Emotional Orphan

Thoughts for the Week:

Water should not be cloudy and fizzle. (I almost drank it)

Sometimes you need to remember there is an and, instead of always an either or.

When a leaf smacks you in the forehead, you best be paying attention.

Sometimes we choose to walk with others, and sometimes we choose to walk alone.  It is when we walk alone that we must remember that we made the choice to do so. 

God does not make broke things.  (from tonight’s meditation)

Tasty Tidbit #1: Turn Right

            For those of you who having been keeping up with this blog you might have noticed that I have been having some interesting times lately.  After a couple of good talks with friends and the weekend so close that it makes me want to skip class tomorrow, I am on the road to recentering.  I have started meditating which is both good and annoying.  I feel like I am starting from square one.  My mind wanders all over the place.  The first meditation I did I was wondering why I couldn’t hear anything or why the answers were grabbled.  I would ask a yes or no question and hear both answers.  As I wondered about this it popped in my head that I needed to breath. Being a smart ass to the Universe is one of my talents so I said I am breathing (yes I talk to the voices in my head, who doesn’t?)  I was advised to take a minimum (because lately I need more than the minimum) of three deep breaths and then ask, the answer will come out more clearly.  I have to admit it works, although it usually takes about five or six good deep breaths to get me started.  One example of this working was on Tuesday.  Anyone who goes to Austin Peay knows about the parking and traffic issues.  A little slice of hell to go with your tuition costs.  I was sitting in traffic waiting my turn to dodge through cars and pedestrians when that little voice said turn right.  I didn’t want to turn right, I wanted to turn left, but I took a couple of deep breaths and listened and found a back way home that is very simple and there is no traffic at all.  This morning I woke up expecting to feel terrified because today was my poetry workshop day.  As I meditated taking a dozen deep breaths a song started playing in my head, well the line from a song anyway, “Everything’s going to be all right.”  I remember thinking; I hope to God you know what you’re talking about. Of course it did.  I try to keep the breathing thing in mind now, especially since I have been having problems with panic attacks.  The breathing helps.  When I start to feel the anxiety taking over I start breathing.  I don’t care where I am, I just close my eyes and start breathing slow and deep.  I’m just so happy about hearing that little voice again, even if it tells me to turn right, when I think I want to turn left. 

Tasty Tidbit #2:  Not a Poet

            I have mentioned in at least one previous blog that I like poetry and that I would love to learn how to write poetry better.  I decided that this was the semester to take the poetry class offered at APSU.  Then during the first workshop I realized something, I’m not a poet.  I don’t get poetry and I’m not sure how to get myself through the next thirteen weeks.  Oh, I’ll get through it; I would just prefer not to feel humiliated every time we walk into workshop.  In my creative writing classes, there is always a weak writer, someone who loves to write but hasn’t figured out how to do it yet.  I’m that person in poetry class and it’s not an easy chair to sit in.  I’m embarrassed about my poetry, it sounds like a five year old clobbered it together for me two minutes before class starts.  The sad part is how much time I spend on my poems.  I spend hours, literally hours working on them.  I read them over and over.  I walk into class and they sound like crap.  I’m not just being a drama queen here; I mean they literally sound so pitiful.  The worst part of it is I now have to finish this class and get over it.  I have to deal with the fact that I pretty much suck at writing poetry.  The other nine students in my class weave these amazing poems.  They are all different, but they are all beautiful.  I don’t get most of them, but that doesn’t take away from the obvious talent the writers have.  I have been working this week to find a way to change my attitude about poetry class, but today again in workshop I heard myself explain that I’m just not good at poetry and that the poem I wrote was hard for me to write.  This is probably another one of those perspective changing things but for now I think I’ll stick to prose.

Emotional Orphan

            I decided earlier in the week that I wanted to write this week’s blog about parents.  More specifically my parents.  I wrote the first draft in my head, as I tend to do, and then started to write the second draft, but something was missing.  It felt whiny and overplayed.  I know I have talked a lot about my father in past tidbits and blogs, but not much about my mother.  I have been extra emotional lately, although better than the previous two weeks.  I still feel this intense need to be nurtured; the problem is I don’t know where to turn for it.  So this blog is going to be a little bouncy as I take you through my week’s worth of blog thoughts that began on Sunday afternoon, when we here in Clarksville got some rain, but in Dover where I was with my mother it was hailing and storming like a bitch.

Sunday Afternoon

            My mother is creative.  She can paint anything, sew anything, and craft pretty much anything.  I’m not sure there isn’t anything crafty that she can’t do.  Lately she has been into scrapbooking.  There is a store near her that is a big scrapbooking store and she found out they have Christmas card classes.  There is one a month and she wants me to go.  I don’t have any interest in making Christmas cards.  I only send about three out a year so I don’t feel a big need to have them around, a box will last me a solid four or five years.  But this is my mother and I like spending quality time when I can, so I say I’ll go to the class.  Ben left for Georgia Sunday morning and I left in the afternoon for round two of card making.  While we are on the third card it starts down pouring.  All I can think about is that I left my windows open at home, with a fan in one of them.  At first I say it’s no big deal, there’s nothing I can do about it anyway, than it starts to hail.  The anxiety kicks in and I have to breath.  I tell my mom I think I need to leave.  To which she answers, but I drove you.  Fuck.  I forgot.  I had dropped my Jeep off at my mom’s house and she drove out here.  I apologize to my mother, I know she wants to stay and finish the other two cards, but now I’m worried about my animals.  What if the hail tears a hole in the screen and the cats get out?  I give it a minute and repeat my request to leave, again apologizing.  She gives in this time and the lady gives us the kits for the remaining cards and mom drives me back to my Jeep.  I drove home and got there just minutes before it started raining in Clarksville.  I was glad that my animals were safe and that the inside of my house wasn’t soaking wet, but I couldn’t get the look on my mom’s face out of my head.  Late that night I was still thinking about it when I was trying to get to sleep.  This is what I wrote in my journal.

“My mother feeling like she had wasted her time and her money looks at me.  I was always such a disappointment.”

Tuesday

            Tuesday’s and Thursday’s I spend about six hours in the library doing homework.  Today I am finished with my homework and I am just sitting and staring at the wall.  I’m thinking about my parents.  I’m thinking about how I was never good enough from the very start.  I think about my mom telling me how both my father and her wanted a first born boy.  I think about the pictures in my mother’s house, the one’s of my brother.  I think about how I desperately want my parents to love me, to treat me like a daughter who is loveable.  Then I wonder if they are capable of loving me that way.  I go home after school and try to cry, but the tears just refuse to show up.  There is just this burning ache in my chest that I can’t get to go away.  I can’t cry.

