makes me weepy, so it's hard to tell. (In case you don't know, I have two main stages of exhaustion -- the first is an inexplicable near-constant recall of random German phrases in my head. The second is weepiness, which progresses from a point of mild hide-able over-emotional reactions to full-on tears streaming down my face beyond my ability to control. Seriously, I am not making this up even though it probably sounds insane). There is good reason for sadness, I assume...I feel trapped in my job, I'm trapped in a living situation that continues to get more and more stressful, I lost two very wonderful grandparents within the last 8 months, and I have no money. Though it gets me in trouble to tie those all together, they are linked (well, some of them anyway) -- I think it's pretty clear. I realize that my life could be much worse, of course -- I could be on the street eating out of garbage cans or have some terrible disease or something along those tragic lines -- I could be fighting to survive. Instead, I am surviving. But that's all I feel like I'm doing most of the time...just numbly pulling myself along. And I am heavy...the effort takes considerable energy.
What does it take to feel like I'm actually living?
Monday, May 4, 2009
Work and Worry
When I'm in the shower in the morning before work, I allow myself to think about all the things I have to do once I get to work. (The shower is the only place I permit my brain to dwell on work-related issues in order to avoid hatred of my life beyond work, which is a disease that I'm genetically susceptible to). This means that when I get to work, I'm ready to divide and conquer, and I usually manage great productivity and focus. Until about noon or so. After I eat lunch, I find the urge to run screaming from the building much stronger, as if the meager nourishment of my packed sandwich and banana have given my brain the fuel to get ridiculously bored and subsequently panic for fear that my life is floating by without my doing anything to stop it.
And so I work and worry...and wonder. Would it be so bad if I were doing something I enjoyed? I mean, I don't freak out so much when people just leave me to accomplish my to-do list, it's when they start asking for assistance and favors that I really start to get rattled. Maybe if I just worked with more people that I respected? I've come to realize that respect is a big deal to me, and you really have to give it to get it from me. I know, I know...standards too high...this is a perpetual problem for perfectionist me; I expect a lot from myself, so I expect a lot from others too. Maybe it's a combination of a lot of different things. I just don't know.
It's afternoon right now, don't you know, and so I'm naturally worried. It's rainy outside and so I'm a little sad on top of my usual anxiety. With this, though, is the specific concern that my dog is going to die. (Whoa! That came out of no where, didn't it)?! My dog is old -- will be 17 in just over a week, and she is mostly deaf and somewhat blind. A few days ago, she suffered some mystery problem (stroke? fall from parents' bed?) and now can not walk -- she can sort of hobble, but it's like half of her body isn't responding how she wants it to. She still has an appetite and has been bathroom-ing mostly normally (except that someone has to carry her to the grass and set her down in it), and she hasn't been crying in pain. I don't know enough about dog strokes other than that they can have them, and the only other thing internet research can point me to is that she may have slipped a disk in her back because, as a Shih-tzu, she's a long-back-short-legs dog and they get back problems sometimes, especially with age and/or trauma. But what can the vet really do, you know? We have an appointment after work tonight, but what are they going to say -- I can't imagine she could have surgery of any kind...she's old and seems even skinnier than ever (she's always been a thing dog). Are they just going to say "sorry, we have to euthanize your dog?" I guess she could have a brain tumor -- maybe that's why her barking habits changed lately, too...but she just doesn't seem to be suffering. Dogs suffer worse than cats, don't they? They yelp and cry with pain while cats are more stoic (I've read this, at least, and have had some sick cats in recent years)? Ugh, too many questions...too much worry. I've said goodbye to so many people and creature friends in the past few months/years, that I just don't know if I'm ready yet again.
And so I work and worry...and wonder. Would it be so bad if I were doing something I enjoyed? I mean, I don't freak out so much when people just leave me to accomplish my to-do list, it's when they start asking for assistance and favors that I really start to get rattled. Maybe if I just worked with more people that I respected? I've come to realize that respect is a big deal to me, and you really have to give it to get it from me. I know, I know...standards too high...this is a perpetual problem for perfectionist me; I expect a lot from myself, so I expect a lot from others too. Maybe it's a combination of a lot of different things. I just don't know.
