Pride Goeth Before a Fall...

So yesterday I was listening to an NPR interview about Brexit. I find the whole thing to be interesting and a bit terrifying to be honest. Part of it is because when the Brexit vote happened it was the ominous bell toll letting me know that Trump really could be president. I mean if Britain could do that because of nativist fears then... So yeah. And I have a lot of friends who are dealing with it all. Some are even pro Brexit. But it's interesting.

Back to yesterday, the person they were interviewing was a member of Theresa May's conservative party but had been voting against her deal over and over again. This time he was going to vote for it. He felt that her agreeing to resign was a good thing as long as she resigned AFTER the deal was done, of course. Because she only has the job because nobody else would take it once they realized they would have to ACTUALLY deal with Brexit instead of campaign for it, AND she survived two no contest votes because people still didn't want to deal with Brexit they just wanted to bitch about what she was doing. But yeah, after you finish this shit job that nobody wants you resign and let one of us take over.

When the reporter asked about having a second vote on the referendum, which is a popular idea in Britain as a lot of people feel they were lied to, and there is evidence they were, he said it would be embarrassing. How embarrassing for Britain to not leave after saying they were going to leave. And he kept hitting that over and over again which let me know that it's a talking point over there. We can't revote, how embarrassing for us to admit we might have been wrong. We can't stay in the EU when we said we were leaving, how embarrassing. Just keep forging forward even though we can't agree on anything and things are pretty messed up. Better that than the embarrassment of saying we are wrong.

Ego.

We deal with it over here as well. Trump just got pretty good news out of the Mueller report and the Barr sidestep. But that's not good enough for him. He's blasting news agencies for daring to report on the revelations. He's trying to have people barred from interviews. Trying to get people removed from office. Trying to get an investigation started that would end badly for him, because we already know the timeline he is promoting is wrong (the dossier is not what started the investigations into the Trump campaign, the Nunes memo showed that, even though he didn't mean for it to) and the way the email investigation was handled actually benefited him. But he can't just accept the victory, his ego won't allow it. He's got to push for more.

I think it's a mistake. But I'm not a supporter of his so the bloviating doesn't appeal to me.

He was embarassed that people talk about Russia influencing the elections so he won't look at it. No collusion! And he was right. It looks like all of the contact between his campaign and the Russians was just something else. Until we see the report (if we ever do) we won't know what Mueller actually made of all that. I mean we have the indictments and the convictions, so we know there was a lot there, we just don't know how it wasn't what it looked like. But his ego won't let the US even address the Russian interference because he thinks it takes away from his win. He wants to talk about his win. He wants to talk about the crowd size. He exaggerates both. But he doesn't want to talk about Russia, even though they interfered and we should be concerned about that. With or without collusion. Yesterday at a rally he lied (shocking) about funding for a project because he wanted the applause he knew the lie would bring.

Ego.

Yesterday on a Facebook thread I watched someone argue with a doctor and claim that their medical opinion was just as sound as the doctor's because they were pre-med in college and kept up with some reading. So of course that was just as good as an actual doctor who has been in practice for decades, including a specialty in what he was talking about. And that's not the only time you see it online. Vaccinations anyone? Their internet research is just as good and as valid as all of the actual studies. Climate change. Their need for a sweater this morning is just as valid as the studies showing the globe is warming at an alarming rate.

When did we reach a point where people can't just say, "I don't know" or "You know more than I do" and be okay with that?

When did we pass the point where the worst thing is to be embarrassed about being wrong instead of refusing to change when you are wrong?

I'm passionate when I argue about things which often leads people to think I'm a know it all who can't admit when I'm wrong. But I do. If you show me that I am wrong I will change my mind. If you think I'm wrong just because I disagree with you? Well that's a different argument. But honestly being wrong is okay. It's not even that embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as continuing to push for a point that is clearly the wrong thing and refusing to admit it, anyway.

Embrace being wrong. You will learn more that way.

Try as hard as you can not to let your pride be your driving factor.

Being too proud to admit you are wrong, when you are wrong, is super damaging. It ruins families. It ruins countries. It's on the way to ruining the Earth.

It's okay to be wrong. It's not okay to refuse to admit it.

March Recap!

Okay, I know it's technically two days until the end of March but this way I don't have to worry about blogging on Sunday, unless I really want to.

So March...well...

Let's just start with fitness/weight and get it out of the way.

Fitness/ weight! You know how positive I was about getting back in the gym in March at the end of February? I'm transferring that positive feeling to April. I barely made it to the gym this month. My hand at the beginning of the month meant only treadmill work then my back went kablooey so that meant nothing. I saw a new chiropractor this week and got an adjustment which really helped the low back. I'm still have some hip issues causing my sciatic nerve to be a bitch, but I'm hopeful that will pop out today and be better.

So basically I got zero progress in my gym going goals. My weight stayed about the same, I'm down about a half a pound from the end of February so that's actually good. AND because I was sidelined by my back it did force the issue to make sure I let my hand heal, so that's a positive as well. Thinking more and more I probably should have had it x-rayed, but it's healing okay, just slowly, so I'm hopeful that it will be completely fine by next week and I will be able to start easing back into my normal routine. Also trying to think that maybe starting over again with a new routine will be good. Maybe I will be able to sculpt a little more in the areas I like to focus on.

Reading! So at 17 books complete I am somehow 2 books behind schedule now! Eeek! I need to catch up with that. The Discworld books I made up one of the extras I will need to hit 15 this year. Small Gods and Men at Arms. The past three that I've read in the series have been my favorites. I think this must be where he hit his stride and I am looking forward to the next one. It comes available soon so I need to push through the three books I have checked out now to get ready. And to catch up on my totals. Reading Joe Biden's book right now and it's one I have to do in small bites, it's about when his son died so it's rough. It also makes me a little sad to read about a White House that seemed to actually care about people.

Writing! After this blog I will be one ahead for the year so I made up for the ones I missed last month. I also have a blog rant that I might pick up later today so I would be two ahead for the year, which is good, if I write it, I might slack off and read today instead. I'm still on track with the fiction. I need to start looking next month for my next submission. Still haven't gotten the rejection from the last one, but when I get that I will post the super short stories I wrote for that contest.

Monthly Museum/Attraction! We went to the Portland Railroad Museum this month. It was fairly small, pretty much a passion project for a few people but it was pretty cool. My dad loved trains. Just loved them. So going there was as much about going to see trains as it was about going to "see" my dad. It worked for both things.

MasterClass! I took the one by Steve Martin on stand-up and humor. Now I don't do stand-up comedy but I try to use humor in my writing. I think I'm a funny bitch... Anyway, I decided that stand-up is writing as well just with a performing aspect so it might be helpful. It was interesting. I really enjoy Steve Martin. If you haven't read his books you should. He translates really well in any form he does, stand-up, speeches, movies, books. It didn't blow me away like the Gaiman one did or even intrigue me the way the Gladwell one did, but it felt like I was listening to him talk to me about things he wanted me to know which was cool.

Long term! Guys! The basement is basically done. I need to hang the pictures and I might buy some more blankets and pillows but other than that, couch, rug, TV, tables, it's all there. I love it. It's dark and soft and comfy and just what I wanted it to be.

So what's up for April?

Back in the gym habit. That's a big one.
Catch up on the reading totals.
Keep up with the blogs.
Long term stuff...probably the deck work and getting window coverings handled.

How are you doing this year? Are you reaching the goals you've set? Are you dropping things that don't fit who you really are? Are you SURE that April will be a good gym month?

