Short Circuit

Poison or a firing squad?

No cell service or a dead cell phone battery?

A shoebox apartment in the city near work with astronomical rent prices or room to stretch out with an hour-long commute?

An inescapable bad date or no date?       bad-date

Choosing between the lesser of two “evils” – never a fun task! And truly, how often is the choice really something we get to actually make, instead of the decision being out of our hands but ours to bear regardless?

…well, I guess we can decide to stay holed up in our tiny little apartment, refusing to take chances on meeting new people for fear of encountering whiny, un(der)educated, hyper-sensitive, self-obsessed, unemployed individuals who freak out when you use the word “friend” instead of being instantly “in love” and fully committed to romantic attachments within 12 hours of making their acquaintance, but I digress…

What I’m talking about are the real-life situations we’re presented with, where neither outcome is a bed of roses, and the choice is unfortunately not yours to make.

 

kraken-antiqueResolution-making aside, ‘January’s are traditionally difficult in my line of work; this has been a particularly rough one. I’ve been battling several different illnesses since the 2nd day of 2017, which makes things challenging: a quick bout of laryngitis, followed by a sinus infection with the grip hold of the Kraken! I feel as if I’ve been walking around with my head under water for two weeks! The sweet aroma of new beginnings does not fill my nasal passages – cotton packing coated with rubber cement does! But I’ve been through wicked infections before, and survived. Even with mangled sinus cavities, narrowed by scar tissue from a previous surgery, I’ve come out the other side still intact. This week, though, it was as if every force in nature wanted to see me flat on my tookus!

So I can’t breathe properly; so what of it? Been there, done that! So I have to work 12-hour days while not being able to breathe properly – you’re talking to the girl who worked half-days while going through radiation treatment (disclaimer: NOT recommended!! I was incredibly foolish, and harbored way too much self-imposed obligation)! Bring. It. On. So when the doctor’s office calls in the middle of the day to tell you that what should have been routine laboratory blood tests came back dangerously abnormal, I should be able to keep it together, right? You bet your sweet cherry cheesecake I did! For a whole day and a half, I put on the BEST performance of my life!

That fateful day, I was instructed to go back to the lab after work, and have another test done, to verify the results of the initial “abnormal” reading. THREE blood draws later ended in THREE confirmations of the “abnormal” results. Completely stunned and suffering from a severe sucker-punch to the gut, I somehow managed to fumble my way from the lab facility to the market, blindly to the pharmacy, then home to cook dinner for the household. Eating was by rote, and I recall retiring early that evening – I felt like there was nothing more I could do; any effort otherwise would result in further damage of some sort!

The next day, I casually played the role of “hey, it’s me”, while burdened with strict “dos” and “don’ts” from the doctor, wanting desperately to scream, cry, and drown my fears and frustrations in Cake Batter frozen yogurt with rainbow sprinkles (don’t judge)! Instead, payrolls were processed, tax forms were prepared, payments were received, and invoices were issued, all without anyone being the wiser. All while inside I was frantic to know why my body was suddenly short-circuiting!

Finally, Doctor-Visit-Day! Things that morning were still pear-shaped, which baffled the doctors (yes, now more than one doctor was on-board with the treatment protocol) and led to heightened anxiety. Before cozying my toosh in the clinical environment, though, I had to be “hey, it’s me” for a few hours, and as if the Kraken sinus infection wasn’t enough to deal with, the client engagement I had that morning decided to throw me a curve ball – a nationally-recognized personnel firm making a Grand Canyon-sized mistake on the financial documents of the company’s two owners! Really? Today?! Gaw!!

tight-rope-grand-canyon

Can you say “PANIC ATTACK”? I knew you could!

Anyway, off to the doc’s…

After a long discussion (and I admit, a few tears shed in the solitude of the doctor’s office), we’ve come to the conclusion that the most viable reasons for such rapid changes and rare abnormalities are these: either my pancreas has decided to call it quits (or has been harvested by aliens while I was sleeping…) or the resident “big bully booger” (aka brain tumor I’ve been hosting rent-free since 2008) has finally awakened from its slumber to wreak havoc on my endocrine system. So which is the better option? Ummm, neither, thank you very much!