Wednesday

            Wednesday I began the composition of the first draft of this blog.  I talked about how competitive my mom always was with me.  How she was jealous when I got boobs (big ones anyway, she had what I consider to be a perfect C cup until a few years ago), and how we were always competing for who lost the most weight when I was in high school.  How there were so many times when I had to play the mother in our relationship.  I talk about the fact that I can’t talk about another woman with motherly like affection because she gets jealous and pissed off.  I talk about how much it hurts that both of my parents know that I write a blog, but as far as I know, neither of them read it.  I talk about how pushed aside I felt when my little brother showed up.  How my father would scream at me when I asked him to help me with my math homework, so I stopped asking and took the F’s.  I talked about the last walk I ever took with my father, the one where he outlined my life including which college I would be going to and I told him I wasn’t going and he could go to hell if he thought I was going to live his dreams for him.  I think about my mother convincing me to join the Air Force and the disaster it lead to.  I think about all these things.  I feel like an orphan, but both my parents are alive.  I am an emotional orphan and I feel like I am starving to death.  Not from lack of food but from lack of nurturing.  Wednesday night I finally cry, the burning in my chest eases.

Thursday

            After my cry last night I decided I would be a bad student and not spend all day cooped up in the library.  I would go run some errands that I needed to run and worry about finding a parking space later.  It rained again Wednesday night and this morning was crisp and beautiful.  Some people would have called it dreary, but there was something shiny and beautiful in it to me.  I decided that I would go to school and I would study.  I drove out to school, parked, and started walking to the library which is where I spend the majority of my time.  I was only about a quarter of the way there when I just dead stopped.  I wasn’t thinking about stopping, I just did.  I stood on the sidewalk trying to figure out why I stopped, did I leave a candle lit at home?  Had I forgotten a book?  As I stood there I realized that I didn’t want to be there, it was that simple.  So without thinking about, which I’ve decided is the best way to follow spiritual guidance, I jumped back in the Jeep.  I wasn’t sure where I was going; I didn’t feel a need to go home. It popped in my head that I would like to enjoy today, the weather so crisp and fresh, so I decided to head over to the Greenway Park and take a walk. 

            When I got to the park I thought about what I said to myself this morning in the mirror.  I said, “You sure are putzing today.”  I have a little saying that I recite in the mornings from a book called The Seven Whispers, and I’ve listed my little prayer here for you.

Please help me to…

Maintain peace of mind (theme of the month)

Move at the pace of guidance (today’s theme)

Practice certainty of purpose

Surrender to surprise

Ask for what I need and offer what I can

Love the folks in front of me

Return to the world 

            When I meandered into the park this morning that second one was on my mind, I thought maybe this is what spirit wanted me to do right now.  I moved slowly in the park, trying to drink the air.  It smelled so good.  I stopped to touch rocks and trees and moss.  There were snails all over the place and I stopped to watch them too.  For anyone who doesn’t know snails are pretty much sacred to me.  A weird thing to consider sacred I know but they have always been present in my life, in fact in high school I made what I called a snail god for my first stain glass project.  Finding or seeing a snail or its shell has always been a sign that I’m on the right track.  I watched the snails wondering how many other people saw them or if they were just there for me, like a special gift.

            Being a “dreary” day, there were very few people out on the trail, which I enjoyed immensely.  I walked the entire length of the 2.6 mile trail enjoying every minute, appreciating every breath of fresh air and yes talking to Spirit about my parents.

            At first I was still in my original blog mode, the one were my parents simply didn’t love me.  There is a part in Sue Monk Kidd’s book, The Secret Life of Bees, where the main character Lily talks about how it was too much if both her parent’s hadn’t loved her.  “Some things were not possible in this world.  Children did not have two parents that refused to love them.  One, maybe, but for pity’s sake, not two.”  If you haven’t read this book I highly recommend it.  That’s how I felt.  I just couldn’t figure out how I could be so broken, the way I put it is how God could have made me so broken, that my parents couldn’t figure out how to love me.  I thought about these things as I walked up the trail.  There was something in me that little voice probably that was nudging me to change my perspective.  To look at my parents as humans.  I told the little voice that I did see my parents as humans; they were just humans who couldn’t seem to figure out how much I needed them to actually be my parents, even at 32.  I wanted to see through the eyes of love but sometimes I felt like there was no damn excuse why they had acted like they had or were still acting.  Even though my mom said it was okay about the card class I could see and hear the disappointment in her.  I had done it again, disappointed her, when was I going to get it together? 

            My walking and my conversation continued and as it did things that I wrote in my first draft began to untangle a bit.  The thing that felt the strongest was the question I had asked myself on Wednesday, were my parents capable of loving me in the capacity that I needed them to love me?  I thought about that question for a long time.  I didn’t feel like I was asking for anything extraordinary, I just wanted to be loved.  I just wanted to be good enough, even if it was just for a moment.  I figured that if I felt it for a moment that moment would preserve me for the rest of my life.  My next thought was that I didn’t want to write all of this stuff and have people think what horrible parents I have.  They aren’t horrible; I just honestly am beginning to believe they don’t know what to do with me.  After my walk I also believe that they have so much trouble loving me because they have so much trouble loving themselves.  I know they are human.  I know that children do not come with manuals and I know there is a lot I don’t understand about being a parent because I’m not one.  I try to understand it from their point of view, but it’s hard.

            As I walk the wind seems to pick up each time I hit a clear thought or at least a thought that has some clear thinking behind it.  As I walk I remind myself that (according to my beliefs anyway) I picked these two to be my parents.  I wanted to learn something from them.  I choose them with clear intent, when things were much less complicated, when I got the whole picture.  So what was I trying to learn and why?  The answer seems simple.  I must learn to love myself.  I feel it’s more than just simply having a love for oneself; this is an even deeper more fierce love that I must protect.  I wonder if that’s why have Athena sitting on my desk, a gift from a dear friend.  Is she here to show me (through wisdom), my own inner strength?  The protection bit comes in because I tend to give all of myself away until I am completely spent and most of the time I don’t notice until things start erupting around me. 

            I realize that I love my parents, even though they have trouble doing the same for me.  I realize that in a way I need to be my own mother and my own father.  By the time this realization comes I have made it to the end of the trail and started back, my pace is quicker now.  I will have to tend to myself with great awareness and balance.  It always seems to come back to those two for me.  Be aware, be balanced.  As I walked I laughed to myself and wondered out loud if that was what I came to learn this lifetime.  At that moment a leaf hit me forehead.  I mean it swooped out of the tree and attacked my forehead.  It was a tulip poplar leaf, yellow and brown with two tiny holes in it like someone had been having lunch before it flew in my face.  I got the message though.  I would tend to loving myself.  I would find a way to forgive my parents for not being parents or at least not the parents I feel I need in my life.  I will love them and I will forgive myself for being harsh to them and not learning this lesson sooner.  I would change my perspective about my parents and I would love myself.  I twirled the leaf in my hand and then released it onto the waters of the Red River and watched it float and bounce among the rocks. 

