Pep Talk Time!

This is a pep talk to me from me...I'm just writing it all down so I have a blog as well. I'm a known cheater face, double dipper like that...

So today doing my workout and Rivs was reviewing running form. One of the things that people often send in questions about is what to do with their hands.

Which is actually a common question for a lot of things. If you are standing in front of a crowd giving a lecture, what do you do with your hands? Taking a picture, what do you do with your hands? When you start thinking too much about what to do with your hands it makes you really self conscious of what am I supposed to do with my hands?

Maybe that's why AI has such a hard time with hands. It doesn't know what to do with them either. 

Anyway...

When you are running you want to keep them loosely closed. No blade hands unless you are sprinting, no tightly closed fists. Just loose. Some of the trainers say to imagine holding a rock, or an egg. Rivs uses imagine holding a bird and don't Lenny it. Which makes me laugh, it's dark, but it makes me laugh. 

So then I was thinking that it's good general life advice. I tend to tell people you can't receive things with a closed fist or a closed mind. You have to keep them both open. Think about holding on to anything, if you squeeze too tightly you are going to crush it or it's going to squish out from between your fingers. Keep those hands relaxed. 

And while he was talking about the hand question he said the other question he gets a lot of the time is how to stay motivated when you aren't progressing. He stopped and drew in the dirt for a while to show what we think of as progress and what progress actually ends up looking like most of the time. The what we think progress should be was a straight line angling up, up, and away. What progress most often looks like ended up being a crazy large swirling design. We go forward, we go back, we stay in the same place, we go forward, we go back even behind where we started, we loopback ahead to where we were...on and on. And then he said the thing we all have to hold on to is to trust the process. 

Which he said is actually probably the number one question he and the other trainers get. What does trust the process mean?

He quoted Knox Robinson (who I've written about using as a trainer before) and how he likes to say that consistency is always more important than intensity. That's trusting the process.

One of the other trainers says you showed up today, that's what counts. That's trusting the process.

Trust the process so when you are on that never ending loopback cycle you don't give up. 

I work out at least 5 days a week. I lift weights. I do cardio. I stretch. I work on my core and on my balance. I do the work. 

And right now I can't tell. 

And until I get my thyroid levels balanced I won't even know if that's why I can't tell or if it's something else. And I don't even get my blood tested again for another three weeks. So far the weight gain has slowed. The hoped for weight loss hasn't shown up. But I have a friend (I talked about this before) who has hyperthyroid and her doctor over medicated her throwing her into hypo (where I am) and it took her three months to get back to normal. I have been hypo for longer that she was so it will probably take me longer to even back out. 

But none of that really matters when I step on the scale (once a week right now just so I can get a feel for where I am) and it's either not budged or it's inched up. 

Frustrated doesn't even begin to capture the feeling. 

I know it's bad because I've watched ads on my Facebook and Instagram feeds for the greatest nutritional advice, or newest weight loss technique. And because I've watched some I'm getting bombarded with them. And I've thought...oh maybe I should...

No. No I should not. 

Again, I should not do anything at all until I get my levels reset. Then I should look at where I am and see what I am willing to do. I am post menopausal, I'm on medication that causes weight gain, I've wrecked my metabolism from years of disordered eating. I know I have to be really careful around this. 

Hold on to that progress in a loose fist, stop trying to grab on to it. Trust the process.

This weekend I am going to sort my closet. I'm not getting rid of anything, but I am taking the things that don't fit out. It makes me tense to see clothes and not be able to wear them. Years ago I made the decision that every single thing in my closet must fit and I must like it. No keeping things because I paid X amount for, or they will fit someday, or yeah, that color isn't one I normally wear but for some reason I bought it so it will sit in my closet never being worn until the threads rot...

I don't do that. I want everything I lay a hand on to fit and be something I like.

So that means I need to sort things out. Pack them away until and if the weight comes back off. I'll give it a good amount of time. If the weight never shifts then it will be easy to transport to Goodwill. But at least I won't be staring at it all going...I used to be able to wear that. I also need to buy a few things. I can't keep wearing the same four pieces over and over. It's starting to feel like I'm punishing myself and that's not good. So pack up what doesn't fit, buy a couple new things. Try not to beat myself up over it. 

Right now I have to trust the process. I am doing the work.  I'm consistent. I show up every day. 

I just need to loosen up my fists and keep looping. 

Doom Loop...

When I wrote earlier this week about the habituation book I've been reading and how it reminded me of the meditation technique to make yourself grateful for what you have by pretending you no longer have it my friend Skippy commented about how that's a terrible idea because your brain doesn't know the difference between real loss and pretend loss. 

Which made me think about guilt and regret and self punishment. 

I think it was in The Four Agreements where I first read the basic truth that humans are the only species that punishes themselves for real or even perceived misdeeds. And does it over and over. Like it's not a one off, oh that was terrible shame on you, we tend to relive it over and over and over again. 

You know the feeling. Lying in bed not able to sleep and your brain says, "Hey! Do you remember that time in 3rd grade where you told Stacy she was fat? I bet you did life long damage to her psyche. You're pretty awful."

Shame. Guilt. We bring it to ourselves and we relive those moments over and over. Just constant guilt.

I've written before that I don't do guilt like that. Or at least I try to make sure I don't. 

Guilt is an actionable emotion. If I'm feeling guilty about something that means I need to change what I'm doing. I'm doing something that doesn't align with my sense of self. 

But what that also means is that I don't feel guilt about past actions. 

Not that I've not done some terrible 3 AM thoughts things in the past, but I know I cannot change them so guilt is a wasted emotion. 

I have regret over some choices. I have some things that I wish I could go back and change. That on my list of "things I would do over" are always at the top and never shared with others. 

But I can't go back. There are no do overs. So there is no reason to beat myself up over those choices. I made them, I live with the consequences of them, if there are things I can do to make up a little bit for bad decisions I have done those things. But I can't change what happened. And reliving it over and over doesn't do any good.

So I don't do guilt. 

Guilt and regret have different holding areas in my head. Regret is acknowledgement that that was not my finest moment. Guilt is you are currently doing something you need to stop, or not doing something that you need to start. Regret is for the past. Guilt is for the present so I have fewer things to regret in the future. Regret is for when the guilt didn't guide me out of a situation. Or when I didn't feel guilty at the time for whatever reason, but looking back I can see that it wasn't a good choice. 