We can all dream...

Illuminating...

Craig joined Grace at the breakroom table. "How's your day been?"

"So far so good. I'm halfway through my shift and nobody has yelled at me about things I can't fix. So I'm taking that as a win."

Craig laughed. Grace was always positive. Even when people were yelling at her about things she couldn't fix.

Grace's phone vibrated.

"Are you going to check that?"

"No. It's probably just the Illuminati again."

Craig choked on his drink, "What?"

"The Illuminati. They've been sending me emails and texts about joining."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. I mean, I'm serious that I've been getting messages from someone using the Illuminati as their hook, but no I'm not serious as in I believe the Illuminati is trying to get me to join."

Grace picked up her phone and opened the text message. "See?" She handed it over to Craig.

He read it and laughed, "Join the Illuminati. Text 556723 today."

"So you can see why I'm pretty sure that's not some sort of world controlling, all knowing organization. The emails are even worse. They want me to click on a link to join. So you are in control of everything by operating a giant phishing operation? It's ridiculous. I just wish I could figure out who sold my information. I've blocked each number and email address as they come in but they change them and send them again."

"What do you think they want?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "Probably all of my information. You know like if I click through it will be a page for gathering information for my background security check. Then I hand over everything they need to steal my identity and sell it."

"Do you think anyone falls for it?"

"They must. I read somewhere that a scam like this only needs to trick like 1% of the people they try it on to make it profitable. And there have to be a lot of people who want to think they are special enough or cool enough to be part of the Illuminati right? So I bet it works on some of them."

"Just not you."

"Nope, just not me. I have a really hard time thinking that the Illuminati is looking to recruit a retail worker from Podunk, Podunkia."

"Hey! We aren't in Podunkia. More like BFEia."

She laughed, "Okay, but still, not really Illuminati material."

"Who do you think would be? I mean you see stories out there about who is Illuminati and sometimes you're like, really? Jim Carrey?"

Grace laughed. "Right? I think there would be some celebrities but not any of them that would talk about it. Like Scientology uses their celebrities for recruitment. I would think the Illuminati would use theirs kind of covertly."

"Covertly?"

"Yeah, like entry into places they might not get to go otherwise. Or influencing people who weren't even aware they were being influenced. Say you get Clint Eastwood and then his movies that he writes and directs could be influential in ways they wanted. Oprah would be a great Illuminati member, Illuminatist? Illumina? Whatever you would call them. She would be ideal. She has a whole brand around her that she promotes and influences people with."

"I'm pretty sure people think she is already."

"Probably, but that's because it would make sense."

"Like politicians."

"Oh no. Not politicians."

"What? Everyone thinks if there is Illuminati then they control the politicians."

"Well, sure, they would control it, but you would never get someone in politics to be actual Illuminati. They are the ones you TELL they are in the Illuminati to appeal to their egos but they are actually just pawns. Nobody trusts a politician."

"So if not politicians, and only a few celebrities as needed, and not retail clerks in BFE, who do you think?"

"Umm...teachers? Yeah, teachers for sure. And not like college professors because by then you've already decided what you really think, but like kindergarten through 4th grade. You could really lay in the ground work there for lifelong beliefs. Librarians would have been good before but people don't really use the library as much anymore. But still librarians for when they are needed and now..." Grace trailed off for a moment, thinking. "Google programmers. What you see when you search. That's like the modern equivalent of the librarian."

Craig leaned forward, "Oh yeah, that would make sense, like the whole Silicon Valley."

"No, no, not all of them. Not even the heads of the companies. You are back in to the politician ego thing. Like Zuckerberg and Musk? They are ego driven. No way would they make good Illuminati. But maybe Bill Gates. His product isn't flashy. It's kind of got that unhip image and yet, we all use it."

Craig nodded, "You've spent some time thinking about this."

Grace shook her head, "No. Not really. I mean this is the first time I've actually talked about it at all. It just seems like this makes sense right? Oh shoot," she looked at her watch, "I need to get back to work. How much longer do you have?"

Craig looked down, "I have a few more minutes, you go ahead and I'll clean this up and see you out on the floor."

Grace took the last sip of her coffee and left the cup for Craig to clean, "Thanks! I'll play maid next time."

Craig waited a few minutes and then took his phone out of his pocket checking to make sure the call was still connected, "I told you she was brilliant. She came up with all of that on the fly. Stop with the emails and texts now, send her a telegram, see how she responds to that." He listened for a moment, "Got it. We'll talk again later."

He hung up the phone and pulled a bag from his jacket pocket. The coffee cup was lifted with a Sharpie stuck in the handle and dropped into the bag. He sealed it and wrote, "DNA screen. Grace Comstock. Rush." He would drop that in his locker before heading back out to "work" and someone would pick it up while he was gone. He didn't know who he just knew it would get done.

They were everywhere.

Even retail jobs in BFE.

Basic Truth...

"There are between 6 and 10 face types in the world. That's it."

"What?" Glen was used to Carly making off the wall pronouncements but even he was sometimes surprised by what she came up with.

"There are between 6 and 10 face types in the world. Six very common and the four less common ones. Those are the ones when we see them we think how striking the person is."

"So you are saying we all have the same face?"

"No, I'm saying we have one of the 10 face types."

"Then why don't we all look alike?"

Carly looked puzzled, "Well we do."

"No, we don't." Glen gestured around the coffee shop, "Look around everyone is different."

Carly shook her head, "Only superficially. The face types are the same. The only variations are," she held out her hand and started counting them off on her fingers, "Age, weight, skin color, eye color. Then we make other changes with things like hair styles, makeup, glasses and facial hair. But if you were to strip all of that away the faces would be one of ten types. With the majority being one of the six."

Carly watched Glen's face to see if he understood what she was saying. When it was apparent that he was still struggling with the concept she went on.

"Remember when the whole 'no makeup selfie' thing was going on and people were surprised by how different celebrities looked without the makeup?"

"Yes."

"Then remember how people were shocked at how much that famous face looked like their neighbor once the makeup was off? That's because they do look like their neighbor. Or like their friend from school. Or like the mailman. There are only so many faces you see in a day and if you strip away the extras we add they are the same."

Glen still wasn't convinced. "There is a difference between slightly resembles and looks just like someone."

"That's the age, weight, skin color, eye color difference. Along with how much hair you have you or how it's cut you can appear to make your face change. Think about it. How often have you seen someone who normally has a beard and when they shave it off you wouldn't have even recognized them? Or even something as simple as adding bangs.

And every once in awhile you meet someone who has not only the same face type as someone you know but their hair, eyes, skin tone are all the same and you are like oh my gosh so and so has a doppelganger!

We all have doppelgangers, Glen. We all are doppelgangers."

Glen started to shake his head.

"Newspapers accidentally used pictures of Tina Fey when they wanted to show Sarah Palin."

"Well sure, but she was impersonating her."

"And why was she able to impersonate her? Because they have the same face type. You can add Emma Watson and Ally Sheedy to that mix as well. They all have the same face, just changes due to age, weight, and some coloration and makeup choices."

Carly tapped a few lines in to her phone and handed it to Glen. There she had all pictures of all four of those women in a line. He just stared.

"See?"

She did another one. This time pulling up Prince Harry and the race car driver Dale Earnhardt Jr. "When their coloration is similar it's very easy to see. If one of them had dark hair, or was bald, or even had a full beard you wouldn't notice it as much."

"I think it's just a coincidence."