Saying Thank You

Tonight is brought to you by:  A Wildberry Mojito, A Large Glass of Tattoo Rum and Coke, and a piece of string cheese.  Have fun!

Tasty Tidbit #1:  Fridge Quotes

            As my readers might have noticed I like to add quotes into my blogs.  Sometimes funny, sometimes a bit more serious.  Tonight’s quote section is actually from my fridge door.  I have a bunch of those magnetic words that you put together to make different statements.  Good times.

I believe in you

I will always love you

Chaos has truth

Serenity is balance and wisdom

Transform dreams

Inspire courage

Remember compassion

Laugh, hope and heal

Saying Thank You

            The past couple of weeks have not been a lot of fun for me. Although I do my best to keep this blog upbeat and focused on the good and positive, I find it important to recall that old adage, shit happens.  For about a month shit has been happening, not snowballing necessarily, just one thing after another.  Don’t worry we’ll get to the positive stuff a little later.  First we get to paddle through the river of pooh, the one that will get us where we want to be rather than were we are.  Let’s not even get into the “you’re exactly where you are supposed to be,” just yet.

            Today a good friend reminded me that it’s all about perspective.  Perspective is something that’s been missing for me for the duration of this little life test.  I lost perspective, lost trust in myself, and basically lost myself.  I’ve gone so far off my center that I don’t really remember what the center looks like or how to get back there.  I stopped meditating, stopped eating healthy, stopped paying attention, and stopped listening.  In other words I went totally human and forgot that I am a spiritual being.  I forgot that I have help if I ask for it, and I forgot to pay attention to what the Universe was trying to show me.  I was stumbling through the darkness, looking for something but I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for. 

            Now I might have mentioned in previous blogs the fact that we learn primarily from what we tend to term “the bad stuff.”  Many of those “bad” experiences carry some of life’s greatest lessons, if we are willing to learn.  I might also have mentioned previously that the point is not just to experience the lesson and learn from it, but get to the point where we ask for the lesson.  I guess saying, Bring it Universe, is pretty much the equivalent of asking for it.  I asked and then forgot to listen.  If I had listened I would have been prepared for the challenges that came up in my life this past month, I would have been able to handle them, but for some reason I decided to ignore the messages, that turned into outright warnings, that turned into, sucks to be you.  Not that I think the Universe has it out for us, we do have it out for ourselves, and we do it so well too.  At least I know I do. 

            I spent a year getting myself to the place where I wanted to be.  I exercised, meditated, spent time writing, and began eating healthy, along with several other things.  I stripped my life down and rebuilt it from the ground up.  For months during this transformation whenever I or someone else would do a tarot card reading, one of two cards, and most of the time both, came up in a reading.  The first was the Emperor.  To me, and this is not an exclusive definition by any means, that card means foundation.  The second card that kept coming up was, Death.  That card usually freaks people out.  Thanks to charlatans who like to tell people that they are going to die when this card comes up, or that someone they love is going to kick it.  The death card, again in my opinion, is a sign of transformation.  The old butterfly cliché comes into play here.  “Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over…it became a butterfly.”  I knew I was going through some heavy transitions so the card made sense to me.  I was working on becoming the butterfly.  To do so, I needed a strong foundation.  So I worked to build just that.  I guess a part of me wasn’t ready to take flight yet, because I find myself right back where I started, or at least close to that point.

            I don’t know when the breakdown of my habits began.  One moment I was putting organic in my mouth, the next I was putting as much as I could into my mouth.  I stopped going to the gym.  I backed down from my newly formed foundation because that foundation didn’t match with the people I loved.  I bowed my head and said yes of course I’ll do it that way.  Somewhere in there I stopped meditating, what was the point anyway?  I stopped writing for awhile, didn’t see much point in that, and somewhere along this dark road I lost the trust I had in myself.

            This lack of trusting myself has been reflected back to me in a couple of huge ways.  The first was when my husband and I had a major breakdown in our finances.  Used to having extra money, I kept allowing us to spend the way we had been when Ben was deployed, and then one day I didn’t have enough money to pay a bill, so I rolled it over to the next pay check.  The next pay period two bills and so forth.  I didn’t tell my husband for the first couple of months.  At first I thought I could just fix the problem.  I didn’t redo our budget until it was too late.  For three days I heard, “go check the bank account” but I couldn’t make myself do it because I knew what I would find there.  Playing the ostrich did not help me at all.  By the time I looked, of course we were in the hole.  Thank God for earth angels or we would have been completely screwed.

            While going into the hole was a terrible experience, and a flashback of troubles I had with finances when I was younger, I have to say in its own terrible way it was a good thing.  It made me stop completely.  I got smacked in the face so hard by that 2 x4 that it took me a good week to get my bearings.  This is a part of what I wrote in my journal just after this happened.

“Today I was slapped in the face.  Today I was stripped to my core.  It’s not over yet, but the healing has already begun…some part of me is altered.  Message unequivocally received.  I will pray that I have learned the lesson… I do not hate or fear the blow I have been dealt, I only fear I will not learn from it.”

            It’s strange to me that at my most vulnerable point, at my darkest hour, I can still reach for the lesson.  I wonder if that is being spiritual or just completely insane?  The point is that the blow I was dealt smacked me into my senses, at least for a moment.  I redid our budget, so that we had a true bearing of how much money we had coming and going.  I also set myself some goals, something I hadn’t done in God knows how long.  I reorganized myself and started again.

            Then school came around.  The first day I came home crying.  Then the second, then the third, every day was one stressed misery after another.  My schedule got changed, changed again, and then changed a final time today.  The reason it got changed is due to the panic attack that I had at school.  I damn near ran to the register’s office to change my schedule.  All I could do was pray for help and try to breath.  I was crashing hard and fast.  I didn’t know how to get out.  But I got out.  My prayers were answered, things snapped firmly into place once I gave in and listened.  Everything fit together perfectly and although I don’t completely feel the weight lifted from my shoulders I know it will be. 

            I was granted some time with my friends tonight.  I have missed them dearly.  I was concerned that I would turn into an energy sucking vampire after all the experiences I have been through in such a short time period.  To save on negativity I have only mentioned these main two, but believe when I say it was ugly there for a moment.  Tonight, my friends nudged me back to my center.  They listened to my stories and offered sound, compassionate advice.  They did not tell me I was stupid for the mistakes I made, nor did they in any way cut me down.  Instead they gently turned me, as good friends do, to look at the brighter side.  To find the light within, better to remember that the light was there and to trust it.  We all go through things in life.  Some of them seem life threatening, some feel humiliating, and some make us feel trapped unable to escape.  I feel I have dealt with all three of these lately, but with just a couple of hours talk, my friends were able to pull me back.  I am not at my center, but I am closer.  I know that my center is there and that “this too shall pass.”  I will find my center again, brush off my foundation, and rebuild.  This time, hopefully, it will be stronger, and wiser for the experiences I have gone through.  But the real point of this blog tonight is not to whine about my problems in life, we all have those.  My point tonight is to say the words that I feel we don’t say enough.  I want to say thank you.  Thank you to all of my friends who are there whether life was joyful or crashing down around me, who are willing to listen, who will help without judgment, who pray for me, who lift me up, and who encourage me and support me.  Without you I could not find my center.  I can only hope that one day I will have the honor of helping you.  Much love to you all and thank you.