We, the collective we, need to make sure we are treating ourselves kindly. We need to make sure we are holding ourselves accountable as well. So use guilt as a moment to reflect. What are you feeling guilty about? Is it something that you can change? If so, change it. If not, if it's something in the past that is over and done with, then figure out how to move forward. Self forgiveness for mistakes made when you didn't know better goes a long way. And if you did know better and you still did something that makes you feel guilty? Figure out if it's something that you can fix. And if you can, do that. If you can't figure out how to move forward.

Guilt will eat you alive. Because you are constantly reliving the moments where you should have done something different. And your brain doesn't really have an off switch for that so you are just traumatizing yourself over something you cannot change. Don't do that to yourself. 

You don't have to forgive yourself, just like you don't have to forgive anyone else who wrongs you. But you do have to figure out how to let it go. Live with a regret, do better in the future, but stop punishing yourself for the past. 

I remember the first time I read about that idea. It literally changed my life. 

I don't do guilt. 

And I live with my regrets as a part of who I am. 

A reminder to do better when given the chance. 

Stubborn Mind Tricks...

I cleaned out the pantry today. It was getting really messy and needed to be straightened up. 

Too many grocery trips where there wasn't like a really logical space to put the item so it just went on a shelf. Do that often enough and you have a mess and have no idea what you really have. 

I've been putting it off for weeks and finally decided I had to do it today.

I threw away so much stuff. 

Wasteful. I know.

And I know that most of that stuff would have been just fine. That they put expiration dates on most foods just so you will do that. Toss it and buy more. Smell and taste that's what you need to use to judge if things are still "good" or not. Best by dates, expiration dates, unless it's a food like meat, or dairy they don't really matter. 

And yet...

I threw away so much stuff. 

And some of it was stuff that I hadn't thrown away the past couple times I've tidied the pantry, even though I knew that they were past their dates. I said, NO! You know these are fine and just use them, but looking at the shelves today I saw that I had even put new groceries away from the past their dates things. Like there was a space around them. Nothing new touching them. And I clearly hadn't used them. Because eww.

And that's it, I just can't get past that part. Even though logically I KNOW those are made up numbers, emotionally I am still like....but yeah, that's gross. 

So now I'm trying to figure out what else I do this with. Things that I know logically aren't true but emotionally I'm still all in. 

It probably matches with the habituation thoughts lately. Things I need to pay attention to, or stop paying attention to. And then the next step of convincing myself that a true thing is a true thing no matter how much my lizard brain is arguing with me. 

I think I need to decide that I'm mad about the dates. That it's just a sign of capitalism controlling everyone. That they are fucking with people because they can. And that I won't be a part of it. 

If I can get a full head of steam worked up about being mad at the corporations it might just work. It's how I stopped eating much processed food. I read Salt, Sugar, Fat and the timelines of how the food industry worked to increase the items in our food products that our brains get addicted to. The things we crave. Why we have so much added sugar to EVERYTHING. And once I got mad enough about it I changed a lot of what we eat. 

For a while we ate nothing processed, it was all made from scratch. Then I realized that I might be really mad at Big macaroni and cheese but the most I'm willing to do is change to Annie's over Kraft for my blue box vice. 

But if I could change my mindset about 80% of the dates I would save a lot in waste over the next 44 years of my life. 

I just need to get mad about it...

But I mean....ewww...

Try and Get Noticed...

I'm reading a book on habituation right now. The premise is that we need to dishabituate ourselves to our lives to really notice them. 

You've experienced the sensation. You are used to everything and everyone around you but if you travel and come back you see it through fresh eyes. Or if you give someone a tour of your house you notice things that have faded away into the background. If your spouse has to leave town for awhile when they come back you see them through new eyes.

It's also a meditation practice. Imagine you lose something important to you. Your spouse. Your house. Your car. You pets. Really imagine it. What would you feel like? What difference would it make in your life? Now realize that you haven't lost it. How great do you feel? 

It's part of practicing gratitude. Often when I'm doing the public posts for gratitude I will preface it with something like, small gratitude, or basic gratitude. But we often just take things for granted that are actually really great things. 

We have to dishabituate ourselves to them to notice them again. 

And it's really easy to get habituated to things. Like really easy. 

Anyone who has been in a terrible job situation, or romantic situation, or living situation knows this. Sometimes it takes a real jolt to break you out and to even get you to notice that what you are dealing with isn't normal or okay. 

I've talked about working at the car dealership when I first went back to work after having Katie. When I would leave work I would get in the car at the end of the day, pull out onto Lomas and scream for the three blocks to the highway onramp. Just full on scream. Letting out all of the pent up frustration from the day before I picked her up. Great coping mechanism, I thought. 

And when people would leave and come back a few months later to grab lunch we would all say, "oh my gosh you look great!" and they did. Skin looked better. Eyes were brighter. Shoulders weren't resting next to their ears. But it wasn't until I left myself that I realized...oh wait...it wasn't normal to feel that way at work. 

Which looking back seems like the most obvious thing ever, but we had all become used to the conditions. We had habituated to terrible treatment and work conditions. And even if we thought it was terrible we all made various excuses as to why we couldn't change. For me it was I was back in the workforce for the first time in three years. Who else was going to hire me? I am a Gen X kid of Silent Generation parents so I was raised with the work ethic of put your head down and do the job. If it was fun they wouldn't call it work, and that's why they pay you to show up. 

Thank goodness Millenials and Gen Z have dropped that you owe your employer all of your joy mentality. 

Reading this book has made me really notice things like that. The things I have stopped noticing. Or the things that seem normal now that I know wouldn't have been considered normal a few years ago. 

Politically the Trump years have gotten us all habituated to conspiracy theories in a new way. Like all of his constant talk about election rigging, and bringing Qanon to the forefront. Repeating stories like "They're eating the dogs" during a national broadcast. It's not normal. But we've sort of stopped noticing that it's not normal. 

For instance...