It's afternoon right now, don't you know, and so I'm naturally worried. It's rainy outside and so I'm a little sad on top of my usual anxiety. With this, though, is the specific concern that my dog is going to die. (Whoa! That came out of no where, didn't it)?! My dog is old -- will be 17 in just over a week, and she is mostly deaf and somewhat blind. A few days ago, she suffered some mystery problem (stroke? fall from parents' bed?) and now can not walk -- she can sort of hobble, but it's like half of her body isn't responding how she wants it to. She still has an appetite and has been bathroom-ing mostly normally (except that someone has to carry her to the grass and set her down in it), and she hasn't been crying in pain. I don't know enough about dog strokes other than that they can have them, and the only other thing internet research can point me to is that she may have slipped a disk in her back because, as a Shih-tzu, she's a long-back-short-legs dog and they get back problems sometimes, especially with age and/or trauma. But what can the vet really do, you know? We have an appointment after work tonight, but what are they going to say -- I can't imagine she could have surgery of any kind...she's old and seems even skinnier than ever (she's always been a thing dog). Are they just going to say "sorry, we have to euthanize your dog?" I guess she could have a brain tumor -- maybe that's why her barking habits changed lately, too...but she just doesn't seem to be suffering. Dogs suffer worse than cats, don't they? They yelp and cry with pain while cats are more stoic (I've read this, at least, and have had some sick cats in recent years)? Ugh, too many questions...too much worry. I've said goodbye to so many people and creature friends in the past few months/years, that I just don't know if I'm ready yet again.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
H1N1
Did you ever see the movie Outbreak? Yeah...the one with the monkey that apparently also played Marcel on Friends. (Whoa, look at me with the 90's references)! I can't help but keep thinking of that movie all the time in the past few days with all of this "swine flu" nonsense. That's right, I called it nonsense! The freaking thing responds to available treatments (i.e. Tamiflu, which I can personally advocate as effective against the regular flu), and we're over here talking about closing down and canceling events that have been planned all year.
It would be unpleasant if a lot of us here got sick all at the same time, but as I read in an op-ed piece in the NY Times (thanks Lanester), there are more people who will probably die from "official ineptitude" surrounding this outbreak than will die from infection. Judging from actions and reactions I've witnessed thus far, that definitely seems plausible.
Anyway, I just wanted to express my concern for people acting especially foolish right now. Panic never solves anything, don't you know. :-)
It would be unpleasant if a lot of us here got sick all at the same time, but as I read in an op-ed piece in the NY Times (thanks Lanester), there are more people who will probably die from "official ineptitude" surrounding this outbreak than will die from infection. Judging from actions and reactions I've witnessed thus far, that definitely seems plausible.
Anyway, I just wanted to express my concern for people acting especially foolish right now. Panic never solves anything, don't you know. :-)
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
April
I always thought that Eliot got it wrong...February is the cruelest month, or maybe October (at least in my personal experience). But I learned this year that April is probably truly the cruelest month. Beyond the fact that the weather has been crazy this April, school kids are unruly (racial incidents at local colleges -- and note that most of the worst school shootings in US history took place in April), and more bad things have happened in my own life (relative to my previous post) to punish me for declaring 2009 a good year. Not that I really believe that some higher force is punishing me for optimism, but it sure appears that way when I consider recent events.
