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Sometimes you just have to take the damn pill

It’s been just over 7 months that I’ve had a day without pain. It started with my back in late January (though it had been off and on before that) and has now spread to my right leg after a less than wonderful surgical result. Saying that chronic pain sucks is both obvious and an understatement.

My chronic pain is more than just the pain I feel in my back, leg, or foot. It’s the depression and frustration that come with the inability to do things that I used to be able to do somewhat easily. That come with the fact that things that we do every day or on a regular basis are now more dangerous for me to do. I can’t pick up my right foot, so stepping over the wall of the bathtub to take a shower requires a lot of concentration. If I don’t focus while I walk, I trip over my foot and go sprawling onto the ground, scraping hands and knees and tweaking my back. Not ideal after a lumbar fusion.

It’s also exhausting. Pain is the body’s way of alerting you that something is wrong and trying to get you to do something to help it fight an invader or fix itself. That process takes energy, and not a small amount. Add that to whatever it takes just to function through a normal day, and by the time bedtime rolls around, you’re pretty much done for. If you’re lucky, you can sleep well your while your body gets to take more time to heal itself. If you aren’t, the pain keeps you awake and your body doesn’t get the time it needs to heal.

One night recently I was trying to fall asleep. That day I’d been feeling especially overwhelmed, stressed out, and depressed. My back, leg, and foot were causing me a lot of pain and I was also trying to get a handle on my life and what I’m doing with it. Between the thoughts racing around my head and the pain, I could not sleep. No matter which position I tried a pain in my hip would not go away. I finally gave up and dove into my supply of oxycodone. It took about 15 minutes for the drugs to take effect, but once they did, everything got better. With the pain gone, I could focus on my thoughts and come up with a battle plan for life. I was able to break the stress into more manageable pieces and stop feeling the stress as much. I stopped feeling like I was trapped at the bottom of a well with no way out.

I’d been avoiding painkillers, trying to force myself to get used to the pain. My reasoning was that since it wasn’t a constant 8 out of 10 on the scale it wasn’t really that bad. Most of the time it hangs out somewhere between 2-4, spiking up to 10 occasionally, but the spikes usually cap at a 7 or 8. I realize now just how ridiculous I was.

Having a low level of constant pain is like having a fly buzz around your ear all day long. It’s annoying, but it doesn’t seem like a big deal. It’s just a fly, right? The problem is that constant stimulation like that will drive even the most reasonable people to snap. You have to do something to take care of it before it gets to a breaking point. Upping the level of the pain only increases the rate at which you reach the breaking point and the force of the explosion.

I need to have more respect for the constant stress my body is under, especially since it doesn’t look like the sources of pain are going to get better any time soon. I’m considering a tendon transfer so I can walk a little more easily, but that doesn’t guarantee that the nerve pain will go away though I hope it eases some of the foot and ankle pain I’ve had. My back is still just recovering from the fusion. If I need a pill so the little fly doesn’t turn me into a suicidal or homicidal woman, then I need to take the damn pill.

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Random Ramblings: A self-sustaining USA, corporate greed, and community

My brain likes to torment me as I try to fall asleep. A few nights ago it started with, “Why isn’t the United States more self-sustaining?” By this, my brain was trying to figure out why the US imports so many goods. (At the time I wasn’t thinking about the number of people in the US from other countries who provide services, but that’s a good question too.) You look at the labels most things and they say “Made in [insert country not the US].”

Don’t get me wrong – we live in a global economy, it would almost impossible not to import some products. But it seems like a lot of what the US has comes from somewhere else. It blew my mind to see that we get our frozen chicken from overseas. Don’t we have the resources in the US for pretty much whatever we want? A lot of countries don’t have the diverse terrain we do for growing different crops. We can’t grow everything, but we can grow a lot. We used to make a lot of cars. You get the idea.

And then I wondered if it comes down to the money of it. It’s simply cheaper to get the goods elsewhere. Obviously businesses exist to make money. The cheaper the product, the more they can make on it, especially if they’re selling it at the cost we were used to paying when it was made in the US. When I worked at a big box retailer I got to see some of the product mark-ups. The biggest mark-up I saw? Christmas lights! Those things cost maybe 10 cents and get sold for $2.50, which seemed like a great deal! If we can grow our own crops, how is it cheaper to bring them into the US from somewhere else?

Is it the labor surrounding the product – both cultivating the raw goods and the labor to build the product? And, if it is the labor, how is it so much cheaper? Labor in the US got more expensive as human casualties from working conditions rose. The 40-hour workweek, insurance requirements, minimum safety conditions, etc. We decided that human lives were too much to pay.