There was another assassination attempt yesterday. The guy didn't get a shot off. Secret service shot at him, he ran away, but the cops were right there to pick him up. And my reaction was...hunh. How did he know when Trump was going to be golfing that day? Why wouldn't the Secret Service clear the whole area around the course when he decides to golf? How in the world did the Trump team have a fundraising email ready to go minutes after the attempt? I mean...it's all a little suspicious right? 

And what about the last attempt? That's still weird right? Supposedly his ear was shot, he wore that GIANT bandage all through the convention and then the next week it was fine? Two weeks to recover from a gunshot? I'm over 20 years younger than he is and I take a month to recover from any sort of cut now. And that's just the initial healing, I scar now over the smallest wounds. And cartilage never grows back. If you lose part of your ear, you lose part of your ear. It's just gone. And wouldn't he make a big show of that? The man who said he always wanted a Purple Heart? Wouldn't he show off a wound to look brave?

And why aren't the two people who were shot and survived featured at all of his rallies? And why don't they open each one with a moment of silence for the man who actually died? I mean we haven't heard him talk about it at all except one night at the convention and then when Kamala Harris was eating his lunch during the debate and he screamed about taking a bullet to the head because of her. 

Wouldn't that be his go to all the time? 

Why isn't he talking about it? Why didn't he release the medical records about the injury? Why don't we have a thousand Zapruder films of the shooting? I mean, so many people must have been recording his speech right? Why don't we even have diagrams as to where all of the people who were shot or injured with shrapnel were standing? 

I'm just asking questions...

See? We've normalized conspiracy theories. And not trusting anything you hear. Or even see. We've become habituated to it. 

I'm not sure what it will take to dishabituate all of us. What it would take to be shocked when you hear that someone was set up in a sniper's nest to take a shot at a former president. Instead of thinking, well he's down in the polls so why not go back to the assassination attempt well. I'm not saying it was all a set up...but....

I've been habituated to conspiracy theories being the norm. 

I'd like to get back to being shocked about things instead of taking them in "of course" stride. 

Or not even being shocked, but maybe things like that not happening? How great would that be?

But for now I'm trying to pay attention. To not just take things as normal or not even notice things. I'm doing what I can to not just let things that are not normal seem normal. I'm trying to pay attention. 

And I'm checking and double checking my voter registration and ready to vote for normal in 2024.

But the good kind of normal. Not the we've all gotten used to this weirdness and now it seems normal. 

Go Blue. 

Books Chapter 10...

Books Chapter Nine 

“So, your genius writer friend is Ellie.”

“And you are Conrad Peterson Berranger. Of THE Berrangers. Berranger Hall Berrangers. Berranger Field Berrangers.”

“At your service. Though, as my fraternity pledge story should have made you realize, I am not really in good graces with THE Berrangers right now. The fact that my father could only get me evicted from my dorm and not the entire school still makes him grind his teeth.”

“Just because you didn’t join a fraternity?”

“Just because I didn’t join HIS fraternity. Just because I looked at them and decided that they were not the sort of people I wanted to be like. He didn’t view it as a rejection of them, but as a rejection of him.” Peter paused for a moment. “And I guess it was. Or at least a rejection of the life he had planned out for me. Which if he had paid a bit of attention to me up to that point, he would have seen coming.”

“Sometimes parents are too busy planning for the lives they want for their kids to actually notice the lives their kids are living already.”

“You sound like you have experience?”

“This is going to sound bad considering, but no. I don’t actually. My mother doesn’t have big plans for me like that. She’s always been too busy with her own life to plan mine. And I don’t mean that in a negative way, like she didn’t pay attention to me, I mean, like literally. My mother always worked a full-time job, plus any extra she could get. She is a single mother, so all of the parenting fell to her. Her sisters were just as busy with their own families so even if they could help it wasn’t much. She was too focused on keeping us going to have elaborate plans for me other than get a good education.”

“And here you are.”

“And here I am. Getting the same education as Conrad Peterson Berranger of THE Berrangers.”

Peter laughed, “How often am I going to hear that?”

“Honestly? Probably a lot.”

“You know we met before, right?”

“Ellie reminded me. You did the debutante thing with Missy.”

“I was an escort, but yeah, the debutante thing.”

“You know you should be careful who you tell you used to be an escort.”

“I’m not sure telling people I did debutantes sounds much better.”

Gloria laughed, “You’ve got a point. But, yeah, Ellie reminded me that we briefly met during one of Missy’s practices.”

“Boy, you really don’t like her, do you?”

“What?”

“Missy. I’m not sure if you’re aware of it but every time you say her name your cheek tightens at the corner of your mouth. Like you are trying not to grimace but only sort of succeeding.”

“I don’t like her. She’s not very likeable. At least not to me. But she is still Ellie’s half-sister, and I try to keep that in mind. And Ellie said she’s much better than she used to be.”

“And you don’t believe that for a second.”

“Ellie would like to believe in the best in everyone. Missy is no exception. Or maybe she’d like to see the best in Missy especially. She feels a little guilty that she got to live with their dad full time while Missy only visited. And we have other history as well.”

“The camp?”

Ellie leaned back in her chair, “You know about that?”

“My sister went to Camp Wildwoods every summer. She is a little younger than Missy and a little older than you and Ellie. I was talking to her yesterday and told her that I’d run into Ellie and had you in the class I am TA for, small world, blah blah blah, and she reminded me of the camp story. Which of course we had gotten her full retelling of it as soon as she got back.”

“So much for everyone will forget by the time they get home. That’s what Ellie’s mother told us on the drive back. Or told me since I don’t think Ellie would even listen to her at that point, she was so mad.”

“Mad at her mother? Over what Missy did?”

“No, mad at her mother for not telling her. For not telling me. For allowing it to happen. Ellie has a real thing about telling the truth. No matter what. And this wasn’t even avoiding the truth. She had lied to both of us. She had reasons, but it was still a lie. And for Ellie the rest of it didn’t matter. The lie was what was the biggest problem.”

“I remember that about her as a kid. She was the most honest little kid out there. And Missy was, well. Missy.”

