Still Dead...

Sounds like the title to a fiction piece right? 

It's that time of year where we get a card from the Army Family Outreach group giving their appreciation for Memorial Day and letting us know that there will be a summer get together at some point. 

We call it the "Your Dad's Still Dead" card. 

It's dark humor, but it's ours. 

I've talked about it before. They actually do really good work. Jack has been dead for 17 years and they still reach out once or twice a year. They do not forget. And they have other services we could use if we were interested. If Brent had been a child when his dad died they would have been there to help him with schooling and finding scholarships and using his dad's benefits until he reached majority. They are a good organization as far as what they do. 

Much better than the lip service that our congress people pay to veterans and active duty. The every 2-4 years where they talk about how important they are but then forget as soon as they get in office or retain their office. I've heard it summed up that they are very loyal to the military industrial complex but could give a shit about the actual military service members. And that checks out.

There is a ton of talk about honoring our vets and service members but, spoiler alert, they need a lot more than a "Thank you for your service." 

They need resources. They need counselling. They need home loans and student loans and access to financial planning. They need rehab, both from the physical wear and tear of a lot of those jobs and from the addictions a lot of them end up with. They need access to mental health care that is more than just "deal with it." Their families need help as well. Help reintegrating when the service member comes home from a long tour of duty. Help with moving and how to adjust when you get transferred and have to pull up stakes, again. 

The families need help. The service members themselves need help. 

But the money all goes to weapons manufacturing and companies that build planes the military doesn't even want to use anymore. Oh and into the pockets of the executives of those companies, so not even into the equipment. We wage constant war on our own or by proxy and we make a handful of people very rich doing so. 

Those people have no urge to actually be there for our service members. There is no incentive in that. No reason to point out that thousands of civilians are being slaughtered with our weapons. That a lot of our returning service members will never be whole and okay again as they deal with the moral repercussions of that. When you decide that money is your only goal then people can fuck right off, and you for sure don't want to point out that you are getting obscenely wealthy while killing off those people to the group of people who don't serve yet pay taxes to support you. If you show them what is actually happening they might pressure for a change. Which 17 years after Brent's dad; who served two tours in Vietnam, a tour in Afghanistan and was on his way to Iraq, died I don't see happening. 

But at least we get a lovely "Your Dad's Still Dead" card every year.

Rumor Has It...

I posted about the kicker from The Chiefs and his commencement speech on Facebook. 

What he said is a viewpoint that is held by a not insignificant amount of conservative Christians. It's not a big outlier.  And we should stop acting surprised every time one of them says it in a public or semi public forum. This is what the Christian Nationalist who are trying to take over our government believe. White men should hold all of the power. Women should support them. End of. 

And there are enough women who are raised with this indoctrination that they believe it to be true as well. In fact if you were to try to buy one of his jerseys right now the women's sizes are all sold out. And they vote for Republicans and try to ban books to save the children from the horrors of learning that not everyone believes what they believe.

And people get really complacent about it because we all know people who identify as Christian who aren't like that. I have friends and family who have their faith but don't fall into the line of women should only strive to be wives and mothers. Family who would go with us to a Pride parade and be lovely to Katie's girlfriend. Hell, who embraced Katie with love when she came out. But not all of them are like that. 

And just like people scream for moderate Muslims to condemn the violence when Al Qaeda attacks or when women are forced to wear burkas or girls are banned from schools, the moderate Christians need to start condemning these radical Christian Nationalists when they call for attacking the government, denying women healthcare, banning books and saying things like obviously men should be in charge. 

When they make speeches at commencements and decry LGBTQ2+ people, women with careers, men not being manly enough and on and on...you need to say something. 

The rumors have started that he had a homosexual relationship in college and then went to conversion therapy.

I don't know if he did or if he didn't, but it makes sense. Not just because his Instagram feed is the weirdest blend of look how good I look in a suit pictures paired with Bible verses I've ever seen but...

Conversion therapy never made anyone less gay. What it can do though is cause the self loathing to become more deeply ingrained. People end up cosplaying straight. Look how macho and masculine I am! I have a giant beard! Or as he said in his speech, don't be afraid to embrace your masculinity. 

And talking about how women should be most excited to be a wife and mother even though his own mother is a highly educated physicist and his sister is a doctor? Well one of the things that happens in a lot of conversion therapy is they are told that it's the mother's fault her boy is gay. 

See, she's usurped the role of the father. Either because she's a single mom, or because she's emasculated him by becoming the breadwinner, or too opinionated, or too competitive. If she were more docile then he would be able to be more manly and their dear boy would have had the right role model and wouldn't have ended up gay.

Mom's fault. 

So if you buy into that then yeah, you're going to refer to the billionaire your teammate is dating as "his girlfriend" while you quote the lyrics to one of her songs. You're going to get all choked up when you talk about how your wife has put her entire life toward making sure you are a success. You're going to tell a room full of women who just finished working their asses off to get their degrees that that is cute and all but just wait until they start their REAL calling of wife and mom. 

Also years of watching the most adamantly anti LGBTQ2+ people end up outed as gay makes this feel really plausible. 

Conversion therapy never made anyone less gay.
You cannot pray the gay away. 

What you can do is admit that if you believe your god doesn't make mistakes and you are the way you are and you believe your god made you then you are not a mistake. That maybe the people using the clobber verses against you are the ones making a mistake. Translation, theology, historical interpretation, picking and choosing which verse to take literally and which ones are metaphorical, or we realize are just based on the culture they lived in (slaves are a-okay for instance), those are the mistakes. Not you. You can keep your faith and also be fully you. 

And as you do, you need to make sure you are speaking out against the radicals who would like to force you to hate yourself just as much as they do. 

Fill My Tank...

I need to fill my tank. 

My idea tank is sort of empty. Or at least I don't want to write about the things that are happening around me right now. 

The news is a constant barrage of what is happening in Palestine, what is happening in Ukraine, what latest nonsense Trump is spouting, the latest Trump trial developments, the idiotic whinings of people who just can't vote for Biden because their lives won't be negatively affected by Trump winning so they have the privilege of pretending to make a difference by not doing a damn thing. 