Number one bad thing is that my grandmother unexpectedly died last Monday, just 6 months after my grandfather passed (not so unexpectedly). She was 83, which isn't young, but isn't really that old either when you think about life expectancy these days (or read the obituaries in the paper where most of the deceased were like 93 or 101, for example). I miss her a lot because she was like my second mom...she was my mom's mom and they were extremely close (they even shared a birthday), and she was just always there. She took care of me and brother a lot when we were pups because we lived across the street and our parents worked through the summers (unlike her, the lunch lady at my elementary school who would bring me my cheese sandwich when I forgot it or give me a little jar of honey on chicken nuggets day because the school didn't provide any sauce other than ketchup...hahaha). She took us to Mt. Gretna and to parks all over the county to feed ducks and go on sliding boards, and she couldn't hold back laughter when we back-talked (unlike Mom). Her sense of humor was always sharp, and she never felt the need to censor what she thought of anything. She left strange messages on the answering machine and always cleared her throat before talking when you did answer a call from her (which became a family joke). Everyone thought she was getting foggier as the years progressed, but I knew she was just losing her hearing and didn't want anyone to make her get a hearing aid. She never complained about health problems (probably because she thought other people whined too much about being sick)...she was selfless and really didn't tolerate fuss over anything.
And now she's gone. She hadn't wanted to pick a tombstone for my grandfather, but finally did just a couple of weeks ago...and now we had to call and have them add her name and dates, too. She passed just two days before what would have been my grandpa's 90th birthday. It just all seems so strange.
And we've been cleaning the house now -- getting things in order for an eventual sale. She never threw anything out (and had only just begun to sort through my grandpa's things); there is a dresser drawer filled with tiny hotel shampoos and soaps and lotions (some probably from as far back as the 1970's)...and about 10 or so brand new, still packaged toothbrushes. And I can't forget the boxes just filled with lots of smaller boxes, or the three bedrooms plus the attic with all the closets and bureaus packed full of clothing (much of it new...some of it still with tags on). We've adopted her cat and I've taken all of her orchids and other plants home. There's just so much yet left to do.
So yeah, April...not really my favorite month. I guess I never shouldn't trust good ol' T.S.
Number one bad thing is that my grandmother unexpectedly died last Monday, just 6 months after my grandfather passed (not so unexpectedly). She was 83, which isn't young, but isn't really that old either when you think about life expectancy these days (or read the obituaries in the paper where most of the deceased were like 93 or 101, for example). I miss her a lot because she was like my second mom...she was my mom's mom and they were extremely close (they even shared a birthday), and she was just always there. She took care of me and brother a lot when we were pups because we lived across the street and our parents worked through the summers (unlike her, the lunch lady at my elementary school who would bring me my cheese sandwich when I forgot it or give me a little jar of honey on chicken nuggets day because the school didn't provide any sauce other than ketchup...hahaha). She took us to Mt. Gretna and to parks all over the county to feed ducks and go on sliding boards, and she couldn't hold back laughter when we back-talked (unlike Mom). Her sense of humor was always sharp, and she never felt the need to censor what she thought of anything. She left strange messages on the answering machine and always cleared her throat before talking when you did answer a call from her (which became a family joke). Everyone thought she was getting foggier as the years progressed, but I knew she was just losing her hearing and didn't want anyone to make her get a hearing aid. She never complained about health problems (probably because she thought other people whined too much about being sick)...she was selfless and really didn't tolerate fuss over anything.
And now she's gone. She hadn't wanted to pick a tombstone for my grandfather, but finally did just a couple of weeks ago...and now we had to call and have them add her name and dates, too. She passed just two days before what would have been my grandpa's 90th birthday. It just all seems so strange.
And we've been cleaning the house now -- getting things in order for an eventual sale. She never threw anything out (and had only just begun to sort through my grandpa's things); there is a dresser drawer filled with tiny hotel shampoos and soaps and lotions (some probably from as far back as the 1970's)...and about 10 or so brand new, still packaged toothbrushes. And I can't forget the boxes just filled with lots of smaller boxes, or the three bedrooms plus the attic with all the closets and bureaus packed full of clothing (much of it new...some of it still with tags on). We've adopted her cat and I've taken all of her orchids and other plants home. There's just so much yet left to do.
So yeah, April...not really my favorite month. I guess I never shouldn't trust good ol' T.S.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)