A lot has been discussed about the labor standards in China, or rather, the lack thereof. A lot of products sold in the US come from China. If we weren’t willing to tolerate it for people who work in the US, why are okay with it for the people of China? Or Vietnam? Or Pakistan? Is that we think we, as US citizens, are better than they are? That they don’t deserve the same kinds of safety regulations?

Also, on a related note, if they don’t have the same safety conditions for their workers, what about the safety regulations of the products? Is a product that comes from somewhere else going to be as safe as they are allegedly supposed to be if they’re made in the US? Don’t we care about that? Is it an out of sight, out of mind philosophy?

The other thing is why we allow corporate greed to control so much of what we do. A lot of people in the US don’t have jobs and yet instead of moving toward finding ways to put people here to work, we continually export jobs to other places. When did we stop caring about each other’s welfare that we are so okay with people here starving? Being okay with people being on government assistance because the jobs were shipped overseas (but then telling them to quit being lazy and find a job!)?

And is that the real core of the problem? That we just don’t care about each other anymore? Are we so obsessed with having that we forget about being? How can we fix this?

Obviously there’s a lot more that goes into these discussions and I need to do a lot more research, but it seems like it goes back to an Us vs. Them mentality, but on a global scale.

2

Two Years

Yesterday was the second anniversary of my stepfather, Pat’s, death. That it’s been two years already is ridiculous to me. The first couple months after he was gone seemed to take forever, and since then time has just flown by. It’s both sad and comforting to see that happen. Time stops for no one and it’s so sad that he is missing out on so many things. I got married! He would absolutely have loved how we did it too – low key, totally casual, and a BBQ on the 4th of July. It doesn’t get more Pat than that. I know he misses his granddaughter and he would have loved tormenting my kids when they finally show up.

At the same time, life DOES go on. I got married! I’m building my own family and exploring my life in new ways. I moved around the world and it is definitely a difference experience. He would have been proud to see me go off on my own and live MY life the way I want to. He was big on striking out on your own staying true to who you are.

The funniest part about my new life is how Mr. Lyndsy occasionally does or says something that reminds me of Pat. There are phrases he uses and hand gestures he makes, and I would swear that he is channeling Pat’s spirit. Mr. Lyndsy has a passionate love of football (soccer) and when he watches games it is quite a bit like watching Pat watch a Steeler game, particularly when the team isn’t doing well. For some reason the losses upset him more than the wins excited him. In this way, I feel like Pat’s still with me. Makes me love Mr. Lyndsy all that much more too.

This past weekend was total shit. I was sick. This anniversary was looming. And then I lost my little dog Buddy. He was the sweetest and happiest dog I’ve ever seen. He was ferocious when he thought he was protecting one of his hoomanz or his friend Lily (or other girl dogs), well, as ferocious as a 10-pound ball of fluff can be.

The only consolation I have is that the way I see it, Buddy and Pat are off playing somewhere together. Buddy might have driven Pat crazy on occasion, but if Pat could be friends with my guinea pig Orpheus Offenbach, he would have enjoyed Buddy. I’d be willing to bet there’s a recliner somewhere with Pat in it, Buddy nestled in between Pat and the arm, Buddy listening while Pat acts as a commentator on the Steeler game, occasionally barking in agreement.

I won’t miss either of them any less as time goes on, but I like thinking that they’re hanging out together.

Buddy Pat

0

Not My Bidness

I love TV and movies. (Not as much as I love my books). The characters almost become real people to me. I love to watch series TV shows, so I get to see the characters evolve and watch as their relationships grow (as much as the shows allow anyway).

Naturally (or maybe unnaturally) this makes me curious about the actors who play them – what they’re like in their personal lives, whether they’re as funny in real life as they are on the shows, who they’re dating, etc. I get really hung up on the funny thing. It’s one of those things that I don’t think people can fake, so I’m always trying to find a way to prove that theory.

I used to love reading People Magazine, OK!, all the random rags that follow celebrities, get photos of them being “real” people, making up stories about them (like Jennifer Aniston getting married 7 or 8 times, the Obamas getting divorced because he’s gay, an so on). I was all over Kimye naming their kid North (still – seriously?), was heartbroken (twice) when Ryan Reynolds got married, following them on Twitter just to see if they’d say anything interesting that might give any kind of insight into what they’re really like. All I learned is that John Cusack is kind of out there.