I don't want to write about any of that. I've written about most of it before. 

So I need something else to fill my tank. 

That's the real challenge with writing as much as I want to. Not just the fiction, but the essays. I could do fewer but better. Like actually research things instead of just posting my ideas. 

Hahahahahaha!!

Oh that's rich!

I don't even like researching for my fiction. I know there are writers out there who love the research part. The people who write period pieces for instance. They love getting into the weeds about when things were invented and when they were in wider use. How people dressed, how they spoke. All of the nitty gritty. 

I am not a fan. 

I like reading interesting things, but only just because they are interesting. I like being able to follow the rabbit down each and every hole and not worry about if it's actually valid for what I'm working on.

So I'm trying to figure out how to fill my tank with something else to write about. Like what could I be doing on a daily basis that I could write about as well. 

The guided meditation app that I've been using has a theme they follow for their sessions. Maybe that? 

Like today was on setting boundaries, so I'm not going to write about that one, but maybe going forward I could use those as jumping off spaces? (The reason I'm not going to write about it is that I happen to be really good at boundaries. No is a complete sentence. How you feel about a situation isn't on me. I don't do guilt. I've written about all of this before.)

But maybe that's what I'll do for a little bit. Take one thing out of my daily routine and expound on it a little. Not always the guided meditation part but something in the day? 

Like today I'm busy pondering how to fill my tank with ideas for daily writing. 

So so far this is a great idea and totally works. 

Cleaning Fumes...

Cleaning the bathrooms this morning and making up limericks about a friend. As you do...

Okay, maybe only as I do. 

And he asked. 

Or at least he asked for something creative to post and the people he contacted are known for song parodies and limericks/word play. So I'm going with that's what he wanted. 

And it's just fun to rhyme with Connecticut. 

A lot of time I get writing inspiration when I'm cleaning. I always call it cleaning fume inspired but it's actually boredom inspired. Or physically busy but mentally unstimulated. It works for a lot of things. Stuck on a problem at work? Go for a walk. Don't take a call while you do it or listen to a podcast or talk to a friend, just go for a walk by yourself and let your mind chew on it while your body is busy. 

While you are doing those physical tasks that you don't really have to think much about let your mind wander and work on whatever it is that has you stuck. Don't constantly fill that space with music or audio books or podcasts or phone calls. 

Get a little bored. It's good for you. 

Of course that's easier said than done. We've all been trained now to look at our phones constantly. Or have multiple tabs open on our computers. Switching back and forth from social media site to news site to books online to that group chat we've got going...

It's hard to get disconnected enough to get bored.

Which is why cleaning works for me. I can't be online and scrubbing a toilet at the same time. I can't check my feeds while I'm cleaning grout. It just doesn't work. It's a forced break. 

I also leave my phone in a different room when I'm reading. I LOVE to read. But I also know that if my phone is next to me I am going to reach for it and see if anyone has liked or commented or posted... the habit is strong. 

It's another thing I'm working on in this new section of the year. Letting myself just sit and be and get a little bored. Letting my mind wander and seeing if I can catch hold of some good writing ideas. I've picked back up the Calm app for a little short section of guided meditation but this is less meditation and more daydreaming. 

I know, all those years of teachers and parents telling you to stop daydreaming and I'm here telling you to do more of it. Get bored. Let your mind wander. See where it goes. Follow at a safe distance so you don't spook any ideas away...

There once was a girl from Albuquerque
Her brain it was wired quite quirky
Sit still and daydream
Was her latest planned scheme
To get clear ideas from murky

Connecticut is just easier to work with!

Look At This Photograph...

 She stared at the photo on the wall.

“Where was this taken?”

Dale gave her a confused look, “In Acapulco.”

“It’s really lovely. I like the balance of the shot. The cliffs are off center enough to make you feel like maybe they aren’t really there.”

“I’m glad you like it. Considering you took it.”

“What? I did not. I’ve never even been to Acapulco.”

“You have. We went a lot back in the 90s. It was one of our favorite vacation spots.”

“No. It’s too dangerous in Mexico. We would never have gone there. They hate Americans and wouldn’t even let us cross the border if we tried.”

“What are you talking about? You can go to Mexico. You can vacation there. They don’t hate Americans.”

She just shook her head and moved to the next picture. “Are you going to try and convince me I took this one too?”

“No, clearly you didn’t take that one. You are in that one. We hired a photographer for these family shots.” Dale gestured at a series of photographs. Each with a different configuration of people in them.

“Whose family?”

“Ours.” He started to point out people, “This is your mother, this is your sister, our son, our daughter-in-law, our grandchildren.”

“Where is the picture of my daughter?”

“Your daughter? Do you mean Becca? Here, your daughter-in-law.”

“No, my daughter. I have a daughter. I know I do.”

Dale shook his head slowly, “We don’t have a daughter. We have a son, and a daughter-in-law.”

She scowled then squinted at the pictures, “And you say I’m in this one?”

“Yes, this is you.”

She looked at her face in the photo, “I’m quite attractive, aren’t I?”

He laughed, “Yes, I think so. Obviously.”

“Why obviously? Attractiveness is subjective. You might not find me attractive.”

“I’m your husband. So clearly, I find you attractive.”

“My husband? Really? Oh, I thought you were doing that condescending we.”

“No, I am your husband, this is our family. Yours and mine.”

“Hunh, I assumed I was a lesbian.”

“What? Why did you assume you were a lesbian?”

She ran her hand over her head, “Well, my hair is all shaved off and my whole wardrobe seems to consist of comfortable clothes.”

“I can assure you that you are not a lesbian. I am your husband. We’ve been married for almost 40 years.”

“And has it been a good marriage?”

“Yes, of course it has.”

“Has it? Really?”

“Yes, I mean of course there have been ups and downs, there is no way to have any sort of long-term relationship that doesn’t have its highs and lows but for the most part the good has outweighed the bad. We’ve been happy.”

“And are we happy now?”

Dale looked up at the ceiling for a moment to collect his thoughts. And to keep the tears that had formed in his eyes from spilling out. “We are struggling right now to find a new balance.”