Foundations

Welcome to the 40th posting of 'Ritas and Rants!

Tasty Tidbit #1:  Fabulous Quotes from Bread Making Day

It’s your duty to be dirty. 

At least there’s no stooge here.

Thank you for not being stooges.

Squash Gone Wild

The Butt Loaf

I like mine thick.

I’ll go deep.

It’s ALIVE!!

On a side note, I wrote these on the back of a DQ receipt.  At the top it says, “Hot Sensations!”

Tasty Tidbit #2:  Circled

            Ah yes, almost finished with the first week of the fall semester.  We couldn’t start the semester without some good old fashion drama.  For some reason English professors seem to like to put desks in a circle.  It’s supposed to be good for workshops and discussions, great.  I’m not a big fan of the circle, because it’s hard to get in and out, plus it takes up time at the end of the class to get things straightened up again.  I was discussing this point with a fellow student and she was telling me that after our first class, in which we did not put the desk back in rows, the professor that had the room after us was pretty unhappy.  Since we both dislike the circle we decided to leave the desks in rows until the professor showed up.  Perhaps he had talked with the other professor and would leave off putting the desks in a circle, one can hope anyway.  We had barely come to this decision when another student came in the room.  She immediately let us know that we needed to put the desks in a circle.  We explained our position and the position of the professor in the following class.  She didn’t care.  She talked over us and began shoving desks around us forming the circle.  At one point she asked me how many people were in the class, when I told her, she told me I was wrong and picked out her own number.  I wondered why she had bothered to ask me at all (turns out I was closer with my number than she was, ha, ha, mature I know).  We watched as she put the circle into place.  Once the desks were situated, many so close together that you couldn’t fit a notebook between the desks, the other student and I turned our desks into the inevitable circle.  The other woman however would not quit.  She went on and on, basically about how she was right about the professor wanting the desks in a circle.  Her first mistake was coming in and giving two women twice her age orders.  Her second mistake was that she kept talking.  The term ass-kisser came to mind.  When the professor finally showed up he was grateful the desks were in circle position and of course you know who piped up.  The woman I had originally talked with looked at me from across the circle.  I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.  It’s going to be an interesting semester. 

Foundations

            I’m not sure where this blog is going tonight.  With the school semester just starting I haven’t had a lot of time to think about what I want to write this evening.  Things started off slightly upside down, which is normal for me, but it looks like things are smoothing out.  Tonight on my way home from school and paying the rent, I found myself noticing things I had never noticed before.  I know I talked about taking the time to really see your environment in a previous blog and I certainly don’t want to beat a dead horse to death.  So instead of telling you that tonight for the first time I noticed there is a side road named Hidden Spring, that I saw five U-haul trucks, New Hampshire, Maine, Newfoundland and I can’t remember the other two.  I won’t tell you about the large teddy bear on the side of the road marking where a child had been hit by a car or the golden brown corn across the street that is already being cut down.  I won’t tell you how glad I am that August is over, and that twelve months is too soon to see it again.  Instead I decided to tell you about an experience I had doing something called Morning Pages.  I wanted to tell you how I found my foundation.

            Morning pages come from a book called The Artist Way, by Julia Cameron.  This is not a book just for writers; this is a book for everyone in every walk of life, no matter what you call art.  One of the practices that Julia teaches is Morning pages.  Every morning you write three pages, doesn’t matter what you write, the point is to write three pages.  For me these pages serve as a dumping and a birthing ground.  For the most part they are the former, a place where the extra trash in my mind can find a home, a way for me to unblock so I can be clear and write.  At first I hated morning pages.  Hated them.  I grumbled, kicked my heels, bitched and complained that I “had” to do them, but I did do them.  I wasn’t perfect, I didn’t do them everyday like the program suggests, I missed a couple days or sometimes had to write them at night.  Despite my grumbling I did them and they started to work, which of course if when I stopped writing them.

            I put the stupid pages in a box and went about my business.  About a year later I decided to try again.  Again I wrote three pages a day, sometimes just writing blah, blah, blah to get through.  Sometimes I would write really big to fill the page up faster.  Again I noticed that after doing the pages for awhile something was changing, and again I stopped.  This time it took a lot less time for that “something” to happen.  A few months later I was desperately seeking a way to improve my writing.  I stumbled on the book while I was unpacking and setting up my meditation room, but it took awhile for me to get started on the pages again.  On August 11^th, the same day that I started my goal lists to move toward my dreams, I also began my morning pages.  I haven’t missed a day yet. 

            It was two days ago, not even a month after I started doing my morning pages again, that “something” happened and this time I didn’t run away.  I hope you all aren’t holding out for anything too profound, although it was profound for me, it might not have the same impact for you.  It’s a bit like trying to explain a deeply spiritual experience, something is lost in the translation, but I will do my best to share with you. 

            The first couple of morning pages were much the same as before.  Basic mind dumping stuff.  After those first days I noticed lines of poetry, and story ideas popping into the pages as I wrote.  In fact one of the story ideas I will be using for my first story due in my fiction workshop class.  I continued to write and things continued to be mundane and then pop something would show up on the page.  Then on the 30^th, something popped through that was altogether unexpected.  I was writing about school.  I was trying to work out how I would balance my schedule; this was when I was still feeling a bit upside down.  I knew that I wanted to do well with my work, but I also wanted to stay balanced with my friends and home life, not an easy thing with the classes I am in, as they are upper division and therefore fairly demanding of my time.  I thought if I could write it out maybe some idea would pop through.  And an idea did pop through.

            As I wrote out my hopes and fears I remember wondering if I could pull this off?  I didn’t want to be superwoman; I just wanted to make sure I balanced my life.  That was when the thought popped in, I can do it.  I know it’s simple, but for the first time in my life, I believed those words.  I wrote them on the page and I was astonished at their presence.  Just four little words, yet they possessed so much power.  It made me think of four cornerstones, which led me to think of all the work I had been doing in my life to build myself a solid foundation.  That foundation had just gone through a major earthquake and I was starting to question and doubt myself.  Those four little words were magic, they were better than magic.  For the first time in my life I knew they were true.  I wrote them again, just so I could savor the feeling of knowingness.  I wrote, I can do it.  The magic was not gone; I could still feel it like a steady pulse.  Something in me knew the truth of those words.  Perhaps it had been buried in my sub-conscious, or some part of my soul recognized the truth, I don’t know.  I just know that as I wrote those words I could feel the strength of my foundation.