I’m not even sure what got me thinking about it, but a few weeks ago I realized how ridiculous it all is. I have watched celebrity reality TV – Gene Simmons – The Family Jewels, Keeping Up With the Kardashians. It’s horrible, but you can’t tear your eyes away from it. I didn’t turn it on, but my stepfather really enjoyed it. It’s not real life. I don’t even know if the know what real life is.

The point is, it’s not my business. That Kim Kardashian was only married for 72 days or Britney Spears for 54 hours – that’s all their own shit. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live under the constant scrutiny. I would like to think I’d be the same person I am right now since I don’t tend to change much. (Seriously, I ran into a middle school friend after college and she commented on how I hadn’t changed… since I was 12. She’d probably say the same now and that was 20 years ago.) But, I can’t know that. I don’t think I have anything to hide, but Mr. Lyndsy may not want everyone knowing everything about us.

Being a celebrity doesn’t mean that their personal lives become our business. I’d be willing to bet my future lottery winnings that most people wouldn’t want to be watched 24/7, unable to do much of anything without some papparazzo following them, having everyone know when you have a pap smear or a prostate exam, speculating on your physical and emotional health.

So I’m giving it up. Hard as it may be, I’m no longer looking people upon IMdB to get whatever I can of their background (well, most of the time anyway, it’s not easy to break old habits). I don’t go to people.come to check out celeb photos. I don’t even think about picking up the magazines (not that I have a lot of access now anyway). If it’s relevant to the public sphere I’ll check it out. If not, it’s off limits.

0

Not a Lark

I know that moving 7 time zones takes some getting used to. I read and was advised that for each time zone you move, it takes 1 to 2 days to get adjusted. On the short end it could have taken a week to get used to being almost a working shift ahead of Florida, but at the longest 2 weeks.

It’s been a month and I am still not sleeping on what most people would consider a “normal” schedule. I’m not falling asleep until 4am or 5am and I don’t wake up until noon or 1pm. Some days I’m up for 23 hours and then I sleep for 3 or 4 hours, waking around noon or so. On those days I’m tired most of the day, but still can’t fall asleep before midnight or 1am.

I started doing some research on circadian rhythms and sleeping patterns. There are apparently three types of people: Larks, hummingbirds, and owls. Owls, more commonly known as “night owls,” are those who prefer to stay up past midnight and sleep in later. About 2 in 10 people are owls. Larks are the “morning people” – those who like to go to sleep early and wake up early. About 1 in 10 people is a lark. Hummingbirds are everything in between.

I don’t understand larks, not even a little bit. Since high school I have hated waking up in the morning. When in school or working a “normal” day job, I woke up as late as possible and rushed to get out of the house. I don’t drink coffee or read the paper,  and breakfast was usually eaten on the way to or at work.

But, I can wake up in the morning if I have to for work, appointments, etc. Right now I don’t have to. There is rarely a day that I have to be up before 4pm. I do wake up before then, but I don’t have a need to.

People have told me that there are health benefits to rising early, but I can’t find anything anywhere that supports that. I’ve read that there are all sorts of other benefits to rising early. I’ve also read that morning people are happier than night owls. That makes sense to me. If you take someone who goes to bed later and force them to get up in the morning, before they’re ready to be awake, and then subject them to people who are super excited about the new day, you’re bound to get some unhappy people. People who are chipper in the morning make me twitchy.

What I’m trying to figure out is whether I should be pushing myself to get up in the morning and do stuff. Doing something because I should without a good reason behind it is idiotic to me and I can’t make myself wake up for that. I just don’t know if it’s a sign that I lack discipline and if that should be the reason I force myself to become conscious before noon. Things like “seeing the sun rise,” “greeting the day,” and “luxuriating over breakfast” are not valid reasons to me. Also, I can see the sun rise too, just before I go to bed.

Thoughts?