“Would you like to be happy again?”

“Very much.”

“So why do you stay?”

“No, I mean, I’d like to be happy with you. I’d like to get back to a place where you were happy with me. I think we can get there again. It will just take time.”

“What happened? Why can’t I seem to remember the same things that you do?”

He hated this part. The part when she asked what happened. He didn’t want to explain it again and again. He liked the days when she woke up and mostly remembered who she was and who she had been. The days when she didn’t think the things that had been on the TV in the hospital were real. He really did need to complain again about the nurse who kept the TV set to Fox News while she was in a coma. That stuff did seep in.

“There was an accident. You were in a car crash and were thrown from the vehicle. You were unconscious and had a bad brain bleed when you were found. You spent a while in a medically induced coma. Physically you are mostly recovered now, a little stiffness when it rains. But mentally sometimes you forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything. Who you are. Who I am. Everything.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yes, sometimes you wake up and you’re fine. You remember almost everything.”

“Just almost?”

“Yes, the days leading up to the accident and the accident itself seem to be gone, but the doctor said that was normal. That the trauma from an accident that severe sometimes wipes out a block of time around it.”

“So, these are the highs and lows right now? The times I remember and the times I forget?”

“Yes.”

“Which is which?”

“What?”

“Which is the high and which is the low? The times I remember who you are or the times I forget?”

“That’s a strange thing to ask.”

“Maybe. Probably. I guess I don’t know what is weird and what isn’t. I think I’d like to take a nap now. Maybe the me that wakes up will be the one who remembers everything, and you can just forget this conversation happened.”

Dale smiled at her and kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t worry about it. We have all the time in the world for you to remember things. We’ll get there.”

She walked back to her room and closed the door. Sitting down she opened the drawer on her bedside table and pulled out the note she had found there this morning. “DON’T BELIEVE ANYTHING HE SAYS! HE’S LYING TO YOU!” If only she could remember who wrote it.

 

 (Writing prompt: start your story with a character staring at a photograph they don’t remember taking)

Dangerous but Not Afraid...

 A lot of my Albuquerque friends are posting a Top Ten list right now. It's for the top ten most dangerous places to live in the US per 100K people. Albuquerque is number 2, Kalamazoo is number ten. I was a little disappointed Memphis took our top spot and Brent was stunned Kalamazoo was listed and disagreed completely.

We have very different views of our hometowns.

I'm never shocked when Albuquerque shows up on lists of crime or homicide or random violence. It's always been like that. I don't know anyone who has lived there for any length of time that hasn't either had it happen to them or know someone whose car was either broken into or flat out stolen. 

But growing up, even though we all knew it was a dangerous place, I don't really remember being scared about it. We had riots at my high school. I was jumped in middle school. I had friends who lived in the part of town we called the War Zone, but I can only remember like one time being actually afraid that something really bad was going to happen to me that felt like a random bit of violence.

When I got jumped it wasn't unprovoked. It wasn't my fault, I'd never say that, but it was personal. I've written about it before, I rejected a boy, he didn't take it well but being raised properly he would never hit a girl so he got a friend to do it. The time from the blog I linked it was someone trying to scare me but I was never actually in any danger. The school riots were issues other people started that just grew into big fights. But nothing truly scary. The War Zone was just a neighborhood. Where you made sure you locked your car and front door all the time. And kept your head on a swivel. 

And I think that's a lot of it. We were raised to be aware of where we were and to be careful. I don't walk around engrossed in my phone or my music now because I was raised to keep your ears open and your eyes up. I also was taught to be wary of the police, which I didn't realize was odd until the George Floyd murder happened and people were discussing "The Talk" that Black families have with their kids that white ones don't. And I realized that Dad totally gave us that talk. It wasn't until that summer that I wondered if we got the talk because of how dark Dad's skin was. But it was too late to ask him by that point. 

But also, you just knew the police in Albuquerque were corrupt, sure not every cop was just as likely to shake you down or hurt you, some were probably fine. But all of them knew that some weren't so were they fine? I mean the A stands for All for a reason... And even as recently as a few years ago they (APD) released a video that they thought would exonerate them in public opinion for shooting a homeless man, and it was basically a snuff film and did NOT make it any better. So I don't really think the cops there are any better now than they were when I was growing up.

So I grew up knowing that you kept your head on a swivel, you locked your car, you couldn't count on the police to help you out and yet...I don't remember being scared. All of that sounds like we were scared though doesn't it?

But it wasn't scared so much as aware. 

It was a dangerous place to grow up. It's still a dangerous place to live. Though not as bad as Memphis apparently. But like I said in the poem, it was also beautiful and the food is the best you are going to get anywhere. And when I moved away that's what I missed. I missed the sunrise over the mountains and the sunset over the mesa. I missed the way the thunder would roll through the valley during a storm. I missed the times the clouds boiled over the mountain like someone on the East side had started up a fog machine. I miss the colors of the Balloon Fiesta. I missed sitting outside on an October night eating apples from Dixon's. 

I'm sort of nonchalant about the violence. It just is. I can remember talking to someone who had visited Albuquerque and they were so excited when they found out I grew up there. One of the things they loved was the architecture and how so many of the buildings had all of this decorative wrought iron on them. I laughed and said it wasn't decorative, it was functional. It made it harder to break in. You locked yourself up behind the bars at night. 

But still, we weren't scared. We were cautious. We were aware that things could go bad. We knew that there was a good chance most of the people around you were armed with a gun or a knife or a bat or something else. We knew that even the sweetest looking little girl next door could fuck your shit up if you pissed her off. And we just acted accordingly. 

Part of that is why I have zero patience for the pearl clutchers now. The ones who want to criminalize not having a home, or having an addiction. The ones who say they are so scared because someone in a tent is living behind the grocery store. Someone they have never had an interaction with. Someone who has never said a word to them. Just them being there is so scary. 

Give me a fucking break. 

I grew up someplace that is quantifiably dangerous. And I walked through that world just fine.

You'll be okay because someone else is in a rough spot. Trust me. You're okay. 

Stop being afraid of things that aren't even dangerous. 