“Missy never stood a chance. Ellie’s mother, the camp story aside, is one of the best people I know. Always striving to do the best she can to help others. She views it as her responsibility. She was born into some money, then married into more. She always viewed it as her job to use it wisely. Missy’s mother also was born into money, more than Ellie’s mother, and married into more, and then even more. And she viewed it as her job to remind people that she had more than they did. Or at least that’s how it seemed to me.”

“I am familiar with that use of money.”

“Berranger Hall. Berranger Field.”

“And that’s just here. There are Berranger nameplates all over the city. Never do a good deed if you don’t get the naming rights.”

Gloria’s phone chimed, “Shoot, I’ve got to get to work. We didn’t really cover anything but old gossip today, I’m going to leave you my revised paper. I think it’s ready to submit. Just shoot me a message letting me know what you think.”

“Work? I didn’t know you were working.”

“I just got the job last week. It’s technically my summer plan, but I’m training a few nights a week and covering some weekends until the end of the semester. The scholarship covers school expenses but if I want to stop relying on Ellie for my snacks, I need to get some money in the bank.”

Gloria packed up her things and headed out. She was really looking forward to her first day in the bookstore. She had already spent so much time there that people assumed she was a clerk. It was an easy yes when Adele asked her if she wanted a job. Of course, this was going to mean less time hanging out in the massive comfy chairs reading and more time restocking shelves and answering questions but still, working with books was her idea of a perfect summer.

She shook her head and smiled thinking of the other perfect summers she and Ellie had spent at Camp Wildwoods. Missy hadn’t completely ruined that for her, even though she had tried.

Good For the Ego...

I got hit on today. Not like maybe they were hitting on me, for sure hit on. 

I stopped by the grocery store after getting my hair done. When I was loading my groceries into the car someone drove by me. Then as I was returning the cart they were backing down the row. I thought to myself, you're in my way here, figure out where you are going. Then they pulled in to the space next to where I was parked. They pulled in crooked and I thought, Dude, you are the one that gives BMW drivers a bad name. 

Then he got out of the car. 

Him: "Excuse me?"

Me: *thinking oh he wants to ask about the car, BMW guy curious about the electric SUV BMW I'm driving.* "Yes?"

Then he looks at me, looks at his feet, puts his hands in his jacket pocket then looks up at me again.

Him: "I just wanted to tell you that you are really pretty. Like really gorgeous."

Me: "Thank you." *And taking a step back toward the car*

Him: "I was just wondering if I could get your phone number?"

Me: "Well, it would make my husband really mad if I gave it to you, but thank you."

Him: "Oh, well, I had to try. You really are very pretty."

Then he got back into his car and left. 

It was sweet. He was in his mid 20s and I didn't bother telling him how old I was. Who knows, maybe he is into that sort of thing, or maybe too good mannered to say, "You're really pretty...oh wait! Now that I see you up close I just realized you're really old!" 

I came home and told Brent how lucky he is to be married to someone so hot. He agreed.

It was sweet. Partly because though he stalked me in the parking lot, pulled into a space near me, and tried to get my phone number none of it came across as threatening. He respected my space. Most importantly he respected my no. And this is what a lot of guys have a hard time with. The whole "You can't even give a woman a compliment anymore" brigade. You can. You totally can. You can tell a stranger they are pretty. You can even ask one out on a date, or for their phone number. You just have to not be pushy or creepy or belligerent. And you have to understand that the answer could very well be no. 

The other part that made me think is that I automatically mentioned my husband. Even though he wasn't coming across as a creepy. My experience with men over the years lets me know that a lot of them won't take your no. But they will take a leave "my woman" alone from a man. I've even had men apologize to Brent when they've complimented me not realizing we were together. "Oh I'm sorry, if I had known she was with you..." What? If you had known I was with him I would no longer be pretty? What? 

But because of that I'm always pretty quick to make sure I mention a husband. I've done it on business trips, in hotel bars. I've done it on flights. I've done it for the past almost 40 years. Thanks, my husband picked this outfit. Thanks, my husband really likes my hair like this too. Thanks, but my husband is sitting there and will be back in a minute.

It's patriarchal bullshit, but I still use it as an easy button. 

I'm not sure you, strange man, will listen to me say no so I will add my husband's voice to my own and then you'll listen. 

Even though out of the two of us, I'm the one you need to fucking listen to. Not just because it's me you're talking to not him, but because I am the one who would fuck your shit up if you crossed a line.

She may be really pretty...but she's also really mean...

But this kid was sweet. As Brent said you have to shoot your shot sometimes. And he did. And it made me feel good about myself when my thyroid weight has been making me feel less than attractive lately. So he did a good deed for an old woman and I hope he gets good karma points for that. 

Lighthouses...

I've always loved lighthouses. 

I've collected a few statues, we've done a few tours. I've looked at possible tattoos. The travel list includes driving down the coast from Washington to California doing a lighthouse tour at some point. 

When I was younger they featured heavily in Christian art. The lighthouse being a good symbol for religion right? Showing you the path. Giving you a guide. So I came to collecting pieces that way. 

When I left the church, I kept the lighthouses.  

I've talked before about Brent and I being each other's lighthouses. The guide home. The world is rough and it's nice to have someone that helps you navigate it. 

And that's always been the way I've viewed them. A way to see the dangerous spots. A light to mark the safe passage.

And then...

Today while I was working out part of it was on the coast and Tommy Rivs (trainer in the program) was talking about the lighthouses. There was the original one and a modern one built right next to it. It's on the Canary Islands, rocky volcanic coast, so I expected him to say something about the light to mark safe passage and instead he said, it's like a goal. 

You are out in the ocean, nothing around for miles and miles, completely black around you. It gets repetitive. It's dull. It's just constantly the same. And then...you look ahead and see a spot of light. Something to work towards. Something that you can mark progress with. Get closer to that light. That's your focus. Suddenly you have something different, something to work towards. It's not just dull and the same anymore.

It's a goal. 

Well cool.

And, for me, it's sort of the same thing. My goals light my path. They keep me from floundering in the rocks. I use them to keep me from either wandering off or just sitting still. 

The world hits you with a lot. All of the time. If you are easily distracted you can find yourself chasing a lot of squirrels. And if you are easily overwhelmed you can find yourself just sitting with eyes wide having no idea what to do. 