She shrugged her shoulders. "It's because there are only so many combinations. It used to be much worse. Look at historical pictures. I think there must have been only four or so types just a few hundred years ago."

"Photography was limited, and painting is all artistic interpretation, that doesn't really mean there were only four types."

"Really? You buy the whole artistic interpretation story? The 'he was painting this royal but his maid was better looking so he used her for inspiration' thing? I mean, if someone were to paint a picture of me but toss in Scarlett Johansson because she's better looking and then TELL me it was me, I'd notice."

"Yeah, they'd have to use..." Glen trailed off.

"See? You had someone famous you were about to name because I look like them. Just not as polished, right?"

He shook his head, "Yeah, but that still doesn't mean anything. If there were only four types how did we get to 6 or 10 now? Wouldn't the combinations keep growing exponentially?"

She cocked her head to the side, "Oh you think we look the way we look because of genetics. I see."

"Of course that's why we look the way we look."

"Okay, then yes, if that's what you believe then the combinations should be endless by now. Take a little from this and a little from that and keep recombining and you would have so many unique types you couldn't even categorize them all."

"Right. That's what I'm saying. So your theory falls apart."

She smiled. "Or yours is wrong at the heart."

"How can it be wrong?"

She stood up, "I've got to go, but I'll leave you with something else we can talk about later. Think about your first video game. Now think about the last one you bought. Why don't they look the same?"

Then she was out the door.

Glen sat for a second. He couldn't believe she would change the subject like that. Of course video games changed. The graphics got better and more realistic as the computing power increased. With better computers you got better....

Glen's face went blank.

Oh shit...

Clean Up! Clean Up! Everybody, Everywhere!

Got notice from the library that The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up was checked out to me. I put it on hold last month when I finally reached that point of not interested being overtaken by cultural phenomenon that I feel I should know about.

As you all know, I'm pretty tidy already. And I have my own systems in place to keep my love of stuff balanced out with my distaste for clutter. And my joy of a good pile of things balanced out with Brent's nervous tic when the piles get to be too much. But I still see this book (and now the show) referenced so often that I want to see what it's all really about.

Now when I mentioned it to Brent he was not at all sure it was good that the book has come available now. See, we are going to New Mexico for a visit in May. Nothing triggers my need to throw away all of our things like a trip back home. He voiced a very strong concern about me reading it this close to a visit. I assured him it would be fine. I'm not reading it to tidy up, I'm reading it to be informed. Totally fine.

That's the plan.

But he's right. It's something I will have to watch. Especially right now.

See I just bought new furniture for the basement. So instead of walking into a room that is almost empty I walk into a room with two couches, a foot stool, a GIANT TV, a TV stand, soon to have two end tables and two lamps and pictures on the wall. Along with the bakers racks that were already there. It's a pretty full room.

And because we added things there, there are boxes in the garage right now cluttering things up. The TV box we are supposed to keep for a month just to make sure the TV works fine before getting rid of it. But it takes up a whole wall of the garage. And then there is the box that the TV stand came in. Big stand, big box. I'll have to break it down in stages for recycling. And then there are all of my Christmas boxes that we had to move because we also got a new water heater. It's bigger than the last one so the storage area that was behind it we can't get to as easily anymore.

My garage is a wreck basically. It's really cluttered.

Yes, I know, it's a garage, they are supposed to be kind of a wreck.

Except ours usually isn't. We have it organized. Shelves, boxes, storage, things are tidy.

And I also just bought blackout curtains for the bedrooms and some new artwork in Hawaii.

We also just got our tax bill for the year and it was significant.

Which, yes, doesn't add clutter to the world, but it makes me feel a little badly about the massive shopping I've been doing. So mental clutter.

So there is a part of me that is like, WE HAVE TOO MUCH STUFF!! WE NEED TO PARE DOWN!! OH MY GOODNESS WHAT WAS I THINKING??

But in a totally in control and calm way.

Except for the shouting bits.

So yes, I will have to be careful when I read the book so as not to lose my damn mind and undo all of the homey touches I've been putting on the house since we are definitely staying here and not looking at new houses anymore because this is the decision we have made for sure this time. (until the next time we decide we really need a one story, or a backyard, or a beach)

I'll keep you all posted. But if you see me sneaking out to Goodwill with a suspiciously filled car feel free to say something to me about it. Or send Brent a MAYDAY post. One of those.

Who Are You?

I've written on this topic before and I probably will again so you can skip this one if you feel like it's all been said before.

Who are you? Like down deep who are you? And are you good at showing people?

I'm pretty solidly an open book. I mean come on, I write a blog that is 50/50 fiction and nonfiction. The fiction is my soul bled out on paper. The deepest recesses of my psyche. The most honest revelations of my...okay, yeah, it's the shit I write because it amuses me but you all knew that. I was trying to be artistic and deep, but you know that's not me. Why? Because of the other 50% of this stuff. The navel gazers. The political rants. The actual "THIS IS WHAT I THINK" stuff.

I also post (roughly) 300 Facebook status updates a week capturing the thoughts that flit through my head on an hourly basis. I share news articles and videos and memes that amuse, interest, or intrigue me. Or just make me laugh. Because I love a good belly laugh. And making other people laugh? So good. Even if it's by posting someone else's funny stuff. I will take the shared laugh. If it's my own joke? Well that's just a damn good day.

This week I got two flashes of who people think I am. One was someone making a post about how miserable I must be, how bitter and angry and all that good stuff. The other one was just a few minutes ago. Dana sent me a writing prompt for a story that she could totally see me writing.

Now both of those things happened because of what I put out in the world. But, and this is the important part, not just what I put out but how they are interpreted.

See the bitter, angry one was in response to my post about being a happy person. They couldn't see that that could possibly be true because I post about the political situation often. And I'm not happy with it. So they felt that if I wasn't happy about the current administration I couldn't possibly be happy in life. It's an interesting take. And I guess I could see if you knew nothing else about me and only paid attention to what I post about politics and not the rest you could walk away believing that. It's about what you put out in the world but it's also about what people pick up.

The writing prompt was because it was about dead people just living their best lives. Okay, not exactly, but it was about someone interacting with dead people and not realizing it. Most of you can guess why she thought that was something I would find interesting. It's about what you put out in the world and what people pick up.

Now in the case of the post about me being angry I pushed back. I don't think that's me and I clarified who I view myself to be: a happy person who is not happy with an administration. I don't even think it's that complicated to be both. Now will the person who thinks I'm doing permanent damage to my psyche by paying attention to the things I think this administration is doing wrong change their mind? Probably not. But that isn't my concern.

In the case of the writing prompt, I had to really laugh, because I have a story in my vaults about something very similar. Same wheelhouse for sure. She nailed who I view myself to be as a writer.

Sometimes people will get what you are putting out there in the way you mean for them to, and sometimes they won't. Sometimes it's that you aren't being clear and you do need to explain a little more. I mean if wrote stories about umm...things normal people write stories about and she sent me a prompt about dead people I'd be like, "hmm...maybe my characters need a little more life to them." (imagine an eyebrow waggle here)

And sometimes it's not you at all. It's them. If she sent me a prompt for a normal story and then was disappointed when she got my twisted take on it that would mean she's been pretending to read my writing all of this time and though that might be understandable, it's not on me.

See?

So who are you? And are you putting that face out to the world?

I have friends who don't put out the controversial stuff because they don't want to cause strife. And that's fine. That's who they are. But that's not me.

I have friends who only post serious topics. They don't want to write limericks for their poetry hating friends just for the laugh. And that's fine as well. That's who they are. But that's not me.