Start being aware of the world around you and what you need to do to, yes, keep yourself safe, but also maybe make it a safer world for everyone else too. Like fighting for housing first initiatives if the homeless people scare you so much. Like investing in anti- addiction policies if the people who are using drugs are so terrifying to you. You can make it safer for them as well as feeling safer yourself. 

Trust me, I mean I didn't grow up in that hellhole that is Memphis, but we were close. 

Tinker Bell...

I hate Tinker Bell. 

I know, it's a strong statement but I cannot stand her. 

Or I guess I should say how Disney treats her. 

She's the star of the park, lights the castle up, starts the fireworks, there is a fairy garden and a whole series of fairy cartoons with a cast of various fairies living their best spinoff lives. So much merch. She's treated like one of the princesses. 

But she's not a princess, she's a villain. 

Which now you're like, wait a second, your favorite Disney character is a villain. But she knows she's a villain. Disney knows she's a villain. We all know she's a villain. She has a great villain arc. When they tried to make a movie saying, She's not a villain, she's just misunderstood and mistreated I HATED that. She's a villain. And that's okay. Except that it's only been like the last decade where they finally created good merch for her. Because they figured out that some of us like the villains.

If Tink were treated like a villain it would be...well I don't know because they never have. 

Even though she straight up tried to murder Wendy. Clap for yourself you nasty thing.

So a couple weeks ago Dana sent me Tink's villain song. There is an artist who does a lot of these types of songs and Dana knew I'd for sure love Tink's. And I do. It's actually a good song aside from being a more honest take on her. She is a villain. For whatever reason she is one, she is. I also love the one she did for Belle but it sort of brings me back to the point. 

Belle is the hero of her story. Giving her a villain song is a twist. 

Making Tink a villain isn't a twist. She's always been a villain.

But she's cute. So...

After I listened to the song and reading some of the comments there seemed to be a lot of Tink lore I had no clue about so I decided I should read the original Peter Pan book and see if maybe I had her all wrong. 

I did not. The back story they were talking about in the comments was stuff from Disney's Tinker Bell series. Ugh.

The book itself? Oh holy shit... I had to keep reminding myself that it was written in 1904 and so that's why it was a batshit crazy, violent, sexist, racist...well mess.

So by reading the book I reinforced that Tink is still given a pass because she's cute, but she flat out tried to murder Wendy. I also got a better glimpse at how awful every other character was. Peter and Tink being the worst but nobody being decent really. I cannot imagine reading it as a bedtime story to a child. Just so much nope...

Though I do have to apologize to Disney for one thing. I thought they made her a little sexpot. But no, that's canon. He describes her outfit and her figure in the book. So...yeah. Sorry, Disney, you weren't the ones who originally gave her a pass because she's cute, that's always been there, you just didn't change it. 

And you gave her all of that merch. 

Ugh. 

No Weigh...

It's May 10th and I've not stepped on the scale yet this month.

Which was the goal. No Weigh May.

But it's been a lot harder than I had thought it would be. 

I had to move the scale from it's normal spot so I wouldn't just step on it by habit. Then I had to move it even further back into a cubby hole so I wouldn't be tempted to step on it. Even though I would bet you dollars to donuts my weight is in the same 3 pound range it's been in since we came home from Hawaii. But I still feel a little itchy that I don't KNOW.

And it's such a weird thing. I don't need to know my weight to function in the world. I never have to tell someone my weight likes it's a secret code to open a door.

I do know that it can determine my mood negatively or positively for no real reason at all. Which is why I decided to stop doing it in the first place. So I shouldn't even be tempted to step on that scale.

And yet, here we are. 

Funny to think that not doing something is going to be my biggest goal challenge yet. 

But for now, as of May 10th I have not stepped on the scale. I'm hoping by the end of the month it will be like Dry July last year and just have taken hold. No Weigh May back for a repeat June engagement! 

Maybe. 

But maybe not. I might jump right back on June 1st and I'm trying to make sure I'm okay either way. No matter what feels like the right thing to do that will be okay. 

I have years of disordered eating and body image issues that are probably never going to fully resolve. I'm better than I was, but mostly only because I know that I have issues now. Not knowing and just falling into destructive patterns is really easy. Knowing that you have destructive patterns you can either recognize when they start or you can tell other people that you need help for when they start and you aren't noticing. 

But I have reconciled myself to knowing that I'm probably never going to love the way I look. Or not feel like I need to lose just X number of pounds to really be okay. Or that I won't think some foods are good and some are bad. I try. I really do, but it's been ingrained into the very heart of who I am so it's always lurking. 

And that's okay. 

I just need to be aware. I need to recognize when the spiral is about to happen. And I need to be aware enough to throw a monkey wrench into the gears before they really get turning. 

Like No Weigh May. 

Stop the spiral before it takes hold. 

Even if now I feel like I'm a little adrift that's better than being carried away without realizing it. 

Or at least that's what I'm telling myself instead of stepping on the scale. 

Twenty more days to go. 

Brutal...

It is beautiful. 
It is brutal.
Beautiful brutality?

Skies so blue and cloudless they almost hurt to look at. 
Skies so devoid of anything you will burn in the sun
And then freeze in the night. 

Adorable desert animals.
Carrying the plague. 
Look but don't touch, or breathe too deeply.

But you have to breathe deeply.
So high above the sea the air struggles to sustain you
Strengthening your lungs, weakening your heart

We are proud of the fighters
Championship boxers have their own streets
Holm broke that girl's jaw and we cheered

We drive fast on flat roads
And die young on sharp turns
Trying to get away from something we can't name

It's beautiful there.
It's brutal there.
Beautiful brutality we run from and to

The food is wonderful.
Nourishing, filling, delicious.
So hot it will burn your eyes, your nose, your mouth

Tears streaming down you face
Nose running freely. Lips tingling as you cough
It's the best, but not for the weak and it makes us love it more

We are proud of our brutality
We are proud of our beauty
We are beautiful and brutal

How many languages spoken in one day?
You understand and duck to avoid the chancla 
Or to lean in for the besos from su abuela.