0

Random Things #1

I anticipate posting a lot of randomness here, so I figured I would try numbering them. I think this will last for maybe two more posts before I forget where I am with the numbering. Anyway…

  1. I have managed to avoid screaming at people when Mr. Lyndsy and I go to the movies. People walk into crowded movies 45 minutes after they start  (thanks to reserving seats when you buy the tickets online) and spend a good portion of the movie talking to each other or doing something on their phones.
  2. I have handled more raw meat since I moved here than pretty much in my entire life. (No, that is not a sexual euphemism.) I hate handling raw meat, especially chicken. However, we are really enjoying chicken fried rice and it requires that I cut up the chicken. On a related note, I have managed to avoid chopping off any of my fingers in the process. Trust me that is no small feat.
  3. I figured out how to make the oven work. That sounds like it’s not a big deal, but I’m not used to cooking with gas. Mr. Lyndsy hadn’t used the oven before I got here (yeah, I have no idea how that hadn’t happened), and I really wanted to bake some cookies. We both stared at the oven expecting it to magically go on. He was getting ready to call his mom, when I figured out how to stick the fire stick into the oven while holding the temperature gauge down. I managed not to blow us up. And the cookies were delicious.
  4. I have learned that I can go 23 hours without sleeping before I am completely loopy. I don’t know if it’s that I’m not adjusting to the time change or if I just really hate mornings so much that the only way I can deal with being awake while they’re happening is if I haven’t been to sleep yet.  Not having to be at work in the mornings may not be the best thing to happen to me.
  5. Mr. Lyndsy and I are still happily married. The other day he said, sounding surprised, “We’re married!” Like he wasn’t there when we signed the paperwork?
  6. I have not yet melted despite the fact that the temperature is easily above 100 degrees during the day and we’ve gotten a nasty wave of humidity. I likened it to being stuck in some guy’s jock strap. Yes, it’s that unpleasant.
  7. I’m beyond excited that Cold Stone’s Cake Batter Ice Cream finally made its way here. Though I have acquired the ice cream attachment for my KitchenAid and I have discovered a recipe for cake batter ice cream. My dependence on Cold Stone for its deliciousness my finally be nearing an end. (Assuming I can actually get the proper drive assembly for the attachment that is. Apparently KitchenAid didn’t really mean it when they said that the attachment fit ALL stand mixers except two that no one has anymore.
  8. I make pretty damn good fresh pasta. Mr. Lyndsy and I ate 600 grams of it the other night. This does not bode well for my thighs or stomach (see above re: Cold Stone and cookies).
  9. Hanging laundry in your home to dry isn’t as weird as I thought it would be. Yeah, there aren’t any dryers here. So we hang the clothes in the living room to dry. We have racks, it’s not like I had to string up a line. Still, it’s a bit weird. On the plus side, things don’t seem like they’re fading quite as much.
  10. The people here really can’t drive. Amazingly enough I’ve only seen one accident and it wasn’t even while were on a major road. It was just a guy who can’t park his big ass SUV. Like two-thirds of the people here drive Toyota Land Cruisers. Given how most of them park and drive, they really ought to be driving a Fiat 500.

Land Cruiservs. Fiat 500

(Image)                                            (Image)

Anyway, wish me continued success on not setting our place on fire and keeping all my digits attached!

0

Racism is Just a Red Herring

Michael Brown’s death at the hands of a white law enforcement officer in the small town of Ferguson, Missouri got me thinking. The United States has a long and well-documented history with racism (depending on the history books you read anyway – there are some which suggests that the slaves were paid). Black Americans have long suffered at the hands of white law enforcement. Michael Brown’s death is (possibly) just the most recent. Do not misunderstand me – I am NOT in any way trying to minimize what happened. This is an issue that needs to be investigated for a number of reasons: Whether the officer should be tried for murder, use of force by police generally, and what constitutes a justifiable basis for the use of lethal force, etc.

But at the end of the day, it’s really not about racism. You read that right. It’s not about racism.

And it’s not about homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, xenophobia, ethnocentrism, nationalism, or anyone else we “fear” or hate.

Eradicating racism won’t suddenly bring about world peace. If everyone in the world suddenly decided Christianity or Judaism or Islam were where it’s at, people would still fight. If everyone came around to realize that sexuality is just one element of who a person is and doesn’t actually say anything about the kind of person anyone is… you know where I’m going with this.

I had the realization just this weekend (and I’m a little disappointed in myself for not seeing it sooner) that the real issue is the “us vs. them” mentality that is so pervasive. Our natural inclination to divide the world into ourselves with people like us (based on whatever criteria we choose) against everyone who doesn’t fit into the little circle we’ve created. Race is an easy one because it’s so obvious. You just take a look at your face in the mirror and look around you as you go about your day. Religion, sexuality, and ethnic origin are harder, but that doesn’t stop people from making assumptions based on stereotypes and limited exposure/experience.

It’s important to note that the little circles are of our own making. We create them. They have meaning only because we give them meaning.