Look, I can live with knowing I have an inoperable growth inside my head. Heck, I’ve been doing that for over 8 years now! Sure, it’s a crazy thing to say: I have a brain tumor. But, I know that I’m one of the lucky ones! My tumor is non-malignant, and slow-growing. Sure, it comes with side effects: headaches, constant ringing in my ears, GH deficiency, thyroid issues, and the inability to regulate body temperature to name a few, but these are minor inconveniences once you get used to them. However, if the tumor is growing, that can be an issue! It’s precariously close to the optic nerves, and maniacally embracing the internal carotid artery (thus the reason it’s deemed “inoperable”). Additional growth is not a good thing! Blindness is not a good thing; artery strangulation is not a good thing…

On the flip side, I’m not in the mood to have yet another system in my body go caput! I don’t know too much about pancreatic function, but I’m starting to get the impression that it’s pretty darned important (and maybe a little fickle, or maybe that’s just me)! Two of my doctors consulted and decided to do a severe change-up with my medications, STAT! I’m still supposed to adhere to strict “dos” and “don’ts” until more information has been gathered about the status of the tumor (MRI has already been performed; just waiting on report now), and begin living as if my pancreas is on hiatus…

footprints-to-water

 

I don’t get to choose firing squad or poison. My choice, however, is to keep on keeping on, despite the diagnosis

in spite of the diagnosis!

 

UPDATE: MRI results – tumor is stable! Yay! So, now it’s off to investigate who authorized the vacation request for my pancreas, and check every possible travel manifest between the vocal chords, the left big toe, and Tahiti to figure out where that darned thing took off to! I need it back at its post, up and functioning properly – STAT!

Unique Boutique

I inquisitively peered beyond the façade today, and for a moment, felt my heart sink. Despite a presentable (at least I have been under the impression it was pleasing) storefront, I was awakened to disturbing details. Statistics… purely unhuman and infallibly cold calculations that do not consider ever being considerate, and stare back at the consumer, stone-faced but seemingly without malice or weapon, shattering dreams, hopes, aspirations, and tender hearts.

Twenty blog posts over the course of roughly twenty-two weeks (not counting this one). Over thirty followers now (and a most humble and sincere “thank you” to you all!!). But, in looking at my readership ratings, a most obvious and truly disheartening steady decline… My posting average still remains about 4 new blog posts per month; however, interest in what I am writing seems to have waned drastically. And I ponder if such significant lack of interest should predicate the captain’s call to abandon ship.

1425_3Now, of course, I could invoke the trusty ostrich philosophy, and bury my head in the sand, choosing to ignore the deafening silence played out in the melodic realism of the statistical evidence, as crystal clear and undisputable as any such findings. Conversely, I can fabricate rationalizations that support the finite statistics while leaving a glimmer of hope, such as: people have been busy with the timeliness of the holidays and all the effort, planning, preparation, and participation they entail, and leave blog-reading by the wayside. Another possibility is that some folks out there in the blogosphere, and beyond, suffer from the same two syndromes I too am burdened with: a reading disability that makes reading both incredibly difficult and time consuming (and after 10- to 12-hour workdays, eyes that just don’t want to focus anymore!), and simply, lack of free time to devote to pleasure reading! (I’ve been told that throughout the far reaches of the world, both ‘free time’ and ‘reading for pleasure’ are true events, and not merely works of fiction. I myself remain a skeptic; however, there is always opportunity for growth and a broadening of our understanding, right?)

Or, I can very well dim the illuminated open beckoning call, roll up the awning, shake the dust off the “welcome” mat, drop the window shades, and latch the doors secure amid a darkened dwelling place. Close up shop and proceed forward, or at least onward whatever the direction…

detour

A possible detour (as is often the case in my life)? 