I have friends who only post memes. I have friends who only post pictures of their food. I have friends who only post pictures of their cats. But the majority of my friends post a variety of things. And I'm glad that they do. It gives me a fuller reflection of who I think they are.

Who I think they are.

Because it's not just about what they are putting out there it's about what I am picking up.

So did it bother me for someone to get something about me so fundamentally wrong? I'm writing about it aren't I? Of course it did. And I actually went back through my posts to read what I had been putting out there. To see if I had been especially negative or angry. To try and get where they were coming from. Because I think the basic human condition is we all want to be understood. And to be that deeply misunderstood made me wonder why. But after looking again and asking myself if this was something I felt the need to change I went with no. This is who I am. I am the person who can post a funny story about how long it takes me to pick out a couch on the same day I post a link to a story on the latest insane thing Trump said. It's not up to me what someone else picks up.

But it's a good reminder. When you are interacting with people, online, or face to face, be yourself. For me that's my full self. The Good Denise, the Bad Denise and the, oh you know there's not an Ugly Denise so don't even look for her. (big Lucille wink here) For other people it's only a small slice of who they are. So be who you want the world to see you as, and never assume what you are seeing from other people is all they have to show.

For some of us it's most of it.

For most of us it's only some.

Be aware of what you are putting out there and also what you are picking up.

And thank you, to my friends who get me. All of the pieces. I appreciate you and someday you might even get to be in a story where you aren't dead. (wink)

(yes, I was messing around with verbal emoji, it amused me)
(lady shrugging her shoulders in a what are you going to do way)

In Sight...

She had always struggled with capturing the moon.

It was one of her greatest frustrations.

Everything else she had set out to do she had done. But the moon? The moon eluded her.

When she was a child she had thought the moon was a giant cookie hung in the sky. She would lay in her bed and look out the window, watching it disappear each night, bite by bite, then reappear the same way. When she first heard about the Milky Way she nodded, it made sense that there would be milk to go with the cookie.

When she was a teenager she went to the ocean for the first time. She watched the waves roll in and back out. The woman with her warned that there would be a particularly high tide that evening. The moon was full.

The moon could control the oceans? The endless waves, the deepest waters? The moon could do that?

That and so much more.

The crazies come out with the full moon.

The darkest evenings where there is no moon are the most dangerous.

The moon in her ever changing glory controlled everything.

That was when she decided she needed to own the moon.

It was right there for the taking. Why shouldn't she do it?

She could reach her hand up and practically touch it.

Pluck it from the sky and put it in her pocket.

But it refused to be caught.

She had everything else she had ever set her sights on.

But she had always struggled with capturing the moon.

___________________________


Okay, so that's the start. It's not her story. Not yet. It's not much of anything but some feelings I have about her. It all started with a photo this morning on my Facebook feed. A friend had dug out his camera and was taking pictures of the SUPER MOON (TA DA) last night. Another friend who is a professional photographer said, "I have always struggled capturing the moon."

And it was a moment.

I turned the phrase over and over in my head. This is going in a story somehow. I don't know how, just yet. Is it going to be metaphorical? Is it going to be literal? Someone can actually capture the moon? What is it?

So I sat down and wrote what popped into my head about it. This is the sort of stuff that generally goes in a folder on my desktop and I look at it here and there until something bigger forms around it.

But, as you all know, every once in awhile I like to put it up here. To let that idea out into the wild and give it a little room in your heads too. Just to see what shape that makes it take.

I have always struggled capturing the moon....

Who are you? What else do you do?

I'm looking forward to finding out.

Antsy...

My back is still tweaked.

It's a different tweak than last week. Or at least a different feeling. Same side, same low back issues, but it was getting better, like just reduced to a small knot of ouch and then BOOM it exploded AGAIN.

I have an appointment but not until the 1st so I will be being very careful until then to keep it at an annoying but not debilitating pain level.

Yes, we are at a month out of lifting now. I am not happy about it at all but I can't do anything about it. The bright side is that it's probably preventing me from pushing the healing on my hand too quickly. So my thumb should be completely healed by the time my back issues resolve and then I can start lifting again. At significantly lower weights but it will all come back quickly. And who knows, maybe all of this time off will give me more of a sculpted look when I get back into it, right? It could happen.

Shush, it could.

So, I have a rug on my front porch. Not like a welcome mat but a giant 8x10 thick pile rug. It's for the downstairs room. I want to bring it in and lay it out so I can see how much I love it and how much it really pulls the room together. But I promised Brent I would take it easy today so I'm not doing it. That and I know I couldn't. There would be no way I could lift something that size right now.

Which is super frustrating.

But that's just the way it is. For now.

And I really am being good today. I finished reading an advanced copy of a friend of a friend's book so I will be ready with an on release day review. I watched two MasterClasses. I argued over a passive aggressive post that wasn't passive enough for me not to know it was about me. I'm not being passive aggressive right now, because I called him out on it, sometimes it really is all about you. ;-) I'm sitting still except for some light movement and stretches to keep from locking up. I'm not lifting or bending or carrying. Just typing and reading.

But I'm antsy. Which I'm taking as a good sign. It means the manic is still hovering around instead of the other swing. Because of that I'm trying not to get online and shop, though I will be buying blackout curtains and rods this week, but not much more than that. Really. Like the clothes that Title Nine keeps showing me I'm almost totally ignoring. I mean I wouldn't want to get them right now anyway because I haven't been able to get to the gym so I wouldn't have the guns to show off in the sleeveless dresses. That's what I'm telling myself so I don't buy them all because they are SO CUTE!

Tomorrow I get my new crown put in. It's a sign of how antsy I am that I'm almost looking forward to it. Just to get out of the house and do something different.

Isn't it funny that the place I love to be most of all is in my house with Brent but being hurt and sick and some combo of it for a few weeks between the two of us I was excited for him to be able to go to work today (or jealous, one of those) and I'm looking forward to my crazy dentist. It's also the crown setting appointment so it should be no novocaine and really easy pop off the temp pop on the new gnash, gnash, gnash, file, file, gnash, gnash, and done. Just long enough for a weird story from him that I can file away for future fiction pieces.  Though I absolutely won't make his character a dentist because nobody would believe it.

And I'm writing this because I need to pad my numbers and I do have a fiction start in my head but it's just a small start and I don't want to scare it away.  Sometimes writing one of these really freeform thought clearing blogs helps a lot with that. Like ignoring an animal so it comes over to sniff you but if you chase it it will run and hide and you might not see it again. But yes, mostly to pad my numbers. It's not cheating if you made up the game.


Okay, so wish me luck that the rug is actually gorgeous when we get it inside.
And that the couches that are coming on Saturday really are what I wanted.
And that the other pieces all look good together.
And that my back feels better.
And that I grab that fiction idea so you don't have to have another one of these blogs.

Antsy...

Awake...

She always hated this moment.

The moment right before she opened her eyes.

With her eyes closed she could be anywhere. Doing anything.

Once they were open she was locked in to place.

She was here. Now. In this space. With a list of things ahead of her.

Which wouldn't be as terrible if it didn't constantly change.

Okay, that was an exaggeration, it didn't constantly change. She did have one stretch where she had opened her eyes to the same room for 21 different days in a row. It had been long enough that on the 22 day she hadn't even had a moment of dread before she opened her eyes. She knew what was coming. She had actually smiled and taken a deep breath and then...

So now she was back to hating that moment.