The thing that amuses me the most is the assumption that if someone shares A characteristic with us, that characteristics B, C, and D will follow. But they don’t always. I took a class in law school called Race and the Law. For a portion of the course we were divided into smaller groups to make discussion easier. I was grouped with other black students. When the professor walked by our group she said something to the effect of, “Now you all can discuss affirmative action without having to argue over the need for it.” She just assumed that because I’m black that I support affirmative action. The thing is, I don’t.

I don’t know why we create these dichotomies. To make ourselves feel more comfortable? And if so, more comfortable with what? To try to understand ourselves? Attempting to define ourselves by the qualities of others strips us of our individuality. When we do it, it means that our definition of our self is limited by who we meet. If we don’t see it, we can’t be it. Are we so fulfilled in life that we think we can get by not understanding probably more than half of the rest of the world or more? Do we do it to distance ourselves from others so that we don’t feel saddened when bad things happen? Does that make it some kind of self-preservation? Do we do it to feel more self-important?

Do we need to figure out the why? Can we find our way to a solution without getting to the root of why? I don’t even come close to having an answer for that.

What’s obvious is that focusing on differences will always yield results. We’re all special snowflakes. There are literally billions of ways to come up with an us vs. them. Perhaps by focusing on what we have in common, recognizing that those commonalities are far more important than what divides us, can lead us to a better place. At the end of the day, we’re all seeking the same things – love, acceptance, and validation of who we are. We don’t need an us vs. them for that.

2

Perhaps a little psychotic

I can already tell I’m going to have trouble devoting time to writing. Some of it has been that I’m still adjusting to the time difference and occasionally been waking up only in time to check some email and then start working… at 4pm. We forced ourselves to get up yesterday in the morning just to see if we could make ourselves get onto some kind of more “normal” schedule and I had a manicure/pedicure today at 11am to continue that. Well, it’s 1:45am and I am still WIDE awake.

Some of it is that Mr. Lyndsy’s off work for 10 days and I love hanging out with him more than anything else. We play video games, watch TV shows on DVD, and watch movies or sporting events. We both love shopping, even grocery shopping, so we do that together too.

But I also know that I am just not great at committing myself to writing… unless there’s a community deadline. Like National Novel Writing Month. Do you see where this is going?

I love the pressure of 50,000 words in a month. And it’s in November! Where there is Thanksgiving and Black Friday shopping! And I did it while I was working full-time. Surely I can do it now.

If I were a writer who planned this wouldn’t be so easy. But, I’m not. I’ve tried that. It failed miserably.When I tried to plan, even the main ending of a story, the story went somewhere else. I don’t have kids, so this could be way off, but the way I see my stories is how I think parents see their kids, or at least the way I think my mom saw me. You have this idea how the story how your kid is supposed to grow up, but inevitably, the kid figures himself or herself out, and does what he or she wants to do because it’s what he or she is interested in. It may not be anything you’ve ever conceived. So, rather than try to sculpt this into something, I’m going to let the pottery make itself.

The good part about this plan is that since I’m not counting on a publisher to like me, I don’t have to worry about my book being any one way or another. I won’t publish it if it’s total shit, but at the same time, before it can be published it has to be written.

Beginning August 1st, I will write 50,000 words per month. For those of you who aren’t crazy enough to have tried National Novel Writing Month, this means an average of 1,667 words per day. Wish me luck. Or, if you want to be really helpful, leave some story ideas below!

2

What Dream May Come

I don’t know if it’s the jet lag or just that I go to bed exhausted, but my sleep and dreams have been seriously weird. Two nights ago it was that I was pregnant, and someone else had to tell me that I was. It all came about because we were celebrating a friend’s wedding (who got married in real life quite a few years ago) and she was pregnant and starting to show. Someone looked at me and said, “Well, you’re pregnant too,” and I was like, “Huh, what? No, I’m not.” They dragged me to a doctor they knew who performed some kind of needle test to tell me I was, in fact, pregnant. I still didn’t believe it, so my friends dragged me to a gas station store and made me take a box pregnancy test. It had like 5 different colors on it and a plus/minus sign thing. I claimed the test was broken when it turned up two plus signs. It went on like that, with me continuing to deny and making up reasons why the test wasn’t valid. I got nothing.

This morning I woke up (at least I think I really woke up), opened my eyes, saw Mr. Lyndsy, and just about screamed. Apparently I’m still not used to sleeping with Mr. Lyndsy. It may be that most of the time he’s usually at work before I wake up. This won’t always be the case, but right now, as I try to adjust to this new timezone, it will be. Or that was just part of a dream. I’m a little freaked out that I’m having trouble differentiating fantasy and reality.