I am a combination of both. Sometimes it's all too much and I shut down. Sometimes it's all so much and I want to do everything. My goals give me something to focus on to tune out all of the distractions. 

For instance, I have been busy the past few days and haven't written. But I have a goal that I want to reach and to do that I need to write almost every day for the rest of the month. So here I am sharing with you about my workout. Which this series is 20 thirty minute (or so) chunks that if I finish by the end of the month I get a little digital trophy for my trophy case. But they released the series when there were only 20 days left in the month. So to make sure I get the weekends off I have to double up on my cardio only days. Which today was one. So I did cardio for just over an hour. Ran/walked for 4.25 miles. And the thing that kept me going at about minute 48 was that I needed to finish to stay on track to reach that goal. 

I can see the lighthouse in the distance and I am always moving towards it. 

I like that idea. 

Just another reason to love lighthouses. 

Safe passage in more ways than one. 

Get a Life Online...

I was going to have dinner with a friend last night but he wasn't feeling well. When I was younger, oh so much younger than today, that wouldn't have stopped me. But Brent and I both had LONG recoveries from Covid and are a lot more cautious about illness than we used to be. That and Brent has some work things this week that need him to be focused and being sick doesn't lend itself to that. So out of an abundance of caution we didn't have dinner last night. If he woke up feeling well this morning we would grab lunch today instead. 

He did not wake up feeling well, he woke up feeling sicker. 

Boo. 

It's not one we can just reschedule for next week because he lives in San Diego. We haven't seen each other in six years. It will be awhile before we get a chance to see each other again. Or at least face to face. 

We see each other a few times a week online. 

This morning I was texting with more than one person who was super excited that someone else's cat came home after being missing for two weeks. All of us has been so upset when he wandered off and couldn't be found. I think only one of us had actually met the cat in question. Or even met the owner face to face. 

But online? Online we know each other well. 

I've written about this before, the people that don't understand online friendships. The ones that think you can't have a real connection with people unless you are sitting in the same room with them. 

I feel badly for those people. 

And I know those people have no idea what it's like for those of us who are more introverted. Who do our best socializing when we don't have to make eye contact. Or worry that we laughed too much, or at the wrong places. Or were too blunt when someone asked us our opinion. 

I'm best at being social when it's done in small doses. Comments online. A quick text message. 

And over the years, a lot of years, I've grown a family in those spaces. Friendships that are incredibly close. People that I love dearly. The longest lasting bonds I've had with such a large group. 

I've talked about that being the reason why it's impossible for me to fathom leaving Facebook completely. Too many of my connections are there. Each time someone else leaves I lose them. And that's always rough. I don't want to lose most of them in one fell swoop like that. 

It's always nice to see people face to face when we get the chance. And I am sad that I won't see my friend while he is here. But I also know it won't make a difference in our friendship. 

Nothing major to talk about today. Just that. That gratitude for my friends that live in the magic box. That and gratitude that a wandering cat made his way back home. Seriously, Bubba, don't do that again.  

Books Chapter 9...

 Book Chapter Eight

“It’s Ellie, right?”

“Yeah…” Ellie was trying to place the person asking. She didn’t recognize her from any classes, but she did seem familiar.

“I thought I remembered right. I was at your reading last week. I have to say I’m really impressed.”

“Oh,” Ellie could feel herself starting to blush, “Oh, thanks a lot.”

“How long have you been writing?”

“Since I discovered it was something people did. Like, books were written by actual people, they didn’t just appear in the library by magic.”

“It’s still kind of magic. Even if there are people behind them. Or at least that’s sort of what I think. Books can be magic. What you read last week was magic.”

“I don’t know about that but thank you again.”

“I’m making you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I’m really bad at not just sharing what’s on my mind. I know most people hate it, but I think…”

“It would be so much easier if everyone did it!” Ellie interrupted.

“Exactly! I’m Jade, by the way.”

“Hi, Jade, I’m Ellie. But you knew that. Now you know that officially.” Ellie shook her head. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. Would you mind if I sat with you and asked you a few more questions? You can tell me if I’m imposing. Like I said, I wish everyone would just say what was on their minds.”

Ellie checked her watch, “I’ve got to take off in like fifteen minutes to meet my friend but you’re welcome to sit with me until then.”

“Thanks.” Jade sat down and opened her backpack taking out an old black composition notebook.

“Are you going to take notes?”

“Yeah, know it’s weird, but my brain is really busy. When I write things down as I listen it helps me to focus on them. Sometimes it helps me to get the ideas to stick, or to make sense, or to connect. It sort of slows down my monkey chatter. I think that’s why I love books. I can focus on the words and on the pages and it sort of shuts down everything else.”

“Are you a note taker when you read?”

“I am. I’m constantly writing things down to try and figure out exactly what I think about them. You know? Like you read something in a book, and it strikes you, but you aren’t sure why. What does it mean? Sometimes it ends up not meaning anything but you just like the way the words feel in your head.”

Ellie smiled.

“Okay, I know I sound a little crazy when I talk like that, but I figure someone who writes like you do must understand that words have a feel to them. If not, you can pretend I never said a word and we can start over.”

“No, I think it makes total sense. There are some words that just feel good to read, and to say. They have a weight to them. I get it.”

“Okay, back to my intrusive questions. How did you get the courage to share what you’ve written? Every time I think about showing someone else my work I back out. I’m afraid that they will hate it, and then that would mean they hate me because I created that.”

“Wow. Okay, so the first time I shared something with someone they did hate it.”

“You’re kidding? How could they hate what you write?”

“You’ve only heard one small piece of what I’ve written over the past 18 years. And that piece was written and rewritten and thrown away and dug back out of the deleted files folder and written again. My first piece was a poem about a dog. And I shared it with my half-sister who told me I should give it to the dog to eat because that would make it better.”

“Harsh!”

“It was harsh, but it was also probably true, and I did appreciate her honesty. But I was only 6 so looking back it’s understandable that it was crap. At the time though I had been really proud of it and thought since she liked our dog more than she liked any of us she would like the poem as well.”

“And sisters can be mean.”

“Yes, they can. The next person who saw my writing was my best friend and she loved it and encouraged me to do more of it. Also, probably not an unbiased source, but at least this time it was in the opposite direction.”