            I wrote about my amazement in those morning pages.  I wrote about how I knew that those four little words were right, that they were true, and that I actually believed them.  This wasn’t fake it till you make it, this was actually it.  I was there.  As I wrote and wondered I realized that these four words are my foundation.  Four words, four cornerstones, so I wrote the words on a card, under them I wrote, these words are my foundation, a reminder to myself of the truth.  The next day I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find the truth in those words, that I would write them on the page and the magic would be gone, but I was wrong.  I wrote the words again and again I could feel a steady strength within me.  I was grateful that I had taken the time to do morning pages, even though they are sometimes mundane and boring.  I was grateful that Julia Cameron found the strength inside herself to write The Artist Way.  I was grateful I found the words of my foundation and felt the truth and strength of their conviction.  So simple, yet so complete, I can do it and so can you.

Live with Intensity

First off I would like to send love to all of my readers!  Love you guys!!  Secondly, if you are one of the few who know the company I am writing about in the tidbit below, please do not post the company name on facebook or anywhere else.  I have left out the name of the company out of respect to the owner.  Thank you so much for reading!

Tasty Tidbit #1:  I’ve Got My Go-Getter Panties On

            Recently I have been on the hunt for a job.  I’ve done all the things that a typical job hunter would do, filled out applications, and waited.  The waiting ended with my first phone call last Saturday, at least it ended temporarily.  I was scheduled for a group interview on Monday, so I waited for Monday to get here.  After the interview we were told it would take another week to a week and a half before human resources would make up their minds and give us a call.  I walked away from that interview feeling confident that I had put my best foot forward.  I promptly and not so gracefully tripped over my other foot, when I got a phone call from another company.  The interview was scheduled and I felt confident that I would nail this interview with equal strength.  I started tripping shortly thereafter.  The day of the interview I was concerned about my wardrobe, I felt that the outfit I had chosen might be overdressing for this job, however I come from the old school that no matter the job you dress professional, so I decided to stick with that notion.  Mistake one, ignoring gut instinct.  Mistake number two, arriving twenty minutes early for my interview.  Although I am admittedly anal about time, I honestly hadn’t meant to arrive quite so early.  I actually waited in the car for fifteen minutes and was still twenty minutes early.  I walked in, explained to one of the ladies that I had an interview, and she told me to have a seat, that there were several people in front of me.  There were in fact only two people in front of me, one who was already in an interview.  I sat down next to the other interviewee and waited my turn.  My gut feeling about overdressing was now in full swing and I felt more than a little uncomfortable.  The woman sitting across from me was dressed in white capri’s, sneakers, and a shirt that said Jesus University on it.  The young woman that was interviewing was dressed in blue jeans.  My stomach was headed to my toes.  The owner came and got the woman who was waiting with me, and I reached over and picked up a magazine sitting on the small table next to the chairs.  I wasn’t really reading it, but I must have been doing a good impression because the two women behind the counter began talking about me.  I heard one mention the time of my interview to the other one, and the listener gave what can only be described as a snort.  Fantastic, these might be my future co-workers?  Then one of them proceeded to make the comment, “Go-getter,” loud enough for me to hear.  It wasn’t said in a nice tone, in fact just the opposite, it was quite nasty. There was this undertone to it that I couldn’t identify at first, but now I think I threatened them in some way, it was such a defensive, nasty tone.  At the time, I paid attention to my magazine and tried not to turn red which is my natural reaction to just about everything. 

            I dressed nice and I was early, so I was a go-getter.  My turn for the interview came and I did my best to collect myself, but I have to say I don’t think it went well.  In fact, I know it didn’t go well.  I came home trying to figure out why I felt so bad, the answer wasn’t hard to find.  The comments made by the women had through off my zen chi mojo and upset me.  I didn’t understand what their problem was, after all didn’t they want a co-worker who was well prepared and on time?  I set a bar for myself, and I strive to do my best in every situation.  It doesn’t always happen, but at least even when something is a complete fail I know I did the best I could.  The more I thought about the situation the more I thought, what’s wrong with being a go-getter?  I was eager to work, eager to help, ready to learn, nothing bad there.  Part of the problem was the tone used by the woman who said it; the other part was the negative connotation that I have about the term go-getter.  It makes me think A–type personality, which is not how I see myself.  By the time I had thoroughly hashed through the event and started typing this tidbit I realized that being a go-getter isn’t a bad thing at all.  If those ladies saw it in a negative light, that was their problem not mine.  My problem was seeing the term in a negative light in the first place and then accepting their negative attitudes, allowing them to affect my mood and my performance in the interview.  One question I asked myself was, would I want to work with people like that?  I don’t think so.  I could always say they were having a bad day, but really I don’t feel a need to excuse such behavior.   In my personal opinion, they need to pull up their big girl panties and stop being jealous of my sexy go-getters. 

Live with Intensity

            I’m such an uber nerd.  I’m a writer who reads magazines about writing.  I figure what better way to stay informed about my craft, but still it’s geeky.  The last issue I got was featuring a major writer; let me correct that, a bestselling author.  Though it’s probably bad I tend to skip over those articles, I focus more on the writing prompts, exercises and tips.  This time I decided to check out the author because the subtitle of the article made him sound interesting.  I read about a paragraph and a half before I was overcome with jealousy.  This guy had done it all, I mean everything, then taken all of those experiences and written about them.  Many of the things he had done were things that I want to do, some were outrageous things that I would never think of doing.  The point being that this man didn’t let anything hold him back.  He’s living his life with intensity and enjoying every moment of it or at least experiencing every moment of it.

            The article gave me a lot to ponder, most of the pondering was done on all the things that I keep saying I want to do, but don’t do.  I have lots of excuses; not enough time, not enough money, I have animals and a house to take care of, etc.  After I read this article, none of those excuses seemed good enough reasons not to go after the things that I truly wanted to experience.  This man didn’t look at an experience and say, hey I can’t do that because I don’t have enough money, he would work for a year to save the money to do whatever it was or find another way to get around the problem of not having enough money.  In fact, I don’t think this guy looks at things as problems, I think he looks at them as challenges to be met and overcome.  Maybe that’s my problem, or rather challenge.  I tend to look at a problem as an obstacle, one that is directly cutting across my path.  An obstruction between me and whatever it might be that I want or want to do.  It freezes me and I end up wasting a lot of time analyzing the problem, instead of looking for creative solutions.  

            Part of the article made me think this guy was a little bit more than a little nuts.  But then aren’t we all at least a little crazy?  Example, he joined the army just so he could experience going to war.  That one isn’t on my bucket list, but I bet it gave him a lot to write about.  I couldn’t decide if this guy had the biggest balls ever or if he was the stupidest person in the world.  I am personally leaning towards the balls.  Though undeniably crazy, you have to give the guy points for guts.  He saw something he wanted to experience and he did it simply to experience it.  How many of us do that?  Most of the time we are too busy making up excuses to even consider the possibility that our hopes and dreams could actually happen if we put one tenth of the energy into making them happen that we put into denying ourselves the experience. 