Tortillas, frybread, posole, enchiladas
Mariachi, Pow Wows, balloons in the sky
We are here for the fiestas

And the Coronas
And the tequila
And the sirens and accidents and headshakes, what did you expect?

Born and raised in brutality and beauty
I am proud of where I came from
And glad I made it out

Writerly Stuff...

A few weeks ago I had the passing thought that maybe I should actually learn about the craft of writing a little bit more. 

Which is weird right? I mean I write all the time, it seems a little late to be worried about how to do it. 

But I had the thought that I should take it a little more seriously. Maybe even give getting published one more crack. 

Right at the moment that I thought about it someone I follow on Facebook who makes a living writing put out that they were going to do a series of writing workshops. One on fiction writing, one on memoirs, and one on getting published. Of course I thought well this is obviously a sign for me to take these classes. Then it ended up that the classes were going to be on a Sunday that we were already busy so nope, not for me. BUT then he decided to include replays with the purchase of a workshop so I could watch them whenever. Okay, so this is for me. Then when I looked at the price of them I thought, well, maybe not. Maybe I'll look at a different series. BUT then he did a one day "Pay what you want" deal. Which I thought, okay, I'm in. I have a price that I think a 6 hour continuing ed lecture should cost and I will pay that for these. 

So right now (as in RIGHT now) I'm listening to the playback. We are in the Q&A section for the fiction writing part and so I'm only half listening. For the most part people want to say "I've got a book about a sentient polyamorous Octopus who time travels and..." And I have no interest in your book idea and especially not that idea. 

So I'm half listening and checking back on the comments. And thought I should write since I've committed to writing a lot this month and year so instead of fully focusing on a writing workshop I'll do my own writing. 

I'm basically done with the memoir workshop and finishing the fiction one. I'll probably end up doing to publishing one tomorrow. I'm at the level of diminishing returns (clearly) and I think the one that I'm going to get the most new information about is that last one. 

Because it's been okay so far, but I've not picked up anything really new. I mean, find your voice, know what story you want to tell, don't write for anyone but yourself.

I already do that. 

I think I'm an intuitive writer. Like I don't know why or how I write the way I do, I just do. I didn't take creative writing specific classes. I've read a few books about writing but not many. I'm terrible at grammar (as you all know) and truly feel the rules are just barely guidelines. I couldn't tell you what tropes are tropes for the most part, or genre rules, or what have you. 

I just have ideas and scenes that show up in my head and I write them down. 

I have snippets of dialog that show up and I write them down. 

It's just the way it works for me. 

And, again, as you all know, I stopped worrying about being published because it's too much work and makes this fun thing I do a lot less fun. I write to keep my head clear. I really like when you all like what I've written. I also know that the more people who read what I write the more people won't like it, and I'm not sure I want that level of criticism in my life. 

But I'll listen to his publishing section tomorrow and maybe it will change my mind. 

Or it won't. 

But I'm counting it as a win that I thought about doing something like this, this thing popped up, I signed up for it, AND I remembered to do it. 

Even if it took me an extra week because I totally forgot last week. 

And even if so far it's been interesting but not incredibly helpful.

Or maybe that's the helpful part? Just another piece of reinforcement that what I'm doing, the way I'm doing it, that's the right way for me to do it. And nobody else's system, style, advice is actually going to work for me. 

Which is basically life right? 

You have to find your way, your own way. Nobody else's path is your path. 

So maybe that's the helpful part. Just reminding me of things I already know. 

And knowing that I am really not interested in a sentient polyamorous time travelling octopus. 

New Loves...

"So that's it? You don't want to fight for him?"

"No. No, I don't. Why in the world would I want to do that?"

"You have so much history. You have a life together."

"We do have history. And that's what we have now, old history. New wins. It's almost impossible to compete with new."

"No, that's not true, you have a deeper connection than that."

"Clearly that is not the case."

"Well, I mean sure, this is a problem, but you can't just step aside and let her have him."

"Why not?"

"Because. I mean, you're married. You have a house. You have kids. You have..."

"We will always share the kids, but they are grown so it's not like this is going to be a daily issue for them. Sure, they are going to be shocked, but they have their own lives. And the rest is now had. We will get divorced. It will all be very civilized. We will sell the house. I always wanted to live downtown anyway. I'll keep the dog, he has someone else to share his bed with."

"You are so calm about this. Aren't you even mad?"

"I'm furious. Aside from just the betrayal it's completely unfair. I turned him into the man she fell in love with. And now here we are. I did the work and she gets the benefits."

"So how are you so calm on the outside if you are furious?"

"Because it does no good to be stomping around throwing a fit over it. New wins. They've never even had an argument yet. They've only shown each other their very best behavior. Oh maybe a little pretend fight here and there, some pretty pouting when he would leave her to come home to me. But that's just adorable right? She's just loves him so much she wants him all to herself. How could he not respond to that? I mean when he did make it home to me there was a good chance that he walked into a house where I was dealing with the dog needing to go to vet, the roof springing a leak, a kid in crisis, any myriad of things that go wrong in life. I sure as hell wasn't always in my best lingerie and with my hair done just so. It might not have even been brushed yet when the dog was having her issues. It's easy to focus on those things and say this life was the problem. The new life, the new love? That's easy."

"But it won't stay that way."

"Of course not. But by the time he figures that out I will be long gone. I mean, I'm already packing now."

"It's just awful though."

"It is. It's awful and it's unfair. You know, she will never even have to meet his parents. She'll never have to deal with his bratty little sister and her constant drama. She'll get the lovely woman that she grew up to be. She'll get the rose colored memories of his folks without the actual reality of them. It's just unfair."

"Oh I remember his father. What a..."

"Yes, yes he was. But she'll get the good stories. About baseball games and BBQs. It will be years before she ever hears about the drinking and the philandering. Because, I mean, he wouldn't really want to point out that his father was serial cheater at this point in time, would he?"

"No, I would guess not. So do you think you will date again? I mean, I know it seems too soon right now, but..."