I’ve been visited time and again (translation: haunted) by this quickly-spoken inspirational gem of wisdom, thinking it merely a bobble of whimsy, refusing to consciously allow it to penetrate to the inner depths of my consciousness. Why? Because it tore at my desire to be a people-pleaser, confounded my need for justification, and dispelled fallacies that acknowledgment and edification from others were the only signs of success. I was raised to believe without the praises of others, the conjoined trumpeting of the masses, one was nothing short of invisible; I’ve spent my entire life being invisible, and I was hoping that through my writing, at least one wayward beam of light would rest upon me – not fame and fortune, per se, but a hiatus from utter invisibility.

Specialty stores. (Hang on; this is the same post – I didn’t get lost!) Specialty stores: those small retailers that cater to specific needs and individualistic clientele. A vendor that specializes in offering men a wonderful shaving experience. The clothier that caters to infants and toddlers. Proprietors of anime collectibles. Comic book stores. A vegan bakery and café. A boutique that celebrates the craftsmanship and one-of-a-kind handmade goods of local artisans near high-traffic tourist venues.

I think you’ve got the idea.

But, truly, what is the point, and how does it all relate? Good question. Excellent question!

Let me explain:
One thing that these specialty shops have in common is their disregard for total and complete domination. Yes, they may strive for market position priority (that’s the three business degrees talking…); however, they are intuitive enough to not waste time and resources entertaining the masses while facilitating focused niche markets and boutiques that cater to a select clientele. They, instead, revel in those customers that enter, admire, and welcome with genuine interest the findings that adorn the shelves, baskets, racks, and display cases behind unassuming doors, foregoing the over-commercialized, mass-marketed branding that befalls the majority of retail reality. And those proprietors, those purveyors of fine-found treasures treasure those that have found them! They greet their guests, not worried about those other hurried shoppers looking for items that simply don’t exist within their havens – the vegan baker really isn’t concerned with flagging down a brood of motley teens, snacking on corn dogs and soft pretzels, because she understands her energy is better utilized baking delectable treats for her clientele, and pleasing their palates, nor will the children’s clothier aspire to make those same teenagers frequent visitors to his shop, as they, without need for children’s clothing, will be more of a distraction for the shop owner, whose attention, and heart, are with those who have come to partake in the boutique’s uniqueness, with intent.

summer-sea-glass2Point being (listen, dear inner self!): understand that I am unique. Understand that what I offer is unique. Do not waste my energy and resources (translation: my emotions) trying to please the masses, when knowing full-well it is genuinely more rewarding to celebrate and treasure those that have found me to be a treasure without any benefit of over-commercialized, mass-marketed branding.

This is all a learning process – seeing myself as good enough, without outward confirmation – that is nowhere near its completion. I hope that by sharing my heart and my thoughts, some others may come to the same conclusion about themselves (even if it may only reach 30+ wonderful, caring individuals – nay, cherished guests! – gracious enough to be following this ‘specialty blog’).

Here’s to heart-satisfying and thought-provoking “retail therapy”!

Temporarily Permanent

Perspective.

What is it exactly?

By definition, perspective is “a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view”. (It can also be defined as “the art of drawing solid objects on a two-dimensional surface so as to give the right impression of their height, width, depth, and position in relation to each other when viewed from a particular point”, and although it is arguable that life is art, I won’t be addressing artistic perspective, per se, today.)

I find it interesting – nay, intriguing! – how perspective influences our opinion. Much like experiences having leverage and significant impact on the dimension of our focus (see post Finding Humanity in Winter), one’s perspective in direct relation to a situation not only predicates the response given, it often monopolizes it, regardless of any previous experience to the contrary. Basically, if we’re in the dark and darkness is all we see, it is unfathomable to see anything more than darkness despite having experienced ‘light’ and ‘bright’ in the past.

Extreme? Perhaps. But nonetheless not necessarily untrue.