Yesterday she had lived in San Diego. She had gone to Balboa Park with her daughter and they had ridden the miniature train. It had been a lot more fun than she had expected. Her daughter had been great. So inquisitive but not scared. It had been a great day.

Last week had not been great. She had been at the water park with her son and he had an accident. Broke his wrist coming out of the Super Sensational Slide. It was not a good day. The broken wrist was just a broken wrist but then the doctor had come out to talk about what the x-ray had uncovered and she had fainted from the shock.

She didn't know if he would recover or not because when she had opened her eyes she was not there anymore.

She was never sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. There were times when it was a relief to move on. To start over. But most of the time it just left a lot of holes in her heart. She had tried to count one time and came up with close to 30 children and 15 spouses in her life not to mention hundreds of friends and sets of parents and step parents and co-workers and even strangers on the street. People she would never see again. Never know how things turned out. But people she could never forget.

It seemed very unfair to her. She was aware of everything as soon as her eyes opened. Every memory, good and bad. No detail was too small. Yesterday she was not making breakfast, she had promised they could have pancakes before going to the park. They weren't going to the zoo. It was so expensive now. But most of the park was free. Pancakes, then the park, then and only then would they find a quiet place to rest and talk about daddy. Which had actually gone so much better than she had been dreading. Anniversaries were so difficult but this one seemed sweet by comparison. They told funny stories and talked about how much they missed him and then got his favorite ice cream as a "toast" of sorts. It was a good day.

Which is how she knew she wouldn't be back.

She only got the days that they thought would be hard. The ones they had been dreading with all of their might. And sometimes they were right to dread it. Sometimes it was awful. But sometimes it was sweet. Or lovely. Or boring. Boring was actually really nice. When you have been so worried and then it turns out to be nothing? That's when boring can be as good as a great day.

Not like the PTSD memory moments.

Like the day at the water park. She probably hadn't even been there. Not really. Not when it was happening. She got to come in for a loop replay of the day. One time she had lived the same memory 16 times. Those were worse than not knowing what her day was going to bring. There had never been a pleasant run of memories when she was living the replays.

She wondered what happened to them when she was there. Did they get the break they so desperately wanted? She knew everything they did, did they get echos of everything she knew?

That would be a lousy trade off.

You get out of dealing with your shit for one day (or 21 days) but you get the residual memory of thousands of just as bad if not worse days? She hoped not. She wasn't sure why this was her life but she wouldn't wish it on anyone else.

In the moments before she opened her eyes she tried to reach out and understand her life. Why this was her life. Once she opened her eyes she was living theirs. But this moment? This was hers.

It was probably the other reason why she hated it so much.

There was just so much of it. So many tears. So much anger. So much pain. So few really okay days that felt like small blessings.

She hoped that their desire for a break wasn't actually making things worse for them.

Usually.

Sometimes, after a particularly bad time, dozens of rounds in the old PTSD generator, sometimes she wished they could feel everything they were putting her through. All of the added stresses. All of the horrible days compounded into one.

But then she realized that if she wished hard enough for a break, she might get one. And then someone else would step in to her life.

Just for a moment.

And they would awake to this.

She opened her eyes...

SO Lame...

I really would like to write a little fiction. I'm falling behind on my fiction goals for the year. I also really do like to write fiction. And the world is a shit show (again, still?) so fiction is a nice mental vacation from that..BUT...I have nothing going on in the old fiction banks right now.

I just Googled Writing Prompts and went to a list of 365 writing prompts, Write Everyday! Well okay then! Let's see what we've got here and...

Look out the window, write about the weather. Or the weather where you wish you were.

Two people are destined for each other. Write about the first time their eyes meet.

Have you ever been in love? Write a poem to first love.

Oh my god...no. No. No. No.

Those aren't writing prompts. Those are how lame can you possibly be prompts.  Ugh.

(sorry to anyone who was inspired by those and wrote a wonderful work of fiction based on seeing the love of your life for the first time in a windstorm)

While I was trying to figure out what to write Brent wandered in to the office and said, "You can write about your awful husband who is making you do everything."

Brent has a touch of the bubons. We aren't sure if it's the Influenza A virus going around or the really bad cold going around or something new and unique but he's been sorta sick since Thursday evening and really sick since Friday afternoon and he is OVER IT. Not over being sick, he still has a fever and is feeling pretty lousy, but over having a fever and feeling pretty lousy. So far I am bubon free so I'm handling everything. Which is what you do, when my back went out he took care of everything, it's the way it goes in a partnership. But neither one of us is really good and not taking care of things ourselves so...he is OVER IT.

But anyway, that would be a lousy story. The husband who got sick and so his wife did the dishes. Not really gripping is it? I mean maybe a troll or something could come out of the drain and make it a little more intense but trolls don't hang out in drains do they? So a water nymph but maybe that's not really a story for a blog and more for  a "I never thought this would happen to me..." letter.

ANYWAY...

Thanks for the prompt, honey, but I don't think so.

Writing prompts are tricky things. Dana sent me one earlier this month that would make a really great story. I did not write that story. BUT...I did write a story that was knocked loose by the prompt. And that's what they are for. To get the gears turning. A few years ago we did an exchange of stories where we each started with the same prompt and wrote our own takes on them. Most of them were sentences that had to be in the story, but there was one that was a feeling sort of thing (I think, I could go look them up but that would only be stalling on getting some words on the screen for today). Anway, the stories we came up with were really different from each other. Which is what you would expect. We have a similar view of the world but a different style after all. My writing tends toward the romcom aspect but everyone is dead and hers toward the oh holy shit we are all about to die but that was a really GREAT line and I am sort of in love with your main character so I'm okay with it.

So the same prompt got very different stories.

But they were good prompts so they got good stories.

And we are really talented so of course they were good.

Except right now I have nothing to say so I'm not really proving my point, but trust me, in the hundreds of posts on here there are at least 10 really solid pieces of work. (just kidding, you all know I think I'm a genius, except on the days I'm sure I'm a hack)

But good writing prompts need to inspire something in you to write.

Oh wait...

shit...

I guess those were good writing prompts after all...

Would You?

I had a dream last night about moving stones being a sign of a miracle of sorts. But the end game looked really horrific from the outside looking in.

Let me try to explain the dream, then where my head was when I went to sleep, and then what I think about it all.

There was an historical site. A stone path that had been set down during a war (?) or just a time in history when there was fascist rule. It wasn't Nazism and the reason I know this is because it was accepting of homosexuals. And the Nazis executed anyone who was homosexual. But it was definitely fascism of some sort. But anyway, each stone represented groups that were included in the reign. If you didn't have a stone in the path you weren't a part of it.

Over the years that it had been out of power the stones had been shattered. In the dream those bits of stone were on the move.

The stones are moving.

This was the almost religious chant that you would hear places. "The stones are moving."

And they were. Seemingly on their own the stones were moving away from the others to reform and make a new path and patterns.

A miracle in action.

Now there was a lot of arguing, remember these stones were originally put there by fascist who killed people who didn't agree with them.  So as groups started to coalesce around the moving stones there were other groups who said, no. This is not okay. Because as the stones were seen as a miracle the old philosophy behind who put them there was reviving with it.

And as I was waking up I thought, What would you do to belong? To be special?

Because I see that a lot. The longing for belonging. I think a lot of extremist groups feed that and nurture that. What would you ignore? What would you dismiss? What would you accept just to belong to a group that promoted you as special?