            I would be the first one to raise my hand if someone asked me, who wants to live their dreams no matter the consequences, who is willing to take a risk failing in order to work towards making their dreams a reality?  I would also be the first person who was lying.  If I wasn’t I would have learned French three years ago, I would have taken that trip, I would have used that singing lesson gift certificate, I would have taken that hang-gliding lesson.  Now, I’m not attempting to bash myself in any way, but the truth is that even when something I want is handed to me I find excuses not to participate in my life. 

            I’ve made some small steps toward changing that situation.  My solo trip last fall is a good example, although just about anyone who knows me knows that I almost chickened out at the last minute.  Even now I’m not sure how I beat the fear, I’m not sure I did.  I think I just wanted to go so badly that the fear was tucked away, at least temporarily.  Another example would be hang-gliding.  I have always wanted to try hang-gliding and earlier this year I purchased a certificate to take an all day lesson in hang-gliding.  It was January when I bought it so I thought I would wait until the summer months to test my wings.  Right now I have the certificate tacked up on my vision board, but I haven’t done much else with it.  I look at it, I toy with the idea of calling and setting the lesson up and then I find a number of excuses why I can’t do it.  With school coming up next week I have the perfect readymade excuse why I can’t go. 

            The problem or challenge seems to come between the idea and the action.  Let’s say I have always wanted to learn yoga, because I have.  I think being stretchy would be a good skill to have and it would be relaxing.  So, I look around for places where I can take yoga and even find one in Clarksville.  I watch groupon and find a coupon for yoga; I even take my yoga mat out of the basement and bring it upstairs to my meditation room as a reminder of my goal.  Then I take all of this information and motivated action and do nothing with it.  I put a little yellow sticky note on my vision board that says yoga, that’s about the extent of the action.  What are my excuses for not going to yoga?  I’ve got a couple.  In the case of the studio in Clarksville there is only one day a week I would be able to attend due to my school schedule which tells my brain that it wouldn’t be worth it to go just once a week.  Another excuse would be the cost, which also ties into the first excuse, why would I pay all that money just to go once a week and do we have the money to spend?  There are lots of other excuses too like, other people would be better than me, I wouldn’t know what I was doing, I might look dumb, etc.  I sit and stare at that little yellow sticky note, wishing I could participate instead of actually participating. 

            What would happen if I took a deep breath and jumped off that cliff edge?  What would happen if I actually started doing the things I dreamed about instead of just wishing I could do them?  I’d pee my pants, but I bet I’d have a good time doing it.  I would have to accept the fact that I might fail at some of the things I would like to do.  I might never figure out how to use watercolors, but I might learn how to draw.  I might find out that making candles is fun and that I want to share my love of making them with others.  I think if we start making tiny leaps, toward some of our smaller goals and dreams we can eventually work our way to the bigger ones.  Or if you want to go crazy with it, dive right in.  I started my journey to participation by making a list of random goals.  I started it on the 11^th of this month and I gave myself thirty days to complete thirty small goals.  Most of my goals are very small like sew a button on my shorts or call and get my prescription refilled, they are things that I want and need to do but for multiple reasons I have put them off.  I included some “bigger” goals as well.  For me, the biggest goal on my list is to write an article for the spiritual section of clarskvilleonline.  I’m pleased to say that I have all but five of my goals completed.  The final goal that I have on my sheet is the goal of making the next goal sheet, to keep the process going.  If I keep it going, if I keep leaping off the little cliffs I feel confident that I will be able to participate in my life instead of feeling jealous that other people are living their lives.  With work and determination I can learn how to live my life with intensity and so can you!    

Details

I want to say thank you for everyone who commented on last week’s blog!  I got a lot of good feedback and I think I can finally move on!  Thanks for your support!

Tasty Tidbit #1:  Mr. Fish

            I may or may not have mentioned that my husband bought me a Beta fish for my birthday.   I like to be creative so I named him, Mr. Fish.  Like most Beta fish, he’s beautiful.  I suppose I should say handsome, but since he’s a fish and doesn’t know the difference we’ll go with beautiful.  He has the classic fan tail, which is a fabulous royal blue with blood red highlights.  You would think blue and red would look strange, but with just a few of the red streaks Mr. Fish pulls the look off nicely.  So why am I talking about my fish?  Because he’s a good teacher.  The other day I was laying in bed trying to meditate, although really I was slipping into nap mode which is the trouble with laying down and meditating.  While I was laying there I watched Mr. Fish in his little five gallon world filled with plastic plants, red and black gravel, and of course, a castle.  I have to add to his water once a week and I noticed it was about time, the water level had dropped about two inches.  When the water level drops, the current from the air filter kicks up a notch.  I watched Mr. Fish lean against one of the tall plastic plants.  He just leaned into the plant as it swayed to the rhythm of the filter.  He was one with nature for about five minutes, when he decided to take a swim.  He backed up to the edge of the tank and then started darting through the main stream of bubbles created by the filter.  Every time he would enter the stream he would spin himself around, doing underwater acrobatics.  The best part was when he would spin his tail fin would flow completely out and you could see the whole thing and all of its beautiful colors.  I was pretty convinced he was showing off.  After a few minutes of this dancing and spinning, he went back to the tall plant and leaned on it again.  Once again he stayed there swaying in the plant for about five minutes and started all over again.  Mr. Fish is smart.  He knows there is a time for rest and there is a time for action, even if that action is play.  At first when the shop closed I was antsy for some action, now however I have gotten into a routine of leaning and swaying.  My problem is that my action and resting periods are still not balanced.  The moral of the story, be more like Mr. Fish.  Learn to be balanced in your rest and play and always show off your beauty!

Details

            This writing stuff is hard!  Somehow I was under the impression that when you were a writer you just write and everything else just falls into place.  Not so much.  As I mentioned in one of my previous blogs I managed to complete chapter one of a story I am working on, at least I thought I completed it.  Again with the not so much.  Turns out that even with thirteen pages of writing, which I also found out was short, I had a lot of work to do.  I had the chapter reviewed and at first I was pretty pissy about the comments that came back about it.  Although the person that read it thought it was a good start, there was room for a lot of improvement.  I thought I was getting better at the constructive criticism thing, but I guess that’s just one more thing I need to keep working on. 