“How about your parents?”

“The only writing of mine they’ve ever seen have been school assignments. Maybe now it would be okay, but I used to write a lot of really dark things in high school, and I think they would have wanted to send me straight to therapy. Not understanding that the writing was my therapy.”

“But your friend was fine with the dark things?”

“I don’t know that she ever considered them overly dark.”

“Oh well now I’m intrigued.”

“She’s an intriguing person. And one I said I’d meet five minutes ago. It was nice to meet you, Jade. I hope to see you in writing group next week. Maybe we can get you more comfortable with sharing your own stuff.”

“Nice to meet you too. And maybe, I’d really like to for sure. I just need to find the guts.”

Books Chapter Ten

Memories...Misty Watercolor Memories...

Our 40ish reunion is this coming weekend and so the Facebook group has gotten really active with posting photos again. I wrote about it before here, how it's interesting to get that dejavu you're not part of this crowd feeling again. 

But here is the weird thing this time. There have been pictures posted of some other kids. Some of the not in ALL of the pictures kids. And some of them while I'm looking at their faces I'm thinking about how I remember them looking, and it's a little different. 

Honestly, I've made them all better looking, which sounds mean, but it really isn't. My memories are from a teenage me looking at other teenagers. Looking at those pictures as a grown ass adult I see a lot of awkward kids. Not all of them, there were a few in our class (and those around us) who were just stunning even back then. But there are quite a few that I think...hunh...when I see the photo. 

And then there are the surprises, like rolling through the latest round of pictures and there is a group of five guys, one guy stood out, actually two, but one I knew right away and the other I was like...how do I know you? Put someone else's name to him for a moment then noticed the person standing behind him. The top of his head had been cut off in the picture, see kids when we were younger we had no idea if the shot was actually lined up right or what we had until the film was developed...So anyway it was a neck and a chin and I thought...Oh...now I know who this is. 

The neck and chin belonged to my 9th grade boyfriend. Even after all of these years I instantly recognized just that much of him. Then as soon as I had him I had two of the other people in the photo. His best friends. Interesting what your brain files away and what it doesn't. 

And of course once I saw that picture and thought of that boyfriend I went down a nostalgia rabbit hole for a moment. It seems weird and really a little too much to think about, but I regret that relationship in an odd way. Not that I didn't like dating him, I did. Not that he wasn't a nice guy, he was. Not that we weren't a good match, we...well.. I was not the person he needed right then. A lot of pressure to put on a 14 year old kid, but I just wasn't the support that he needed at that moment in time. But we had a strong connection, I mean, when Brent and I decided to get married I went and talked to that boy one last time. Just to make sure that I was over him. Brent was a saint to put up with that nonsense. Though he did go with me and waited in the car until I was done. He was a saint, but he wasn't stupid.

We crossed paths again about 10 years later. I was working with a woman who was talking about this guy she and her husband were good friends with. He was going by his full name by then, not the shortened version and I wasn't sure it was him. I asked her to ask him if he remembered a girl he went to high school with, and gave her my maiden name. 

She came back into work the next day and punched me in the arm. "You could have warned me! I asked and he said, 'Oh you mean the love of my life? The one that got away? Yeah, I remember her.'" 

She did not believe me that I wasn't actually sure he would remember me. That's how surprised I always am when someone remembers me. Like, he was super important to me. And I knew at the time we were dating that I was his life raft in a really bad time. And I knew that his sister HATED me from breaking up with because it wrecked him at a time he was already really vulnerable. But still, ten years later I wasn't sure he'd really remember who I was. Like I would wash right out of his head. 

We reconnected for a bit and it...didn't go well. Again, he needed something from me that I couldn't give him. And I'm sure I fucked up his head all over again. Because I was ready for a friendship with someone who knew me when, and...well...he wasn't. 

But I still recognized his neck and chin instantly. 

And there is still a part of me that thinks now almost 30 years since the last time we saw each other he probably doesn't remember me. Though it's probably more like he wishes he didn't. 

And, I will have to be honest, I'm going to write down a lot of notes from what I remember about that time and eventually a lot of it will probably make it into a story, because it really is one of those "what if" things that I like to write about. What if it went a different way? And what the hell was in the water that we were all thinking about permanent relationships at 14-17 years old? I mean, I got engaged to Brent when I was 17 and he was the third person to ask me...

And I wonder if the other two even remember me? 

Run Away...

Finished the 6 week running program I was doing today. 

My goal was to be able to run faster without feeling totally gassed at the end of 30 minutes. 

When I started I thought I'd aim for 5 or 5.3 MPH and I was doing pretty well with that for the first couple weeks then the trainer took a GIANT leap in time running in the intervals and I realized that 5.3 was out of the question. Then he took another GIANT leap and I backed off again to 4.8 for the last bit. Still faster than I was running so it counts. 

Yesterday (the last growth workout session) I ran for 30 minutes at 4.8 and had enough left in the tank for a 20 minute interval run. When I did the 5K test I toggled between 4.6 and 5.0 and was completely gassed at the end. So even though my top speed was higher last time, I ran consistently at one speed this time that was higher than my bottom speed and I could keep going so I'm counting it as a win. 

I think that I will always prefer intervals over just straight running at one speed. I like the variety to at least have something that doesn't feel super boring. I'm also just never going to be super fast and that's okay. 

Other random thoughts during these weeks...

Knox Robinson (a different trainer with iFit) said in one workout I did that you don't know how far you can go until you go there. And I repeated that or a version of it to myself over and over during this series. "You don't know if you can run this long at this speed because you haven't yet." Sort of a don't give up mantra without stressing the giving up portion. 

And then on a variation of it during this cycle Tommy Rivs was running on the coast and by a lighthouse. He was talking about how the need for the lighthouses comes from someone going too far. From someone crashing into the rocks in an unknown location. If you just stay where you were you would never need the lighthouse. But because that one person, or handful of people, ventured out and crashed, now there are lighthouses to mark the way. 

Which on one hand seems like a reason to not try new things. I mean, the people that stuck to their own shorelines didn't sink. But when you look broader at it, if it weren't for the people willing to crash, the rest of us wouldn't have safe passage. We need to have those that are willing to stick their necks out, to take the risks, to mark the paths. Or nothing ever changes. 