Yesterday afternoon a friend had posted a meme. It was incorrect and me being me posted a link to what was wrong with it. Which led to another friend of theirs saying I shouldn't selectively point out truth because it's more complicated than that. After a little bit of back and forth I just posted Okay and left the discussion. Okay from me very rarely means I think you are right. It generally just means I'm done with this discussion. Depending on how heated the discussion got it translates to "there is no real discussion happening here so I am out" or "Fuck you." People who know me know which one they just got.

But anyway, it was, to me, a ridiculous point to make. Facts always matter. Even when you agree with tone of the message, the point they were making, the facts have to matter. If they don't then lying doesn't matter. And if lying doesn't matter then we are all lost. And yes I say that knowing full well that we have a Liar in Chief right now and I still think it matters.

So there was that part.

And then there was the shooting in New Zealand. As it started to unfold I thought, if that were here it would be an angry young white man who had been radicalized by the far right. Well it wasn't here but that's who it was. And he left a manifesto so we know that's what happened. American Terrorism export.

There were details that really bothered me. He live streamed it. So there are recordings out there of him slaughtering people in their house of worship. And those videos will be watched and shared and he will be lionized in a part of the world. He will be a hero to them.

It also bothers me when it's a house of worship. Schools and churches bother me more than any other place. Because we are our most vulnerable or send our most vulnerable to those places. I'm an atheistically leaning agnostic and it still hits me hard when it's a place of worship. But this is where people who you hate can be found. For the confederate wanna be it was an historical black church, for anti-semites it's temples, for radicalized alt-right it's mosques. You know you are going to find gatherings of people you hate in these places. At their most vulnerable.

And again, why do people join religions? To belong. We all are just looking for a place to belong.

So as I went to bed last night I was thinking about terrorism, I was thinking about the world we live in. I was thinking about how it's all so messed up.

And in my dreams the stones moved. And I asked what would you do to feel like you belonged? And what would you do if there were others telling you that you are special, that you are better than, that you are more important? Would you follow? Would you take your place in line? Would you be so glad that you are part of the #blessed that you ignored what was happening to everyone else?

This morning watching my friends react to the news I am heartened that they aren't falling in line. That they are horrified. That hearts are breaking. Even if it's not "us" because it is us. We are all us. And we need to make sure we understand that. Because there are others out there that are okay with what happened. I saw a comment today from someone with hash tag I stand with the shooter. Because "they" are the enemy. This was a comment on a friends post:

 The outrage?

What do people expect?

People being murdered all over Europe by them, children being murdered at concerts by them, they did nothing to stop it, hiding their criminals at their mosques.

I’m not saying I condone it, I am saying it was coming.

I told him he was an asshole. And that I might not condone the language but that he had it coming. (And we all know that the language I would have condoned would have had the work fuck in there. You are a fucking asshole, so I was truthful)

We need to be US now more than ever. All of us. People want a sense of belonging and if we let the factions pick off and radicalize the vulnerable these things will still happen.

I could get into the whole cycle of terrorism and what I believe the US has done to perpetuate it and now play both sides of it. But what I really would like to see is those of us who aren't in the government band together, to say no more. To not put up with people we know saying shitty generalized things about other religions. To push back when the "special" talk comes up. And to listen to people who need listened to so they don't go find those fringes.

We all just want a sense of belonging. Let's stop radicalizing people and start to heal.

Please.

Ugh...

So...this is a whining post because I am feeling whiny and I want to get it out of my head so I can stop feeling whiny and move on. Feel free to skip it. It's okay, I'm tired of listening to myself whine as well.

Our last day in Hawaii I hurt my hand. It was a really windy day and that made the waves a little stronger than they had been. We went kayaking in the morning and the cove where we launch from that used to be smooth sand is now slick rocks due to storm activity. Which is actually really cool. The entire landscape changed from how intense the waves had been. Brought up all of these black rocks and lined the beach with them. Really pretty, but a little harder to maneuver.

Anyway...

As I was getting into the kayak a sneak wave lifted me and the boat up then dropped us down. The boat being a boat was fine, me being a klutz hit the slick rocks and lost my footing a bit. So instead of plopping into the kayak as I normally would, my hand caught the edge of the seat and I landed really awkwardly. I sucked in my breath in that hissy sort of way and thought, "well that's gonna leave a mark." And then proceeded to row against the wind for two hours.

And honestly, it was mostly fine while I was rowing. I couldn't wrap my thumb around the paddle, had to grip it with just fingers mostly, but it was fine. Enough that Brent had no idea I was hurt. Cause I'm a beast.

So after rowing and then sitting still it got more and more sore. I thought for a little bit that I might have actually broken it. But since it was our last day in Hawaii I didn't want to spend it getting x-rays and decided just to wait and see.

I waited a week. It was a little better but not as better as I thought it should be. There were still moments where I thought I might cuss when the thumb got pushed back. So I went to the doctor who didn't think it was broken, just slow to heal because of the nerve damage from the bee sting and the 50 year old body not healing as fast as it used to.

So I waited a little longer. And it got better. But still not all better. Couldn't really lift weights because I had no grip with my thumb and worse, pain if I moved it wrong and you don't want to be holding something heavy over you head and have a sharp pain happen, that tends to make you drop things so no bueno.

I finally ordered a brace to stabilize the thumb and give it a little bit of protection to finish healing. Which was great! Now I could lift weights again. Lighter weights than normal for sure, but still. So Monday back in the gym! Yay! I do my first set of exercises and yes, they are lighter weights, and yes it took a bit of figuring out on the hold, but still I did it and can do it and this is great. On to the next exercise. Bent over rows.

So I bend over, lift the barbell, lower the barbell, lift the barbell, lower the barbell, lift the barbell...oh holy fuck what was that?

ZING POP in my right lower back. Just a spot and then the feeling like a rock thrown in to a pond of rippling out pain. Oh shit...

Put the barbell back, sit on the bench and try to stretch, or move, or relax or...okay, maybe this will be fine. Not going to try the bent over rows again but maybe I can still do other things. Pick up a set of dumbells that are significantly lower than I would normally use and start to do a shoulder press and my right side says, "Bitch, did you listen? I said, No!"

So that was it.

Brent drove me home and I spent a very slow day sitting, stretching, slow walking, sitting and stewing in my own FUCK THIS juices.

I've been on the edge of manic (big manic) for awhile, and it's been fine. But working out helps me regulate my mood. A lot. It keeps me from getting to be too much in either direction. I really miss my workouts. I can notice when I'm not working out, especially when I go back a read status updates or blogs. No workouts, no mood regulation. I know part of the bad mood is pain. Pain makes us all cranky. But I also know part of the bad mood is a little bit of fear. I don't want to lose my hard earned gains. I don't want to get in the habit of NOT working out. That's an easy habit to get in to. Especially when that alarm goes off and you just want to stay in your warm snuggly bed. But I especially don't want to tip away from manic to the other side. It's not nearly as fun to live there.

Realistically I'm probably completely out a week. Then a week of slow cardio. Then easing back into lifting. So three weeks added to the 3 weeks I've been out due to vacation, snow, and injury. I'm frustrated.  And in pain. And I want a pan of brownies because of that. Which, of course, is a terrible idea because I can't work them back off. But I self medicate, and I just lost one of my medications so I want my old one back.

Ugh.

Basically, bottom line, keep Brent in your thoughts as I try and fail not to be snappish as I recover. He's already been great, taking care of me and of everything else. But I imagine that will take it's toll on him pretty quickly, especially since I am so frustrated and just want to bitch about it all and get over it quickly and he just wants me to sit down and rest and heal and stop being so stubborn.