Illustration: Think back to the last time you had a severe cold, or the flu (or, if not yourself, a loved one that you helped care for during that time). Day Two or Day Three into the experience, the wretchedness of sinus pressure, the shredding pain of broken glass shards tumbling down your constricted, raw throat with each swallow, feverish chills forcing you deep under the tonnage of fleece and woven cotton only to be marred by the beads of sweat on your brow, and the ripping ache throughout your joints, restricting fluid movement, draining every ounce of energy out of your listless frame. Even to partake in a cup of lemon chamomile tea with honey or bowl of chicken noodle soup is a monumental chore. You lay there, tissue in hand, dabbing your swollen, chapped nose and expel the simple words illuminating your current perspective, “this flu is killing me!”

But, wait!

You’ve had the flu before. And you’ve, well, survived… And, despite that present position, deep within the recesses of snuggle blankets and menthol throat lozenge wrappers, the predominant prognostication is that you, indeed, will again escape the clutches of Death in a week or so – with plenty of rest and clear fluids – but you can’t see beyond the mounting pile of discarded tissues, drawing on faded memory, to know that you will see the light of another day. Your feet will touch ground again, gleefully participating in retail therapy. Your tongue will relish in fantastical feasts and roaring repartee. And yes, your heart will languish in the thought of wasting another breath in the living tomb which is your office cubicle… But you don’t see that; you see death. You see permanence in the temporary – darkness in the midst of residing in the dark, casting aside the lucid remembrance of healthier days…

Point made?

So, how is it that we shake off this “permanence in the temporary”, and realize things for what they are – or what they could be? How do we change our perspective even if our circumstance has not changed? If the physicality of something remains the same, how do we redefine it?

Several of my current circumstances can easily lend to melancholy and the ambiance of defeat. That’s not to say that there aren’t times when I succumb to these jesters and lose sight of things beyond the temporary; however, as the past chapter’s song floats away on the evening breeze and providence crashes upon a new calendar year (Hello, 2017! Let’s be friends, shall we?), I’m determined to remain aware of my perspective, adjusting it as one would a manual camera lens, allowing in light and clarity of focus, distilling shortsightedness, and capturing inspiration, catapulting me through – beyond! – the darkness and into the warmth of glowing hope, where once before I drew breath.

Page-Turner!

So, I’ve been “absent” from the Blogosphere for a few weeks…

With cause, perhaps. Without cause, mainly, except in that I have been overwhelmed with work assignments as well as other tirelessly monotonous “to-do”s and a sheer lack of drive and willpower. It pains me to say that, yes, pain – physical, agonizing pain – has also played a huge part. It’s as if the breaking of my heart has found some way to manifest itself into the needling anguish of arthritis and tendonitis, coupled with MS and fibromyalgia, crippling my hands with searing discomfort and affliction. My mind, twisted and tormented by sprouts of new ideas bursting through a barren wasteland of decades-old non-composition, enduring the pulverizing wallop of giant new characters scrambling around, seeking to mingle and cavort with the edges of reality, and gasping for air, avoiding the sinking, drowning sensation within, yearning to stay connected to eyes, ears – a whole consciousness – awakened to the ‘New’, hidden in plain sight, by virtue of new, broadening perspectives.

For anyone who has known me longer than a week, my fierce desire to be a writer is more than evident – even in the performance of my rather lifeless “day job”… With the onset of such debilitating pain, I was beginning to feel as if I had been led down a long, winding road that culminated in a wall of thickets and brambles, impassable without seeing my dreams ripped to shreds. Even these few words today are met with bittersweet passion and, well, infuriating pain! (I say “infuriating” because if it weren’t for the pain, I would write and write and write – but even if I were to “power through the pain” as I have in the past, it ends up leaving me truly incapacitated, with barely enough strength to hold a pen, raise a glass to my lips, or pet my fur-babies; therefore, I am truly infuriated by the pain!) However, I felt it necessary to expound on both my recent hiatus as well as something I read this morning that struck my inner soul like a flash of lightning.

My truancy, I believe, I have sufficiently addressed. I now wish to share something with you that I hope touches you in a way that helps elevate you beyond any barriers that stand between you and your dreams:

In the reflection portion of a devotional I received via email this morning, the question was asked: how much energy do you expend crafting words or stories that are here one moment and gone the next? It was followed up with this question: what could you speak or write today that might outlast you?