After that, I went for a run. I was pretty proud of myself because running is most definitely not my thing. And I was in nice bright neon colors so everyone would be able to see me and not run into me with their cars or bikes. I even managed a portion uphill. I ran by some people I knew so I waved to them and kept on running.

I was completely worn out by the time I got back. Of course, it was only when I got back that I realized I’d been dreaming the entire time. Something should have struck me as odd pretty quickly. One, I live in a REALLY flat part of the world right now. Two, I was running outside in shorts which is completely not okay here since my super sexy knees were showing. Three, I ran by people I know who live in Florida and Washington and have never been as close as they were in my dream. Oh, and four, I WAS RUNNING. I can barely walk right now, let alone try to add speed.

The best part was that in the dream, I went around telling people how wild it was that I had the dream and how ridiculous it was that I didn’t  realize it until I got back from the run! I was even thinking about posting it on Facebook and what I would say.

After that, Mr. Lyndsy came in to kiss my goodbye before leaving for work. One of the few things I require of him is that every morning, before he leaves, he has to give me a kiss, even if I’m asleep. Well, this morning I was stuck in some dream/reality netherworld, and it wasn’t him giving me a kiss, but my mother. Let’s not tell him about that.

I’d been getting a little better about waking up earlier, but that’s all gone to hell in a hand basket now. I was tired well before I went to sleep last night. Maybe if I had gone to sleep when my body was zonking out on me instead of continuing to play Lego Batman with Mr. Lyndsy, I wouldn’t have been so out of this morning.

I’ve always been interested in dream interpretation, but honestly, I’ve got nothing on the dreams I’ve had recently. In search of an answer, I turned to the Google. Pregnancy dreams are usually about giving birth to some kind of creativity. So, based on the dream, I have something creative percolating inside, but I need other people to tell me it’s there?

Running when not being chased is apparently a good thing. When running alone, it indicates motivation to reach your goals and eventual success. Perhaps this makes sense since I have recently been outlining my goals? The two dreams taken together mean that I’ll have success in the creative goals I’ve outlined?

Anyone have thoughts?

3

Becoming Super Lyndsy, Part III: Professional

One of the main reasons behind moving to Qatar (besides getting to be with Mr. Lyndsy all the time) was that I would have pretty much an entire workday to pursue my own professional goals and hobbies. My job is based in Florida, which is 7 or 8 hours behind the time here., and I only do it part-time. I have from when I wake up until 3pm or 4 pm to work on whatever I feel like. And what I feel like is writing. A lot.

My first focus is a new project I’m working on with a couple friends. It’s still in the developmental stages so I won’t say much about it here except that it is going to be awesome. If you enjoy writing and you have an opinion, you should write for us! I’ll be laying out more details about asterisk* in the future, so stay tuned.

I also want to spend more time writing here. I miss blogging and when I don’t do it, something is wrong with my life. Now that I have more time, I want to write more. I also want to engage more with the people who read it. I find people fascinating and I would rather spend time talking to people than doing pretty much anything else. I went through a really introspective period and I feel like I lost some of my funny along the way. It’s coming back, slowly, and I want to share.

Another major goal is to write, edit, and self-publish a novel. I’ve written several over the last few years during National Novel Writing Month. I really enjoy the pressure of writing so many words in such a short period of time. However, I don’t have a lot of interest in editing those stories. I would rather start fresh with something new. Trouble is, I don’t know that I have a story or characters running around in my head right now. I’m a discovery writer, which means that I don’t do a much planning before I write. The words just jump out of my head through my fingers. Things have still been pretty hectic for me so I’m hoping that once my life calms down and I slow down, new ideas will swim their way back into my brain.

I started a project last summer called Living Through Love. Unfortunately when work got crazy and my health took a dive, I didn’t have the energy for both. Obviously the job that paid me so I could live took priority. But I feel it’s really important that I get that idea out there and really flesh it out for people, so I am definitely going to get back into it. It just feels right to do it.

I created a schedule for my days to make sure all of this stuff can get done, but naturally I left it in Florida when I moved. Recreating it won’t be a problem, I just have to do it. It would also be nice if the jet lag would leave me the hell alone so I can actually wake up during morning hours.

At any rate, I hope you’ll keep reading this blog. Despite what it may seem, coming up with posts takes a little while, so I hope I’m at least somewhat entertaining. If not, just send me nasty emails and comments and tell me to get it together.

(That was a joke.)

(Sort of.)