            Anywho, this person said that the surface of the story was good, but that I was lacking in details.  I balked at this at first.  Duh, what do you call all those words on the page, those would be details.  Areas where I had tried to be clever appeared confusing to the reader.  I have a whole meditation/vision scene and I thought I did a great job describing it, the reader however said that they had no idea what the hell I was talking about.  Well, they didn’t say it exactly like that, but I got the jist.  This person also went on to point out tense changes (something I have a major problem with, but don’t like admitting), and other various grammar issues.  By the end of it I was convinced that what I had written was a piece of shit not worthy of the paper I had printed it on.  That’s not what the reader was trying to convey, that was just my own self-worth issues cropping up.  Like I said I was pissed at first, I didn’t want to hear what this person had to say.  I only wanted to hear the good things about my chapter, wasn’t there anything there worth noting?  There was and it was noted, but there was more work to be done.  The reader told me that I need to add a lot more detail, my scenes jumped with no detail on how the characters moved from one place to another.  The reader said I needed to work on creating my world, I was going to create his world all right and it was going to be painful.

            After I got over myself, which took considerably longer than I would like to admit, I sat down with the reader again and asked him to repeat his comments.  I realized that I didn’t really hear what he was saying the first time and that it might be worth hearing again.  He pointed out the places where my scenes skipped and offered suggestions on where to place details.  The toughest part was when he said it looked like I had started three chapters in one chapter and that it needed to be completely redone.  When I looked at the chapter again I could see where a reader would get confused.  It was choppy and it did jump around a lot.  There wasn’t much character detail either.  In fact, in thirteen pages I only described what one of six characters looked like, oops.  It was at that moment that I realized there was a lot more to this writing gig than I originally thought.

            I realized there are several other subjects and projects I have been working on that requires some detail.  One of my main projects besides writing is making candles.  I love making candles and it has been a mini dream of mine to make and sell my candles.  One of the weeks that I was moping around my husband suggested that I begin working on making that dream a reality.  At first I ignored the notion, but boredom got the better of me.  I knew that the candles I had made previously had problems.  Bad wicks, poor burn time, and low scent throw.  I would occasionally have a candle that came out okay, but that was more luck than skill in making them.  I had always thought that making candles was simple, just like writing.  You melt the wax, you pour the wax, poof, you have a candle.  This theory had been proven wrong by my many past failures and while I didn’t mind if my candle melted all over, I knew that customers would care if my candles unexpectedly oozed wax all over.  Again with the details.  Since there are bunches of books on candle making, I figured there had to be an even greater number of websites on the subject.  I wasn’t disappointed.  I took my time sorting through waxes and wicks and I have figured out many of the places where I went wrong in my previous candle making ventures.  I still have a lot to learn though. 

            I have never liked details.  I figure if I can get it done without the details than it’s just as good.  I hate to keep saying it but, not so much.  I have learned that skimming the surface, doesn’t get you that far and you lack understanding.  If you don’t know how something works than it’s probable that you won’t be able to make it work.  You might get lucky and get it to work some of the time, but for the most part you are headed for a fail. If I only tell the surface story in my writing, how will people understand the depth of what I am attempting to convey?  If I want to make a product and sell it, how can I make sure that people are getting the best product I can make if I don’t take the time to learn about making it?  I can see many areas of my life where I have floated on the surface, figuring that a small amount of knowledge would get me far enough, but what is enough?  Probably not the quality I am hoping to achieve.  Everything in life takes practice and I see it as a good thing that I made so many mistakes in the past.  At least I get to learn from them and improve because of them.  When I pay attention to the details the things I create show it.  I have never been able to make votive candles; I just never figured it out.  After researching and a couple of test runs I now have a beautiful votive candle burning on my desk, which has been burning perfectly for almost four hours now.  I can take pride in my creations when I take time to understand the little things.  By looking past the surface I get to find the beauty and wonder previously unseen and take my creations to the next level.

Feedback

Tasty Tidbit #1:  Three Words

Cellulite Pudding Party

(Let me know how that works for you)

Tasty Tidbit #2: A Nest for the Egg

            I am the proud mama of a 98.1 pound, gold sheen obsidian egg.  Every time I touch it, it feels like home, but that’s for another blog.  The problem with my little nestling is that I haven’t found a spot for it in our new home.  At first it was sitting by the fireplace, but that didn’t look or feel right to me.  Each wall of my living room is set up to represent an element and I thought the egg might like being in the fire corner, being obsidian and all, but not so much.  Ben isn’t real thrilled about having to move it again but then isn’t that what guys are for?  Guys lift heavy objects; women have headaches, that was the equation I learned.  Anyway, I have been going from room to room trying to find the perfect spot for my egg without making Ben move it again.  So far no luck.  For now my 98 pound baby is going to go back by the fireplace until I can figure out where it wants to be.  I’m sure Ben will be excited to move it again, lol!

Tasty Tidbit #3: Mandalas

            I figured I tried mazes and labyrinths, why not try mandalas.  I was looking for something to focus my attention, something that would help me be creative that wasn’t writing.  I just needed another outlet.  I love coloring, I’m really just a big kid, so mandalas are perfect.  Of course I have some books with patterns so I started out with a couple of those.  My goal is to eventually make one of my own.  Some of the books say that you can just draw random shapes or glue pictures on them, I wish I could draw some of the geometric shapes that the mandalas from the book have on them.  Working with the mandalas I noticed that I was drawn toward certain colors every time.  I always went for yellow, gold, silver, magenta, and a color called electric blue, which is a turquoise color.  I poked around and found a website where you can download mandalas for free.  You can save them on your computer and print them out, which is cool in my book.  The website looks a little hacker scary, but I downloaded without Norton going nuts on me.  If you are looking for a creative focusing tool I suggest you check it out.  I just like making pretty pictures.  http://www.mandala-4u.com/en/start.html

Feedback

            I decided to change things up this week and share some of my past writing with all of you.  This is by far one of my favorite writing pieces.  I would love any feedback that anyone has on this piece.  I have entered this piece in a couple of contests, but haven’t had success with it as of yet.  I feel it’s a strong piece and I would like to know if other people thought the same or if I was just stuck on this one.  With that being said here is, Professional Humility.

Professional Humility

            We rode the cresting waves of grease.  Our non-slip shoes, always black, slid sideways in the spray of bubbling fat that shot from scorching grills.  No amount of hot water and soap could rid the floors of their ever thickening collection of animal fat and chicken drippings.  The flies taunted us with their freedom.  They strolled across the cheese slices, munched on the dehydrated onions, and clung to hardening globs of mayo and secret sauce, dripping from the sauce guns.

            Our lips were crusted with the salt that seasoned those famous golden crisp fries.  Sweat carved rivers down our backs and made our visors grip our heads even tighter, as though to brand us with humility.  Some bore the marks of their labors.  Lynne wore a scar just above her wrist, three inches in length.  It looked like a mini checker board, but was the branding of a fry basket forever engraved on her skin; a moments carelessness became a permanent tattoo. 

            In the floor was a grease trap with a padlock on it.  Why it was locked no one knew.  No one would have willingly opened that door for any reason.  Trapped beneath four inches of plated steel, was the rotten bog of hell.  Beneath our trudging, slipping feet, was a marsh of grease, rotten meat, and a smell so putrid that even steel could not completely contain it. 

