Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Peck Peck Peck Peck

Hi there, loyal readers. All three of you. If there are even three of you left at this point. Hi. Hi. Hi.

I made a truly half-assed attempt to participate in NaNoWri Mo this year, which failed on Day 3. I know my limitations, and daily writing is one of them. Truth be told, though, I started running a few months ago for reasons that defy explanation, and so I have been spending most of my free time arguing with myself on trails and tracks and dirt roads. It's actually pretty good for the purposes of diffusing anger and frustration.

Which I have had a lot of lately. More than normal. And this particular anger and frustration, well, the new part anyway, derives from something that I cannot actually talk about. I mean, I suppose that I could if I so chose, but I do not so choose at this particular moment in time. Vague enough, yeah?

I can tell you that it has something to do with the whole #metoo movement and dug up a whole bunch of old traumas for me, then revealed some new old traumas that I hadn't really ever fully appreciated for how horrible they were, and there's a whole lot of undeserved guilt heaped on to my shoulders for all of it, not that any of it was my fault, but guilt doesn't actually care about any of that so here we are.

I am generally a very forthcoming person, but this isn't something I am ready to talk about, and to be honest, I am not sure that I ever will be. It has put me in a very odd place in several aspects of my life, and I question who I am actually trying to protect by keeping mostly quiet about it, though recognizing that it's mostly me I'm trying to save right now.

Hence, the running.

There's something deeply therapeutic about pushing your body to its limits, where you feel like you are simultaneously going to vomit and become euphoric. It's weird. I once vowed never to become the person who talks about runner's highs, but I didn't realize back then just how much I would need them someday. So, past me....you were wrong and an asshole. Current me, still an asshole, offers to enlighten you a bit.

I do a lot of monologuing on these runs. Obviously.

On top of all that drama and literally everything that is involved in a house with one cat, three dogs, and seven people, three of which are teenagers, today should be my father's 66th birthday but he only made it to 58.

He said he never wanted to get old. Hated aging in general. Thanks to decades of smoking and whatever environmental exposures he picked up along the way, cancer made sure he didn't get old. I don't recommend it, though. I was there with him at the end, and believe me when I tell you that I wouldn't wish all that he went through on anyone.


I promised myself I wasn't going to write anything sappy about him this year, and here I am starting to do it. Blech.

So, I guess I will tell you all the story that I told my Facebook friends a few weeks back. It's funny and weird and will forever ruin something for you. Basically, it is the best kind of story.

Anyhow. When I was a teenager, my father started telling me and anyone who would listen a story. He'd tell it every time a particular song came on the radio or played in some tv show or movie. Like, he would literally stop what he was doing to engage in this story telling journey over and over again for the sheer joy of watching me cringe.

You see, it was the song that he swore I was conceived to.

Bow chicka wow wow.

And he wanted everyone to know.

A few weeks ago, on the anniversary of my mom's death, I was in the grocery store. I had made a conscious decision to avoid music for the whole day because of the cosmic radio gods that like to torture me when I need it least (or most depending on who you ask, I suppose). I had been fighting back tears most of the morning when I found myself reaching for a can of chili beans, and heard the opening notes of the song. That song. The magic one that made me.

I started laughing (more of a chortle) in the middle of the grocery store.

If I told you that it happened again last week, in the same aisle of the store, as I was again grabbing a can of chili beans, would you believe me?

Well, it did. I don't actually care if you believe me or not. The cosmic radio gods know.

Since I know that you are all dying to know what song it was, I shall tell you and forever ruin it for you as well.

Afternoon Delight.

Skyrockets in flight. ***pew***

Anyhow, I have a million things I need to do on this Tuesday, and I wanted to say hello. I needed to write. And even though I didn't really tell you all much about anything that is going on, I feel better. And I ruined a song for you all. So there's that.

Until next time...

Friday, November 2, 2018

Day 2. It's a strong start. Let's pretend to be optimistic.

I've got a ton of stuff I need to write for work, so this is all that is happening here today. For now. Might be back later....

Thursday, November 1, 2018

NaNoWriMo maybe but probably not

I have forty five minutes to do this before I need to leave for work, but the four year old and the ten year old will be home any second, so this might end up being the shortest NaNoWriMo submission in the history of the universe.

Then again, I managed not to blog at all last month.

I've been busy. Not just busy, but like the soul crushing kind of busy, interspersed with all kinds of old traumas resurfacing in ways that have made me nauseous and anxious and angry and more. I'm not talking about any of that stuff because I just can't. It is so awful and gross and the worst part of really old trauma is that your brain does a really fantastic job of suppressing a lot of it until and unless something dredges it up from the murky pond bottom and exposes it for what it truly was. And that happened for me this past month.

That, and my general life approach for assuming the best about people was wrong. Really, really wrong, and yeah, that's about that old trauma thing too. Suffice to say that I'm not talking about it much with very many people, but that there are a few people that I have opened up to about it all because I need to talk to someone. 

It just sucks.

That, and we've had a lot of health care stuff going on here. Plus Halloween costume building and a kid applying to college and a whole bunch of life. 

I don't get to even touch the computer much unless I am prepping for work or editing pictures, which is also actually work but doesn't feel as much like work because I love it. I have been doing a lot of senior photo shoots lately and I think they are one of my new favorite type of session. 

Anyhow, I don't really having anything shareable that is super profound at the moment, but I wanted to force myself to make some words appear on the screen because I am trying to convince myself to actually DO this challenge this year since I really DO have a book I am working on, and so even if I am not writing here, I hope that I am actually writing.

I hope you all are well. 


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