So yeah, ugh.

But other than that...

We use this phrase in my family a lot. When there are just a list of things that are wrong with something. You are having a bad day, the dishwasher leaked, the washing machine blew up, the car got a flat tire, you fell down and twisted your ankle...but other than that it was a great day.

And it can be you or the person you are talking to that says it. Often we do it in a sort of round. One person is listing the bad things about something, (me) it gets bad gas mileage, it's not comfortable seating, the colors are ugly, it's expensive... (C chimes in) but other than that... (Brent repeats) Other than that...(I finish) But other than that it's a great car choice.

That's all I could think of yesterday when the Manafort sentencing came down. When he got four years instead of the recommended 24. When the judge listed his crimes out and said that other than those things he's led a blameless life.

What?

Other than the crimes he was just found guilty of? Oh and did you forget the other ones he will be sentenced on in Washington?

Other than all of the things that have brought you to trial you're fine.

What a crazy thing to say.

What a crazy thing to believe.

That other than being a criminal you've really done nothing wrong.

The best online comment I saw about it was other than all of the women he murdered Ted Bundy led a blameless life.

It's like when people talk about accused abusers and say, "Well he didn't abuse this woman so he couldn't have abused that one."

Again, there were a lot of people that interacted with Ted Bundy who lived to talk about it.

Other than the criminal things he did he led a blameless life.

Four years.

And in the sentencing the judge made sure to mention that the real victims in this set of criminal activity were the American people who were defrauded out of tax revenue.

Well, as an American I'd like the punishment to be a little stronger. If you defraud me out of millions of dollars I'm not thinking that four years is good. I don't care if you are 69. I don't care if the judge thinks all of your other crimes are no big. I don't care if your gout is acting up. You lobbied for dictators. You lied to the FBI. You lived a pretty sweet life on fraudulent funds for a lot of years. Other than that...

I don't believe that Trump will ever face justice for the things he's done and the "blameless life" line makes me believe even if he ends up in court there will be someone waiting to let him off the hook.

Because other than all of the things Trump has done and lied about doing and gotten caught lying about doing and then continued to do he's really led a blameless life.

Ewww...

I don't like spit.

It grosses me out when people spit on the ground. And especially when they do that hock up thing first. Like full body shudder gag reflex gross out.

Drooly dogs are pretty much off our adoption ever list. I can tolerate it a little better from a dog than a person, but it still is a full shower and clothes wash after dealing with a breed that drools.

When I'm sick and I need to spit out the phlegm it takes me a minute to brace myself.

I don't like spit.

Going to the dentist is a nightmare. Especially when they are doing something like what I had done today. The new crown. Your mouth is propped open, they are putting stuff in and out of your mouth constantly. You get that string of saliva from your teeth to whatever they are pulling out...

I don't like spit.

As Dr. Youngblood worked on taking out the old crown today and took all of the casts for the new one I did my best to breathe calmly and not get grossed out by the feeling of spit on my face. Yes, I know, it's my own spit, but ew.

And then I thought, this must be THAT moment for dentists in school. Can you deal with this?

Every profession that deals with human bodies has THAT moment. Can you actually do it?

When C was in elementary school he did enrichment class at Colorado College. One Saturday when we picked him up he was a decidedly green shade. Ummm...what's up? Seems that was the day they looked at sheep's lungs. Lungs have a very large amount of blood. He did not deal well with it. So ended the dream of being a doctor. Brent had had a similar nope moment when he was younger as well so it wasn't a total surprise.

But can you deal with blood is a good first start for can you be a doctor.

When I went to massage therapy school I did an introduction class before signing up for the full deal. Just a really quick Saturday thing, lasted a few hours. Why do you want to do this? What do you see yourself doing with the degree? And here are a few simple strokes, let's practice. My instructor called it the "Can you touch a naked stranger?" class. Because a lot of people think they want to be massage therapists and then find out...oh wait, I have to touch naked people. I don't want to be a therapist anymore.

I did not have a problem touching a naked stranger. Which was good for school and a little worrying for Brent. Just kidding... But it was a test you had to pass to move on to the next phase. And you really did need to be able to do it. Each class you were on the table, off the table, working with other students, doing exchanges for homework, then clinic. When you are in school you touch a LOT of strangers. And you have to be able to do it without hesitation. And then you have to learn to do it without losing site of the fact that that body is a person so pay attention.

And these are the things I thought about today while Dr. Youngblood drilled out my old crown and made me chomp on goo to get the mold for the new one. Because it grosses me out to have all of that spit everywhere.

I don't like spit.

The Cost of Wishing...

"What do you think the going rate for a wish is?"

"What?"

"You know, the cost of a wish. Like it used to be a penny, right? People would go to the Wishing Well or the fountain in the square and toss in a penny and make a wish. What do you think wishes cost now? It can't still be a penny."

"Does anyone even carry any change anymore?"

"Oh yeah, I hadn't even thought of that. Who has coins instead of credit cards? I mean maybe some bills but you always just leave the coins behind right? Like we have a change jar at home that we toss our coins into and it used to be like every six months or so we would take it to the bank and turn it all in. I can't even remember the last time we did that."

"So maybe the coin operated wish system is out of business."

"That makes me kind of sad. What a terrible thing to lose."

"Not for the guy that owns the well."

"What?"

"Whoever owned the well that people decided was the Wishing Well. Have you ever tasted a penny? They are nasty. Now imagine a hundred of them in your drinking water. Gross. I would think that getting away from coin based wishes probably was a relief for them."

"Well, except they probably went on city water long before the coins stopped coming. Who gets their water from a well anymore?"

"True."

"And maybe they liked the flavor. Or it gave them some sort of health benefit, right? Like isn't copper one of those things that people take for alternative health shit? What if that's the way the wishing well thing even started? People were tossing pennies into the well and the people that owned the well kept getting healthier and healthier so everyone kept making wishes."

"Maybe. Except I think you are supposed to wear copper for the benefit, not eat it. And how would you wishing Jenny would date you work out to Farmer Brown never getting sick? What would the wish math be there?"

"People would just assume that Farmer Brown was wishing for good health right?"

"Farmers wish for rain."

"Not all farmers wish for rain."

"All farmers wish for rain. It's like a farming absolute. Farmers wish for rain. You need rain."

"Fine. You're the farmer expert now. But maybe other people didn't know this and just assumed he was wishing for health?"

"Farmer Brown is a woman. Don't be sexist."

"Oh sorry...wait a second! You made Farmer Brown up. Farmer Brown doesn't even exist!"

"Still..."

"Fine, she was wishing for health. Is that better?"

"I guess..."

"You're impossible."

"Right? It's like one of my best traits!"

"Anyway...what was the original point I was trying to make?"

"How much does a wish cost now."

"Oh right! So what do you think? If you had to guess."

"I think they are still a penny."

"What? With inflation and everything?"

"Sure. I don't think it's the value of the coin, I think it's the sincerity of the wish. There are free wish avenues after all."

"What?"

"Birthday candles, shooting stars, dandelions, eyelashes..."

"Oh yeah. That's true. All of those are free."

"So I think the going rate is whatever coin you have in your pocket matched to a sincere wish and the belief that it will come true. If you have all of that then your wish is granted. Or if you have two out of three for the free wish areas."

"Sincere wish and belief. So when I was wishing to be an astronaut was I not sincere or was it that I didn't believe it would come true?"

"You have to ask yourself that question. I got my pony. So...."

"You did not!"