And the last one was at the beginning of this week Rivs started talking about how this wasn't the end of the program. It was the week to prepare for the next thing. This goal was in site so it was time to pick a new goal. And part of me was like, Dude! Let's finish this one first! Come on! And the other part was like...well sure if you wanted to wait until this week, I mean I set up my next cycle of programs over the weekend so...

Yeah, the dichotomy of me... Enjoy the end of one program! Nope, NEXT! Time to find the next thing! 

But he did make a good point, as far as fitness goes. It's never a one and done goal. It's always a building thing. I wanted to run a 5K. Then I figured out I wanted to run faster than I was, and also not be totally gassed doing it. Which I figured out during that cycle that the not gassed part was the most important part of the equation for me. Now I want to figure out a good interval pace to be able to run without being totally bored. I'm sure while I'm doing that I'll find something else that I will want to focus on. 

I would much rather there was a magic number I could hit that would mean I don't ever have to work out again, though. Just being honest, even with finding things to work toward, and turning it into goals and games, I just don't like working out. I wish there was a level you reached and then you could be done and yet always stay that fit forever. 

But since there isn't I will start a new cycle on Monday. Right now it will either be a running series with Casey Gilbert or the last of the Rivs Road to Recovery cycle, depending on if iFit releases that one over the weekend or not, they've been advertising that it's coming for awhile. And I'll also do their September Challenge, gotta love that they have monthly challenges as well. Gamify it. That works for me. 

But today I am done with this six week cycle. Gold star!

NaNoNoMo....

For those of you that have been around awhile you know that I have done NaNoWriMo a few times. I've done it straight by the rules and I've done it Denise Style where I did 50K words in November but I mixed them all around. Either straight fiction, but short stories or fiction and nonfiction just as long as words hit the page it counted. 

It's a challenge each time. Fifty thousand words in a month is a lot of words. And the time I did it all toward one story was really really difficult because I don't tend to write long stories. But that's the point of it. Get the words on the paper (or screen). Edit later. You can't edit a blank document. Get in the habit of writing. Gamify it! And, for me, there is a screen with digital confetti and stars that shows up when you post your last chunk of words and reach 50K. Big YOU WIN! sign. Yes please. More winning. 

Now some of you are like, why are you talking about NaNoWriMo in September? Isn't it usually October that you convince yourself that it wasn't THAT hard. And you weren't THAT stressed about it. And wouldn't it be kind of fun to try it again? Even though you keep swearing that you will never do it again. That you've won it a few times and that's enough. No more and I mean it this time!

Well this time I do mean it. 

I went in this morning and deleted my NaNo account. 

For those of you not into crazy writing contests you probably have no idea why. 

See, NaNoWriMo (the organization) was asked about their stance on generative AI. They started out with a "it's not on us to determine how people write" sort of what the fuck statement then moved into an "and we think it's ableist and classist for you to even talk about it being wrong."

Oh fuck you.

So ableist would be if you were conflating programs like speech to text as being the same as ChatGPT or any of the other generative AI programs. And this is not that. 

And, as Brent said when I read the statement to him, classist? Having access to generative AI programs seems more classist than not. 

A friend of mine posted about NaNo's stance and what he thought and someone on his list came in to rail against him for his take. That it was gatekeeping. And all writing is writing. And how dare he accuse people who use generative AI of not actually writing. 

Well because he's right, it's not writing. It's just not. It's fancy plagiarism. 

Because they train the AI on work that is out there, and even that phrasing makes it seem innocuous. Training, like teaching someone to do something. And in reality that's how everyone who creates learns how to create. We read, watch, look at paintings, sketches, whatever things that are already done and the first few things we create are almost always copies of those things. Then we do it more and more until we find our own style. 

AI can't find it's own style because it's not a person. It's not creative. All it is, is cut and paste from someone else's works. You enter a prompt and it gives you the words or the art, but it's not created, it's copied. And I cannot express how big of a difference that is to people who have never created something on their own. 

The people who use AI to "create" pictures or "write" stories really think they are doing something. But, let me say this again, it's just fancy plagiarism. All AI can do is find things that have already been done and rearrange them slightly. It lifts whole passages, or turns of phrase, or descriptions. And if you are a writer you know that just one sentence in a story could have taken months to craft in just the right way. And it's distinctly yours. Or it should be. 

Once you've found your voice that is. 

And that takes time, but it happens. When you read a story I've written you recognize it as mine. Even if it's a different genre than I normal write, there are still things that make you "hear" my voice. My patterns, my rhythms, my themes, and yes, my twists. Those are all hallmarks of my work. 

And in my nonfiction it's the same thing. You can hear my voice. My writing matches my speech pattern. The odd punctuation and sentence structures match my odd cadence. It's all done by choice. I want you to read something and feel like I'm telling it to you over a cup of coffee. It's taken me a few years to master, and I am really good at it.

Good enough that years ago someone I knew wrote their own blog, using a phrase they had heard me say, and aped my style so much that it was like reading something I wrote but maybe when I was drunk. I sent it to Brent, taking their name and title off of it, and asked him what he thought. He wrote back that he was a little confused when I started talking about my kids. Plural. And asked if I was tired because it was just a little off. But he thought I'd written it because it was their first attempt at writing and they had used my blogs to train on. And they lifted a phrase they heard me say to start. Not plagiarism, because they actually wrote the blog, but clearly inspired by my style. 

Now if that had been ChatGPT it would have been the blogs I had already written just cut and pasted to make a new one. Not a single original idea at all. It would have been plagiarism. It would have sounded like me, but just off a little bit. Maybe a few corrections to my grammar. Which would have changed the cadence just a bit. But it still wouldn't have been an original piece. It wouldn't have been something that they created.

That's writing with generative AI. It's not creating. It's not writing. It's making a patchwork of words out of someone else's work. And it's not going to be good in the sense that it can never surprise you with something new. Because it doesn't create, it copies. 