…let that sink in…

Here’s where I was struck by a jolt of electricity: the ending prayer called on a thanksgiving for the deliberate and intricate unfolding of my own life’s story, with its unpredictable plot twists and myriad of interesting and motley characters. It reminded me to grieve the sorrows – “the dark episodes” as it referred to them – and unabashedly name my fears and hopes for the chapters yet to be written.

In that, I was reminded: My. Story. Is. Not. Over. There are still chapters that have yet to be breathed into existence! Who’s to say that my hands will always ache? Who’s to say that my rather lifeless “day job” may not disintegrate into a beautifully fantastical dream job of imagination and writing? What I can say is this: absence truly does make the heart grow fonder! Despite the pain, my heart’s fire is ablaze just in composing this short oration! And with such, it spurs me on to continue!

Quantity vs. Quality

I’m stealing a few moments to compose this post… Why, you ask? Because I absolutely lost track of the days this week! I know, right? Not that anything in particular has been happening…  Trust me when I say nothing special – absotively, posilutely, N.O.T.H.I.N.G.   S.P.E.C.I.A.L. – has been going on this week; one beige-tinted day bleeding into the next… With that, I’ve just lost track of which boring-blah, “do I really have to do this again?!” day it was, and missed my typical Wednesday evening post…

I am proud to report my son’s face still sports some pretty spiffy stubble, for those with super-sharp vision! He complains about it every other day, as he rubs his hand across his chin. I just chuckle and urge him to carry on the brave fight! I think for his birthday – well, more an early birthday gift – I’ll get him a nice set of blades and a razor handle, from one of those mail order men’s shave vendors. I think he’ll enjoy that; it’ll appear much more “manly” than the, umm, planetary-named blade of blush tone he currently has resting on the sink in his bathroom…

I, on the other hand, have come to the conclusion that attempting to rush from a 40,000-plus word-count, 8-week semester in school that ended in late October right into NaNoWriMo was definitely ill-fated, at minimum. Both the excruciating physical pain in my hand due to arthritis in my lower thumb joint coupled with the emotional stress of pushing – nay, bullying – myself into such an undertaking has left me feeling even more drained, and with that, the fibro flares and tumor headaches have become more frequent instead of the exact opposite – enjoying the idea of not being in school right now, relaxing, taking in all the life has to offer, spending time with friends and family, and foregoing the stress of a rigid non-work-related schedule. It is apparent that I needed more than 10 days to recuperate from the school term, and I didn’t allow myself that time.

On the bright side, I did come up with a new story line, and I will pursue it! If everything works out well, I will actually COMPLETE this project! (I do go to bed every night thinking up both dialog and scene progression, so that’s good!) I just won’t continue to force myself to meet some unattainable – unattainable for me, anyway, and at this particular juncture in my life, extremely unrealistic – timeline for the sake of what, saying “I did it”? I’d rather say “I did it!” when I know saying so will go hand-in-hand with presenting something worth reading, and won’t land my toosh in a hospital bed!

Here’s to growing wise in my old age, and appreciating the difference between quantity and quality.

Anything You Can Do…

So, the Goose Egg has been sufficiently cracked, liberally scrambled and riotously consumed!

What on earth am I referring to?

NaNoWriMo… (see my previous blog post, “November“)

My previous attempts (five or so years ago, and thus far this year) have produced nothing more than flamboyant nullity with regards to word count.

However, I am happy to report, I have finally shaken off the cloak of Anxiety – I still may have a shawl on, just for familiarity and comfort, but I’m definitely not allowing Anxiety and Fear to smother me anymore – and I’ve started this new tale!

I’m only 800 words into it, but I’ve also only had the opportunity to invest about 4 hours, including a smidge of research, so I’m feeling good! Besides, 800 words is better than what I had 5 hours ago!