"I did. It was a doll, but it was a pony. My fault for not being more specific. And Gary kissed me in third grade when I did the eyelash wish. So I'm pretty sure I've got the wishing thing nailed. Though I probably shouldn't have been wishing for kisses in third grade."

"Maybe not. When was the last time you made a wish?"

"Gosh, it's been awhile. I don't even know what I would wish for anymore. What about you?"

"Maybe a few birthdays ago, the last time I got candles someplace. I think I wished that nobody would sing. They sang anyway."

"Because you didn't really believe they wouldn't."

"True. You really do have this wishing thing nailed."

"I do."

"So...want to go get some pennies and find a fountain?"

On Grief...

How do you grieve?

I've been thinking about it lately.

A dear friend of mine lost her dog a few weeks ago. You know the pets that have your whole heart? That was her dog. Of course it made me think of losing George. And Sampson. And Redd (though we had to give Redd away before moving to stupid California with its stupid no ferret laws). And Mitzi (who stayed in New Mexico as the family dog after we moved away and died years later, but I still miss her). And other pets we've had through the years. But mostly George because he was the last one we had to say goodbye to.

And when someone loses their pet you do that. You think of your own loses and you identify with them. And you think, "How should I respond?" I've settled on "sorry" or "it's so hard" because it is. I try not to talk about how I know just exactly what they are feeling, because I don't. I know what I was feeling. And I know that part of my grieving process was probably different than others.

I hate that stupid poem.

I know, I know, it brings a lot of people great comfort, but I don't believe in an afterlife for people so why would I believe in a rainbow bridge for pets? How horrible for George and Sampson and the others to be waiting over there for me when I will never show up. Because I don't believe in it. So they aren't really waiting over there. See? But I know a lot of people find great comfort in that and share it automatically. And when George died I just said thank you when they did. Not "Do you even know me?" which is what I thought. So I don't share that poem. Or my thoughts on the fact that death is death is death. There was no before and there is no after there is just now. And that I find that to be wonderful but I know most people find it terrifying.

People don't want to hear that shit when they've just lost their companions.

Then another friend of mine asked if I would read a book on grieving before its release so I could give a review on release day. I've read blogs by the woman who wrote the book and found them to be really insightful and lovely so I absolutely agreed. The woman who writes the blogs and now the book lost her husband around the same time as my friend Jo lost hers. I felt like I understood a little more what Jo was dealing with on a day to day basis by reading those blogs.

Because I don't have the frame of reference. I've written about her loss before and about the reaction of people around her and what she deals with. But I felt so strongly for her and for her kids. And how do you react as an outsider? Not a family member, but a long distance friend? Typically I have the same response as I mentioned earlier, I'm so sorry.

I've written about my grieving process for my father and how much it surprised me because I didn't see or talk to my dad on a daily basis. I hadn't lived at home for decades and yet when he died my world rocked. So I think of that and then think of how much greater the magnitude of rocking would be for a spouse. It makes me feel a bit helpless. But honestly we are all helpless in that situation. None of us have the right words to make it better. Because we can't.

So I was thinking about grieving. And thinking about how we process it.

And then another friend lost her partner. The father of her children. Her daily companion. Her love. And all I had was "I am so sorry."

How do we process this? How do we help? How do we reach out through a computer and give a virtual hug? And how do we keep from saying the wrong thing? That's a challenge for me all the time. One of the ways I process strong emotional things like sickness and death is through humor. Dark fucking humor. But humor. My whole family does it. I've talked about it before. We are literally the kind of people that laugh at funerals. It doesn't mean we didn't love the person who passed, or that we are being disrespectful, but it does mean that we process things a little differently. We laugh through the tears to keep ourselves as whole as possible.

So I worry what to say and how to say it and what is appropriate and what isn't.

I hate people who try to co-opt a death as their own. You've seen them. A lot of time in churches it's the funeral brigade. They are helpful, sure, they organize the casseroles and the visits but they also dictate how people mourn. Or they turn it all back to them, "I remember when we lost my James..." I remember as well but this isn't about you. You don't own grief. You have no monopoly on being the great comforter. So shhh....let other people help. Let the bereaved tell you what they need. And don't look at me like that when I respond to "Oh how are you?" with a half laugh and a "Well...Dad just died so..."

When Dad died I knew I was going to be okay when I could start joking again. And okay is what we strive to get to after a death. We are never the same again. That's not the way death works. And we will always face reminders. Other people are going to lose dear pets that will remind of losing our own. Other people are going to lose parents, or spouses, or children, or best friends and we will remember our own loses. But hopefully we get to okay.

And sometimes, even when we worry about the right thing to say we find someone who grieves in a similar fashion and we know they will be okay. Never all better but okay. The second response is my friend who just lost her partner. It's okay to laugh, if you are so inclined. For me this let me know that though she is an understandable wreck right now, she's going to find her path to okay. And if she needs any dark jokes I told her she can come to me.

It's what Skippy did when she was diagnosed with cancer. There are friends you call to make yourself feel better through tea and sympathy and friends you call to get jokes about the phrase killer boobs not supposed to mean actually try and kill you.

So I've been thinking about grief and grieving.

If you are reading this and are still working your way to okay I'm sending you a hug. And I'm keeping my mouth shut if that's what you need. Or I'm telling you something horrible but funny if that is more your speed.

You'll be okay. It will take time, but you'll be okay.

Fifteen Minutes!

I have fifteen minutes to write something, AND GO!

I wasn't going to write today. I mean I was. I had every intention of writing and then I faffed about and did a little of this and a little of that and thought big and little thoughts and faffed some more and then I wasn't going to write anymore because I just didn't have time.

But I really need to get back in to the swing of writing every day so here I sit with a strict time deadline (I have to LEAVE THE HOUSE so it's strict) and I'm writing.

Part of why I didn't want to write is because I really want to write some fiction and I didn't have an idea for fiction. I did have a ranty nonfiction piece I could write about.

Part of why I didn't want to write is because the ranty nonfiction piece I have in my head I've written on the subject over and over again and not really sure it would be anything new or just a rehash of ideas. So I talked myself out of it.

Part of why I didn't want to write is that I'm feeling a little untalented right now. I mean, I've been watching these MasterClasses on writing and I feel like they are really shining a spotlight on the fact that I'm not really that good at this. But then again, I don't really want or need to be THAT good at it. I'm not looking to make a living, just looking to amuse myself and the five of you. But still there is that voice...

WHICH is why I am writing, even if I only have fifteen minutes. Because, man, once that voice sets in you are screwed. Then writing becomes nothing fun at all. It becomes a whole Eeyore trip. You know the whole doom and gloom and nobody really likes me anyway thing. So instead I'm writing to keep the voice damped down and the words flowing.

Who knows, maybe I'll end up writing the ranty blog tomorrow anyway, it's not like it would be the first time I've repeated myself. Or maybe there will be something awesome that happens tonight to spur a fiction idea. Or I will just Google writing prompts like a lazy woman and handle it that way. Which seems about right.

I'm also on the edge of full blown manic, when Brent sees the shopping I've done the past two days he will say I'm past the edge, but I can feel that it might tip into a BIG one. Which would be GREAT for writing. As long as I hide away the credit cards and shopping sites and focus on the words. Whee....


So there you go. Fifteen minutes of just putting my fingers on the keys and letting the words fall out of them. It's messy. It's not all that good. But it's here and that's the part that really counts.

What are you supposed to be doing that you aren't? Set a timer and at least do a bit of it. Trust me, you'll feel better. Or at least you won't feel worse.