"No. No way. I spent years creating a masterpiece and someone came along and put it in a new frame and now gets to pretend she did that. There is no way I'm getting out my paints and starting again. I'll be fine with the dog. I mean honestly, I'm looking forward to the quiet. To eating when I want to eat. To reading without interruption. To not wondering where he is and why he's late. Let her have him. In a few years she'll wonder why she wanted him in the first place."

"Of course by then he'll be off looking for a newer new."

"Exactly. New always wins. But the trick is, it doesn't stay new for long."

Funny Story...

Thinking of what to write today. I had an idea for a subject but nothing really clear, it was about 2020 so out of curiosity I went back to see if I wrote anything on May 6th, 2020. Then after I read the blog closest to that date I did the same for 2021, 2022 and 2023. It's interesting to me to see what was important enough in my head to commit to a blog.

Then I decided to go back to the before times. I looked at 2019 and then had to laugh. And shake my head. 

It was the first installment of a story I did. It ended up being a 20 part story. I mean! TWENTY parts! And it took over 3 months to get them all done. That's not my usual. But that wasn't the funny part. The funny part is that the other day I was watching a news story and I told Brent that it reminded me of book I read years ago and then couldn't remember the title or the author. Just the general story.

Oh. I wrote it. It was a short story/novella that I wrote. And forgot that I wrote. Because me...

I swear when I get really old I'll just sit down with all of my fiction and read it like it's brand new. Maybe I'll become my own favorite author. 

Or maybe I'll think, I don't know what her issues are but they must have been hard to spell!

OH and in 2017 I wrote a tear jerker.

I hadn't remembered that one either but it made me cry which was also funny in its own way. But do trust if you cry reading it, I cried writing it. And apparently reading it again. 

So back to the original idea for today. I was thinking I'd write something about how the first part of the pandemic was actually sort of enjoyable. Those first two months, for me, were kind of nice. Brent was working from home, restaurants and groceries and such were all figuring out the whole delivery thing. The weather was nice so we were taking walks through the neighborhood and sitting on the front porch together at the end of the day. It was actually really nice. 

For us. 

For that moment. 

I know that it was never okay for a lot of people. There were people who had to keep going to work through it all and were worried about getting sick the whole time. There were people who didn't have an easy way to just keep going, business owners who couldn't figure out how to keep the lights on when they were being kept from their places of business. Part of what I wrote about in 2020 was that it was a choice the government was making not to subsidize businesses and workers. Which they finally did do the Pay Check Protection Loans and a few stimulus checks. There was actually one stimulus check working its way through negotiations at that time as well. It ended up being delayed even more because the president at the time wanted to send physical checks with his signature on them. So it got there too late. 

Too late for Ann to cash her check. We found it in a stack of mail she had opened but not dealt with.

See because that was the next part. If I was in 2020 I'd be a week or so out from the first death to touch us. Then two more would rapidly follow, one of those being Ann. There would be more. We lost friends, family, coworkers, and acquaintances. 

Those first few months of the pandemic, when things were really uncertain and kind of scary in the moment were also really nice. Quiet can be good. It was a chance to recharge a little when we didn't even realize how much we would end up needing it. 

Once Ann died things went to surreal really quickly and kind of stayed there. Each new death we heard about was just a layer to add. Each new "this shouldn't be so hard to deal with" thing in settling Ann's estate was just a layer to add. We did find a "new normal" and sort of settled into that but it never got back to that peaceful, quiet, feeling that it was at the start. 

It's weird to think that a world wide pandemic started out so well but that's what I think about. 

When the world shut down it was really sort of pleasant at first. Until the death came too close. 

It sounds like a writing prompt for a weird piece of fiction that I wrote and then forgot I wrote it doesn't it? 

Whispers...

"Alexa, what is the weather outside?"

Alexa whispers, "It's 43 degrees right now." 

*sigh*

Brent tells me, "You whispered to her, or at least she thinks you did." (Alexa will whisper to you if you whisper back)

I woke up with laryngitis. I don't feel sick otherwise, just no voice. Sometimes it happens with allergies so I'm going with that. 

I used to get laryngitis at least a dozen times a year. Every single cold I got, every bad allergy attack. BOOM! No voice. Now it's fairly rare. Every few years. 

Why did it change? 

Because I quit smoking. 

I went from being sick almost all winter long. Rolling from one cold to the next. Voice rasped or completely gone. So not at all the picture of health, even though I was the picture of youthful health. 

But then I quit smoking and I went longer and longer stretches between even getting sick, let alone losing my voice. 

And it probably took two or three years to really accept that it was the smoking that did it. I quit smoking and I got healthier. In all sorts of ways. Who would have ever thought it?

Well except for the entire medical establishment and the studies that the tobacco companies did then tried to hide, and my parents and friends who didn't smoke and...

I was young. I was sure I knew better. And I really liked smoking. I smoked from the time I was 12 until I turned 20 and realized I should not be that winded doing aerobics. I've always said if they could find a safe way to smoke I'd do it again. I REALLY liked smoking.

I try to remember this about myself. That sometimes I am stubborn to my own detriment. (That sound you heard was Brent laughing at the word sometimes) I can get in my head that whatever I'm doing isn't really that bad, or that damaging to myself, because I've for sure got it under control. Or I for sure am smarter, faster and stronger than everyone else who has suffered damage from whatever it is. 

I think we all do that. It's the times we throw out our backs trying to move the couch by ourselves and people say, "Why would you even do that alone?" And we have to admit we would say the same if it was them throwing out their back. I mean, clearly, it took two big guys to deliver that couch why did you think you could lift it on your own? Ridiculous...never mind that I have for sure rearranged all the furniture in my house by myself before, I'm the exception not the rule!

No, no, I am not. 

We are all subject to the laws of gravity and age. We can handle it in different ways, but we are subject to them. It's why I lift weights and do cardio. Age and gravity are coming for me (have come?), I want to make sure I'm strong enough to continue to face them. I want to make sure my balance is good so I don't fall and break a hip. I want to live to be 100, after all, so I need to listen to the experts when they say, Pick up heavy things and put them down again. Make sure you can balance on one leg. Make sure you can sit on the floor and get back up unassisted. Keep your heart and lungs as healthy and strong as you can. 

And stop smoking. 