I want to thank my son for motivating me, even though he’s completely oblivious to the fact that he’s the reason I’m writing again! (Last night, as we drove to the ballot drop box, I told him about the “November” blog post and how he was definitely outpacing me in his November challenge. He asked what the story line was for my latest project, and I explained the bare bones of it; he didn’t tune me out, which I took as a sign that it wasn’t a complete bore.) Because he has so bravely (translation: reluctantly) refrained from excavating his meager whiskers from his chin and upper lip, I felt it only fair that I open my laptop and at least attempt to write a paragraph or two… Hopefully the remainder of the week will see the multiplication of this miniscule word count into an explosion of literary greatness!

 

A tidbit for your entertainment:

Ennie had known nothing but urban living. She was raised in a traditional suburb with its tract homes, four-way stops, carefully manicured front yards, driveways with basketball hoops, and sidewalks dotted with tricycles, skateboards, and discarded baseball mitts, miles from the skyscrapers of the downtown jungle, but near enough that light pollution made wishing on evening stars merely a Hollywood movie set ploy.  She had skipped along those tree-lined avenues with girlfriends on her way to and from elementary and middle school, and learned to drive her father’s old pickup truck in the large parking lot behind the neighborhood shopping mall, early on Saturday mornings before the six-screen theatre opened its doors, flooding the perimeter with the intoxicating aroma of fresh popcorn, ready to tantalize the rush of moviegoers and hold them captive with a lightshow larger than life. Longtime residents watched the pudgy, freckle-faced tomboy graduate from tearing up her mother’s rose garden in search of worms and isopods, holding them captive in glass jars, to a daredevil strapped atop a pair of roller skates, blazing down the east hill with reckless abandon, and absolutely no concern for cross traffic or the consequences of bodily harm. The younger kids in the neighborhood had the pleasure of her company in the absence of their parents, as she swiftly became the neighborhood’s most reliable and trusted babysitter. She introduced different genres of music to the children she had the opportunity to interact with, as she always had some song lifting her spirit, causing her to dance and twirl. She also took the time to teach some of the kids that wanted to learn – and even some who begrudgingly protested but peered over folded arms and past furrowed brows – different skills, including cooking and baking, photography, crocheting and embroidery, and even took the time to write stories with those select families she watched on a regular basis.  Fingernails and toenails were often of differing colors, and she gladly shared her flare for the eclectic with anyone who asked – or asked mom and dad’s permission. Her smile was more of a city trademark than the city’s seal itself, and Ennie made it her personal mission to greet as many individuals a day with a gracious smile and a joyous “hello”.

November

Two note-worthy events happen during the month of November: “Movember” and “NaNoWriMo”. For those that unfamiliar with these events, allow me to introduce you to them.

Movember – when gentlemen forgo the ritual of shaving their facial hair and instead “grow a mo’” – mustache – to both bring awareness to, and, hopefully, commit to raising donations that benefit men’s health (which include prostate and testicular cancer and suicide prevention) by participating as a “walking, talking billboard in honor of men’s health” during the entire month and joining in or hosting fund-raising run/walks or other events.

NaNoWriMo – according to their website (www.nanowrimo.org), this event is for anyone who has ever aspired to writing a novel – which I’m sure is a passion most here have either dealt with , are dealing with, or don’t want to admit to, for fear of awakening a beast too rebellious to contain… The goal of NaNoWriMo (for those not “in the know” stands for National Novel Writing Month) is to complete a 50,000-word novel, written between November 1st and 11:59 PM November 30th.

 

 

Okay, now that we’ve all become properly acquainted, let’s move forward, shall we?

 

 

My young son asked me the other day if I had ever heard of “Movember” or “No Shave November”, to which I informed him I had, indeed, heard of it, and understood it to be in place to help bring awareness to men’s health (as it is, indeed)… We briefly discussed the topic, and I jokingly urged him to participate. Now, of course, I don’t know that he’ll be able to actively raise any funds for the cause; however, I’ve been wanting to see what type of facial carpet he could attain if he would just step away from the razor blade for a little while! He’s still so young – I forget sometimes that he shaves, he’s that young – and most of his facial hair comes in tawny-colored so it blends in with his complexion. However, ever since the first time he put the blade to his face and removed the three or four hairs that took residence between his nose and top lip, he’s been obsessed with the smooth skin feeling – stubble of any sort drives him bonkers!