And I already know there are people out there that think they're creating because it was their idea that they put into the prompt. Write me a story about a woman who finds a fish in her bathtub. See? The idea was theirs so it's totally their story. No, sorry, that's not it. Ideas are a dime a dozen. See how often I grab a story prompt off the web to inspire me when nothing I'm currently working on sounds like fun. The idea is just the starting point. It's not supposed to be the only thing you contribute. That's why often when I'm doing writing prompt stories I read through dozens before something grabs my attention to write. And even more often when I post what the prompt was it can be tricky to see how I got where I went from that one prompt. And most importantly, if you give me the prompt and someone else the prompt the stories are going to be completely different. Dana and I actually did that one year as an exchange. We each had the same prompt and only one time did we even come close to each other and close is a relative term. 

I know there are already self published (and probably even some big publisher) books that have used ChatGPT or something similar. That have passages lifted out of someone else's work and just "tweaked" or even not. I'm sure there are probably entire works out on Kindle that are nothing but ChatGPT reworks. That doesn't mean it's okay to do it. 

And it absolutely should not be the stance of a group that ostensibly is there to help teach people how to be writers to say this is a perfectly good way to write your book. 

So no more November writing challenges for me. 

Or at least not ones from them. 

Maybe I'll have ChatGPT create one for me....

Books Chapter 8...

 Books Chapter Seven

“You know you met him before.”

Gloria and Ellie had just made it back to the dorm from Ellie’s reading.

“Met who?”

“Con. Excuse me, Peter. You met him when we were in middle school.”

“Okay, first off why are we talking about my TA instead of talking about how great your reading went? And second off, really?”

Ellie laughed. “Yes, I know, I am brilliant, and I held them all spellbound with my storytelling gift.”

“You think you’re joking, but it’s true. I watched them all listen to you. There were some flat out ‘I hate this bitch’ jealousy on faces tonight!”

“Or maybe it was just anger at having to listen to someone else read when they wanted to?”

“Nah, pure jealous spite and some fear that when they get the chance to read next it won’t be nearly as good. There are rewrites happening all over campus right now. You did that.”

Ellie smiled, “It was pretty great to actually share my work with people who don’t have to love me, and not be booed out of the room.”

“I don’t have to love you. I get to love you.”

“Aww, sweet. Now back to Co...Peter.”

Gloria rolled her eyes, “Fine, you aren’t going to drop it so, when did I meet him?”

“Do you remember when we went to Missy’s dance practice for her debutante ball?”

“Oh god, I’d forgotten about that. What a weird thing.”

“She didn’t think it was weird, she loved it. I am just glad Mom told me I didn’t have to do it. It was more something her mom pushed more than our dad.”

“I remember. I remember when your mom explained to me what it was and asked what I thought. I didn’t have the understanding as to why it bothered me, but I remember telling her it seemed sort of icky.”

“Yeah, she told me I had to never say that out loud to Missy or her mom. But it is sort of icky.”

“Yeah, here is my 16-year-old, she’s ready for breeding. Take a look.”

“Right? Just icky. But not to Missy. Missy loved it all. She loved the dance practice; she loved learning how to do that big dip curtsy thing. She loved gossiping with her friends over the boys that were set up to be escorts. And…”

“That’s where Peter comes in!”

“Yep. He was like the prize fish that year. The boy you wanted to escort you to the floor after you were presented. They all got to dance with him in practice a little but only one of them would get to dance with him on the big day.”

“Holy shit, I remember now. We were shameless in judging all of the girls and the potential escorts. We both agreed that that one other boy was much better looking. Who was he?”

“That was George Franklin. He was adorable, really good style, much better dancer than any of the others. He came out two years later to absolutely nobody’s surprise. You know he started My Big Gay Prom.”

“That was him?”

“Yep. He wanted everyone to have the chance to relive prom, and debutante balls, and cotillions, and just parties, being able to go with who they wanted to go with. He was just on the list of 30 under 30. Not just for his party planning business but all of his activism. Pretty amazing really.”

“I’d say we had very good taste.”

“For sure. But that day you met Peter. Yay, I said it right that time! You even danced with him much to Missy’s dismay.”

“I don’t remember dancing.”

Ellie shook her head; how could Gloria forget the best part. “Mrs. Elbersworth wanted to show the young ladies what she meant about holding frame and didn’t want to single any one of them out to embarrass. She didn’t have the same worries about you. But then you held your frame perfectly.”

“My space, your space.”

“Exactly! See? You remember!”

“I do. Sort of. I had kind of blanked it out. I thought she had picked me because I was as tall as the older girls.”

“That’s what she said, but I heard her later saying that she thought you wouldn’t have any idea how to dance so she could use you as a bad example and then pull in one of the other girls to show the correct way to hold themselves. But you did it right from the start. Then told her you learned it from watching Dirty Dancing!”

“Your mother loved that movie.”

“She did. She still does. I’m not sure why she thought a movie where someone almost dies from a botched abortion was appropriate for us at that age, but…”

“Because it wasn’t until we were in high school that we got that part. We just knew she was in trouble and sick. Sort of glazed over the rest.”

“But you got to dance with Peter before Missy did. I don’t think she ever forgave you for that.”

“Missy didn’t like me because she thought I was a bad influence on you. She wanted you to look up to her and want to be just like her. Instead, you had trashy poor friends. Her words, don’t argue with me.”

“At least she seems to be growing up a little bit now. College helped. A little. Stop lifting your eyebrows, they are going to give you forehead wrinkles!”

The girls both laughed. It was something Missy used to warn them about. Don’t move your eyebrows so much, it will give you wrinkles! Since Gloria seemed to go between eyebrows pulled down into a scowl or arched up in disbelief, she figured she was just bound to wrinkle so why worry about it?

It never made sense to Gloria how different Missy’s mother and Ellie’s mother were. Ellie’s father had married both of them, they should have been at least a little alike. Though Ellie would point out that there was a reason why Missy’s mom and their dad got divorced. Which Gloria did understand but still, they were so different it was hard to imagine why they had gotten married in the first place.

“So now you know you’ve actually danced with your TA that you keep having late meetings with. I’d say we are well on to a meet cute.”

“I don’t have late meetings with him, our meetings sometimes run late. And I’m not sure if ‘dance teacher tries to embarrass 12-year-old’ is really a meet cute.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

 Books Chapter Nine