It's really bad for you. And me. All of us. Really. Trust me, even if I'm whispering it to you instead of shouting.  

  

Maybe Too Many...

To catch up to last year's writing pace I need to write 27 more blogs this month. Which means I need to write almost every day for the rest of the month. And this shouldn't matter because I have already set my goal to be the original goal from last year, not the amount I actually did. But...

Once I started looking at goals and numbers I just took off!

Moderation is good. I know that. I preach that. I BELIEVE that. But my brain doesn't always believe it. Or at least doesn't always follow the path I've laid out for it.

It's interesting to me that at 55 years old I'm starting to understand things about my brain and the way it works that I just haven't before. I mean, I sort of have. Because I've designed systems and ways of working that work for me, but I didn't really understand why. I've compensated without realizing I'm compensating. 

And I've framed things in ways that I prefer. Like I always make the joke that I'm not flighty, I'm multi focused. But these kids today and their Tik Tok learning videos have made me wonder if it's really ADHD, not just busy brain. Which, I mean...isn't that what ADHD is? 

Though I am going to read a book that uses VAST instead of ADHD because it's not a lack of attention (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) it's actually too much attention. VAST is Variable Attention Stimulus Trait. Which actually fits me really well. 

One because that's my issue. I start one thing then see something else that I need to do then see something else and at the end of the day I've got 43 started and abandoned projects. Or at 55 years old, 323 different career starts. 

Second because I'm not hyperactive. I'm multi focused for sure, and I'm a fast thinker, and sometimes that can seem to mimic hyperactive, but I'm also a couch sweet potato. I don't have to constantly be moving. I'm a fidgeter, but not a run arounder. 

Third, because I can get hyper focused on a project as well. Locked in to the point where I forget to eat. And you all know how much I love to eat.

Lastly, because it's not a disorder. It's just a different way of thinking. 

I even used my way of thinking for the title of this blog. My friend Susan and I had so many conversations where we interjected, This is totally random but... BUT...it never really was totally random. She and I both could walk you through the 20 steps between what we were originally talking about and this seemingly out of the blue line of conversation. It wasn't random, it was just done so fast it would have been impossible for anyone else outside of our brains to keep up. Though we did often share the path with each other because it's interesting to see the connections. 

I talked the other day about starting to come to this realization and the funny moment that should have let me know a long time ago. When Katie was in elementary school we moved to Colorado Springs and they were just adamant about getting her a diagnosis for her twitching and fidgeting and some social miscues. They really wanted it to be some form of ADHD or autism or Asperger's (which was the darling diagnosis at the time and has since completely been rebuked). The main way they set you on the path for an ADHD diagnosis was a parent filled out questionnaire. Does your child do X, Y, or Z? And I was completely disgusted by it, they were just trying to get everyone diagnosed! I mean I did most of those things and I didn't have ADHD so clearly...

Oh. 

Okay. 

I still wouldn't have gotten her the diagnosis or the medication. She didn't need medicated. Some kids thrived with it, one of my nephews really needed his meds to be able to function in school, I think the hyperactivity part was stronger in him and the meds calmed his brain storm enough to actually be able to focus on where he was. They can make a huge difference. Katie didn't need them. She didn't want the ones they offered for her Tourette's Syndrome. (Yes, we let her make the choice, we might not have had she been a different child but we felt she was capable of making a decision like that, now I think maybe she made the decision because I'm not a fan of meds, but I still think it was the right choice for her, she has never been held back by her brain, it's launched her faster and further in fact) But I did teach her some of my tricks. Again, not tripping to the fact that I needed tricks. 

So, yeah, it's been interesting to have a light bulb moment of well maybe it's been VAST all along...

And then because I'm me following that up with, yes, that's interesting but also...eh. I just am me. 

I need to have the things I'm working on in my sight or I will forget they exist. This one drives Brent a little crazy as he is a put it away guy. We've compromised over the years to I have a pile that is neat and tidy, but it's my pile and it does not go away. And we have our own sides in the bathroom. My side has my things on the counter, his does not. 

I know it will take me a few swipes at a project to complete it. Or sometimes even to start it. I tend to overthink things, even small things, because I can think of a hundred different ways it could go. A lot of time I just tell Brent I want to do something and he starts it right away and that lifts the block. 

I know that I can and will completely forget about things that are super important. Not just to me but to other people. And I understand that this makes people think that I don't actually find those things to be important, but I do. They just don't always stick. For instance, right now I just saw a notice about a writing course I signed up to do. I HAVE to get it done before the link disappears next week, was planning on doing it last week, but totally forgot. I'll put it on my calendar for next week, written down, and digital, and hopefully I'll get it done then. 

There are a lot of other things I do that I'm realizing fall into these adjustments I've made. Like the goals.

Goals are a focusing means for me. If I have a target I'm striving for I'm less likely to get stuck in the What next? cycle. The endless lists with no checks. If I have a goal, if I'm striving for a gold star, that part of my brain that gets distracted focuses on the shiny object ahead and off I go. 

It works. 

And after 55 years I'm finally starting to realize why. 

So how many goals are too many? 

Well for sure it's not writing 27 (now 26) more blogs in May. That's a perfect goal. 

 

Dedication...

She was going over her notes one more time. She probably didn't need to, but she was always very thorough and careful. You never knew what you'd miss if you got sloppy. When she was in school her instructors always commented on how perfect her chart notes were. Clear, concise and legible. Which wasn't the case for a lot of them. The jokes about doctor's handwriting being bad weren't always jokes, and some of her classmates seemed to think that it was a mandate. 

She had always been this way. Precise. Careful. She felt it was a sign of respect. Show the care that you wished others would show to you.

Thinking about school her brow furrowed as she remembered one particular lab partner. They had been assigned a cadaver to work on. A study body they called it. They would be dissecting their cadaver all year. Peeling back layers of skin to expose the fatty tissue then the muscle structures and finally the organs. Each cut needed to be precise, not too deep or you would ruin your next section, not too shallow or you would have to recut and could end up with jagged edges that, if you were in an operating room, would not sew together neatly and leave your patient with a nasty scar.