And then there’s me… (Oh, I could almost hear the collective sigh from the universe…) I’ve wanted to complete a novel for SSSOOOOOOO long, it’s nearly pathetic at this stage – almost like that sweet four-year-old girl who, when asked what she wants to be when she grows up, replies “a mermaid!” and you just don’t have the heart to tell her it’s well, out of this world, never going to happen in a million, billion, trillion years, simply impossible… Well, yeah, that’s me. I want to be a novelist – or for goodness’ sake, simply a writer by trade! – however, it’s beginning to seem like an impossible achievement. Alas, I still (figuratively lay my head down and) dream! I know writing is something I can do, when tasked – I’ve been a student on several occasions, and have therefore been tasked with numerous written requirements. Thousands upon thousands of words, carefully chosen and with the precision of a craftsman, delicately positioned to convey and entertain, educate and persuade the reader while demonstrating a knowledge and understanding, a passion and compassion, not only for the subject matter, but also for the art form of writing itself. I know that I can write… So, why is it that my mermaid’s tail remains an impossibility?

As of the composition of this post, 1/6th of the month has come and gone. Kudos to my son, who has resisted the urge to shave – not that you can tell by looking at him, but he claims there are whiskers there that are driving him mad, and the sheer unevenness of his mustache stubble is simply unruly (ooooookay, if you say so…). As for me, surprisingly, over the past 24 or 36 hours (I don’t know when it all started, truly, and it really doesn’t make that much difference in the long run!) I began crafting a brand new story line, with twists and turns, surprises and secrets I had never envisioned before! Although I have two in-process works that constantly tug at those guilt strings, desperate to inch forward in progress, remorsefully staring at me like malnourished pups begging table-side, I thought a new creative path might stir up the desire for exploration and journey. Thus far, as fate would have it, my word count toward the famed 50k NaNoWriMo word count is sitting at a nice, symmetrical goose egg.

I can’t begin to explain the anxiety! Even writing about writing causes anxiety! Why? The fear of the unknown – what if writing something brilliant actually leads to the fulfillment of a dream? What then?? I wouldn’t know what to do with myself! And would I be able to replicate such a feat? I mean, really, C.S. Lewis, Ray Bradbury, Hemingway, Stephen King, J.K. Rowling – whomever you fancy! – they were, and are, blessed with abundant talent that surpasses any general conception of talent! And until one can earn enough through writing – which is a feat in itself – there’s the drain on time and energy of the dreaded “day job” (which right now, is my total “Stockholm Syndrome” – but more on that later!)… If I were to tell you that in writing this blog post alone, I’ve stopped and walked away from it on three separate occasions, you’d think me mad! (Okay, so I guess I just admitted to it anyway, and you’re free to think whatever you want – it doesn’t change the facts…) In the interim, I’ve cleaned my kitchen, washed the dishes, made popcorn – because, hey, whole grains, right? – and almost purchased a new desk for my son, all to avoid the thought of finishing this blog post and maybe, possibly being faced with the anxiety-inducing thought of starting my NaNoWriMo manuscript… Agh!

Dang it! If my son can persevere despite the savage tortures of microscopic uneven and unruly mustache stubble, I should be able to boldly face the blinding white of the blank computer screen and toss a few unassuming lines of dialogue and understory much like Bob Ross with his simplistic “even if you’ve never painted before, this one you can do” brush strokes and, voila, just like those famed ‘happy trees’, my story would just miraculously unfold upon the canvas!

Wish me luck!

 

 

“The secret to doing anything is believing that you can do it. Anything that you believe you can do strong enough, you can do. Anything. As long as you believe.” – Bob Ross, from “The Joy of Painting”

Challenge: ACCEPTED!