            To the rank hole, twice a month, some poor soul was assigned.  The fryers must be emptied of their over-worked, muddy brown contents, and into the plated hole it would go.  Normally, a worker of low status was picked, but tonight there was mutiny.  Complaints, doctor’s appointments, and sudden illnesses, ravaged my crew.  I found myself appointed to the hated task.  My branded friend stayed with me out of pity.

            In the dim lights of closing time we stood over the casket doorway.  The grimy key had to be wiggled into place and turned forcefully to break through the cumulative effect of poor cleaning.  I paused mid-turn, delaying the inevitable moment.  Lynne backed away in anticipation of the greeting I was about to receive.  In her haste to evacuate the area, she managed to knock over one of the yellow mop buckets.  The bucket groaned under the burden of too many employee discounts. 

            “How about a promotion, Lynne?”

            “Hell no.  Extra pay, extra suck.”

            “Somehow I doubt an extra thirty cents an hour is worth this.”

            We stood staring at the waiting work, as though by magic, the grease traps would empty themselves.  Finally coming to the realization that, that wasn’t going to happen, I reached forward to finish unlocking the grimy padlock when Lynne grabbed my arm.

            “I’ve got an idea.” 

            A few minutes later we knelt together on the dirty floor, scooping the contents of the traps into the hole.  We sang snatches of 80’s songs in helium induced Donald Duck voices, swallowing back vomit, and scrapping at the grease that had become the foundation of our lives. 

Upswing

Tasty Tidbit #1:  A Week in Review

            Sounds boring I know, but in reality things have begun to flow rather nicely.  Here are a few notes on the last week.

Chicken Hater. 

Fluffy white bunny that will eat your soul.

Invisible ninja hamsters now guard my meditation room. 

Coconuts and their many uses.

Run Away! Run Away!

Blueberry Patch and Anemone (not necessarily in that order)

Simplify

Completing chapter one

Is butt-hurt one word or two?

Mid-afternoon pickle spritz

Squirt

And the thing I'm not supposed to mention.  :) 

Tasty Tidbit #2: Bull in a China Shop

            I’ve been on a rampage today.  I’m normally not a graceful person.  I run into walls, door frames, and everything else.  I also have a tendency to break stuff.  I don’t mean to, most of the time I’m trying to help and shit just breaks.  Today I managed to knock a soda off a table, causing it to almost explode, knocked over some metal bars, which in turn broke a C, nearly broke a table, and that was just for starters.  I wouldn’t be surprised if you were reading this blog and your computer shut down without warning, for no other reason than it sensed my presence.  Does it count if I mean well but break your stuff?  I hope so, because I have some bad news.  I think this was yours. Sorry about that. 

Tasty Tidbit #2: Hey I Found the Floor

            As mentioned in my previous blog, my meditation room has been in a state of chaos for some time now.  The thought of going through all my papers, sorting through boxes, bins, and books, kind of made me want to puke.  However, I became convinced that the state of my meditation room was having a direct effect on my writing and probably my emotional state in general.  My sacred space had been turned into a dumping ground, gee why didn’t I want to sit in there and write? It took three days to sort my room out again.  Three very long days filled with trash bags and swear words of a colorful sort.  Now I am sitting in a clutter free space and I have to say it feels so much better and so do I.  I finally took the time to take care of my space.  Beyond just having my space back, I found a pile of writing material.  Actually, I found a stack of loose writings that is literally 23 inches high and stacked next to my bookcase.  One whole bookcase shelf is now occupied by journals of all shapes and sizes, all of which are also filled with writings.  Bits of stories, poem ideas, and prompts were all just scattered around waiting for me to find them.  It will take a lot more work to sort through it all and get it organized, but I have already started the process. I was thrilled about finding the floor; I can’t wait to see what I find in that pile of goodies.

  

Upswing

            Well, we have had a couple weeks of weepy so let’s turn it around shall we?  Finding my meditation room and returning it to a state of sacred space was an important first step.  I had ignored my space for far too long and allowed other things to take up my time.  Most of those other things were pretty pointless, like playing video games on my cellphone.  To be honest, getting my space back together was key.  It started me writing.  Not just writing a note here or a story idea there, I mean real writing.  Of course, caffeine had a lot to do with it too.

            My husband has been through four deployments now.  That means that he can sleep through anything.  I may have mentioned this in a previous blog but since I don’t go back and reread them deal with it.  Anyway, my husband explained to me that the best and really it’s the only way, to wake him up is to get close to his ear, shake him and tell him he’s late for guard duty.  Conditioned much?  I usually don’t mind him sleeping as though dead, except when he flops on me.  This story has a point don’t worry.  I get knocked in the back of the head with an elbow or pushed off the bed when he rolls over completely oblivious to the world.  I am a light sleeper so it makes going to sleep and staying asleep difficult.  One evening about a week ago, Ben was sleeping at a perfect angle taking up the vast majority of the bed making it impossible for me to fall asleep.  All attempts to move him to his side of the bed failed, so I gave in.  I planned to sleep on the couch, but I found myself wide awake.  Instead of shacking up on the couch I went into my partially cleaned meditation room.  There was a story idea floating around in my head and for the first time in a very long time I sat down and typed it out.  I typed for a couple of hours in fact.  Believe me I was shocked when I looked at the clock. It seemed so easy.

            It struck me that writing at night was a great idea.  My sleeping pattern fluctuates. Sometimes I am an early riser, other times a night owl, right now I needed owl.  I noticed that when I was typing I wasn’t thinking about needing to get up and take care of anything around the house, Ben and the animals were asleep, I found an opportunity.  The problem is that currently I am on my early riser schedule.  Ben’s alarm goes off at 4:30am, and it’s difficult for me to fall back asleep.  Though one might suppose that I could use that early morning time while Ben is at PT to write, you have to consider that I have a house full of animals just waking up, all wanting attention and breakfast.  So morning writing is pretty much out.  Still a plan was brewing.

            The day after my writing escapade, I had a soda.  I’m not usually a big soda drinker; I try to stick with water as much as possible.  I’m a bit sensitive to caffeine, can we say MELTDOWN.  If you don’t get the joke don’t worry about it.  The soda kept me up that night long after Ben had fallen asleep, so I tried this whole writing thing again.  It worked.  I stayed awake a couple of hours again, writing out my stories and crafting outlines.  The next day I went out and bought a twelve pack of Dr.Pepper and I have written every night.  I drink one soda a day, which is enough to fuel me a few extra hours in the evening after everyone else in the house has passed out.  Though I can understand how I might not be forming the best habit by drinking a soda every day, I can see excellent results in my writing.  I managed to finish the first chapter of one of the stories I am currently working on.  I haven’t made that much progress in the last six months.  I’m hoping that after a week or two my body will get used to staying up the couple of extra hours a night and I will be able to wean off the soda.  Until then, I’m going to crack me open a tasty Dr.Pepper and get creative with my bad self.