Oh dear, what treacherous unscripted suicidal plot have I unearthed?!

Sure, challenges help build character, and testing limits often brings to light unsubstantiated boundaries.

But this? Chainsaws! High octane, rip-roaring, mauling “metal teeth of fury” chainsaws!

I’m concurrently skipping around with hula-hoops encircling my ankles, running up and down forty miles of highway daily, to and from the office, performing like a circus monkey for the corporate hierarchy while simultaneously monitoring the parade of cavorting high-school-aged monkeys and  tossing baked peanuts and other protein-rich snacks their direction – to fend off “h-anger” attacks. I’ve already got the spinning plates of Master’s classes, piled high with research reports, group projects, and computerized tests, delicately balanced so that their coinciding due dates match perfectly with governmental filing deadlines.

This is just throwing chainsaws into the mix!

Maybe chainsaws and raw eggs…

… chainsaws and feather pillows …

(no, wait! I think I’m just overly tired – note to self: must get more than 13 hours sleep over the course of 4 nights)

Sorry about that!

So, where were we? Oh, yes! Chainsaws and raw eggs… I think that’s the best I can do right now. I could go down the lines of juggling chainsaws in yellow rain slickers, since after all, the concept is ‘preparing for a rainy day’, but that would be a bit absurd, don’t you think?

While perusing another blogger’s site, I came across this 30-day challenge, and who doesn’t love a challenge, right? (…me! I hate challenges… oh, wait, rhetorical question… sorry…) The task: “Blog Ahead”! Now, what does that mean exactly? The concept is to carve out time during this challenge period, preceded only by a budget-breaking jaunt to the nearest Costco to stockpile every tasty packaged carbohydrate, gallons of your preferred caffeinated “go-juice”, and perhaps the obligatory fruit, vegetable, and theatre-box of chocolatey confections, hermit yourself away from the outside world, draped in your trusty flannel camp shirt (you know the one – with the singed hole in the pocket where the hot ember from the popping log burrowed its way to a quick death) and tie-waist knit pants that mop the floor with each step, and simply because you’ve committed yourself to this challenge, release the floodgates of unsurpassed inspiration, harmonious word synergy, and captivating musings without nary a hiccup or belch, and emerge after 30 days, with a surplus of 30 “stockpiled” blog posts, for those times when inspiration is as fleeting as a bargain price on gasoline, or when, you know, life.

For someone such as myself – one who has chosen to post once a week as opposed to every day (please refer to ‘note to self’ earlier in this post…) – the end result would be to have 30 blog posts in addition to the (*ahem* conceivably already written *insert laugh here*) four blog posts for the month of October (there being four Tuesday/Wednesdays in the month of October in 2016), for a total of 34 blog posts, from which I could pick and choose as circumstances dictate.

That seems all well and good. But for anyone who has read my posts (this one included), it is obvious I’m not a “pre-written blog post” kind of poster. And why is that? Because it’s not in my character – usually. However what I do find intriguing about this challenge (aside of the host site’s name – seriously! “Herding Cats & Burning Soup”! I just had to join, on that name alone!!), is the incentive to spend some time at least cultivating post ideas, AND massaging those ideas that have already manifested themselves over the past several weeks, but that I’ve neglected due to other hula-hoops, toasted peanuts, cavorting monkeys, and spinning plates…

So, before any chainsaws get thrown into the mix, I’m heading to Costco for a silo of Pepsi and a box of four-cheese rice crackers (don’t judge!), I’m ramping up my research skills so that final reports are nothing shy of technical “blog posts”, and alerting my circle… triangle (??)… of friends that I’ll be off the radar until after the Great Pumpkin visits with Linus in the pumpkin patch.

Anyone else up for chainsaws and eggs?? Here’s a link to sign up for the fun challenge!

http://www.herdingcats-burningsoup.com/2016/08/Blog-Ahead-Sign-Up-2016.html#more

Next on the menu: …peanut butter severed monkey finger omelets… or, feather pillows…