As they uncovered their body for the first time her lab partner had laughed. Her eyes snapped up from the body they were to be working on to her partner's face. "He wasn't very fit was he?" Her lab partner had said poking the abdomen of their study body. She hadn't said anything. Just continued to look at him until he settled down and took their work seriously. 

Later she was called into their instructor's office. She had apparently come across as unpleasant and they needed to discuss what made a good lab partner. She suggested that her partner was the one who should be in the office. She hadn't appreciated the disrespect he had shown. That the cadaver might now be their study body, but it had been a man. A man who thought their education was important enough that he donated his body to their studies. That was worthy of respect, not mockery. If they were going to learn to be good physicians they needed to learn to treat every patient with respect. And this was practice for that as well. In her opinion.

Then she had stared at her instructor with the same expression she had used on her lab partner. 

That night over dinner her instructor would tell her husband that she had felt a chill when her student had looked at her like that. But that she had been right, disrespecting the body on their table was never okay. Even if the patient wasn't really there to hear it. 

She got a new lab partner.

Her work in cadaver lab was as pristine as her chart notes. Her cuts were clean and exact, they never had to redo a section or face the dreaded replacement organ needed due to a mangled attempt at a microsection. She was also a good lab partner, teaching him how to hold his scalpel at the correct angle, what pressure to apply, how to visualize not only what they were cutting but what was underneath. By the time the semester was over they were both on the fast track for the prime surgical rotation. He had asked her once how she was already so good at this, she hadn't lied to him. She had told him that she couldn't explain why, she just was. 

He had introduced her to the great love of her life. She had seen him around campus a few times. Quite a few times. Possibly she had even made sure she was going to be places where she would see him. He was handsome, but that wasn't all that drew her to him. It was something else. Something intangible. The way he moved, the way he commanded attention but without seeming to do anything to do so. He wasn't loud. He wasn't showy. He just was. And people turned toward him like he was the sun. She wanted to know what that was. That piece. That spark. But she would never have dared approach him. Not at school. Her studies were too important to her. 

One day she and her lab partner were having lunch between classes and he walked into the cafeteria. She noticed him, of course she noticed him, but looked away quickly. Her partner had smiled at her and then waved and shouted, "Z! Hey, Z!" She hadn't realized that she had been obvious in her attentions. She was embarassed that he had noticed, that she had given him something to notice. But it was too late. Z was headed their way. Z. No name attached, just the letter. She fleetingly thought about the alpha and omega. He might not have been the first but could he be the last?

It had been an instant connection. She was drawn in to his orbit just like everyone else seemed to be. But he also was drawn into hers. That was the difference. Something about her intrigued him. Made him want to seek her out in the lunchroom, in the library, waiting outside the lab. Eventually they became inseparable. 

She hadn't expected that. She hadn't really understood how to process that. How she would process that. 

Z was her type. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, fit but not muscle bound. Popular without being surrounded at all times. He had that it factor that she was drawn to. Over and over again. She had never expected to find it in someone on campus. And she absolutely hadn't expected to form this relationship. 

But she had. She loved him. He was different. She was different when she was with him. 

Mostly different.

But she was still herself too. The one she had always been. 

She sighed, time to stop reminiscing and get back to her notes. 

One more review and then she gowned up and entered the room where he was waiting. 

"Hello, Z, today we're going to try something different."

The man strapped to the bed turned his blue eyes toward her, "I'm not Z. I've told you over and over that's not my name. I don't know what you want, but it's not me. Please..."

"Shhh...it's okay, Z. It's normal to feel a little nervous before a session."

He started to cry. He knew at any moment he would be put under anesthesia only to wake up with another series of incisions. He wasn't sure how many more of her sessions she would do but he knew he wasn't going to survive. Eventually he would have nothing left to give her. 

She had been practicing her trade since she was 15. She could keep them alive, or kill them quickly. She had skinned them, dissected them, reassembled them after splitting every joint from their core. She was precise and neat and calm. 

She had a type. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, fit but not muscle bound. They all had to have that spark. The one she had spent a lifetime trying to find. What was it about them that called to her. She was going to find it. It was her life's work. 

But she was careful. Precise. She had a type, and her husband happened to match that type. If she had to find a thousand men who looked like Z to find that spark she would. Anything to keep her from looking inside her beloved for it. She snapped her gloves and said, "Shall we begin, Z?" If she had to make them Z she would. 

She would do anything to keep him alive. 

May Day!

And here we are. One month down in the back to the goals but don't make it weird world I'm living. 

I have to admit my head felt better all last month. I didn't really do anything different than what I had been doing (aside from the poetry bits) but it still felt like I wasn't as aimless. I just need to have that direction. 

I'm chewing on a writing prompt right now so this is probably going to be short. I kind of have the story direction worked out in my head for the prompt but not enough yet to write so that's why you are getting this rambly piece instead of that fiction spot. Though, I'm going to be honest, it probably won't be for everyone. Just warning you.

May's changes we talked about. Started No Weigh May! I tapered off last week, didn't weigh in most days, would have just stopped altogether but I needed to weigh the cats at the end of April and the best way to do that is by holding them while I am on the scale so I wasn't really weighing myself, I was weighing them, but I still had to weigh myself to do the math. They both weigh 10.6 pounds, by the way. They are still keeping equal in weight, which I think is the weirdest thing. Tig is MUCH taller than Tux and if he filled out he'd probably be another 2 pounds heavier. And Tux has the potential to go full chunk, he just never has. 

I wrote what I wanted to write and because I did the poetry pieces actually caught up on the fiction I was behind. Now if I average one a week I'll be on track for the repeated goals from last year. And because I'm wrapping up that long piece I've been sending to Dana I will probably start posting that here so that will take care of 20-23 weeks depending on how many more it takes me to actually tie that bow. I'm thinking it will make a lovely Sunday morning series. 

Reading was slow. I think I finished 4 books, maybe 5. But one was nonfiction so that's on track too. Just slow reads last month. Enjoyable, for the most part, just slow. The two I'm working on right now are the same. Not bad, though the nonfiction one is a great idea it's not great writing, but just slow. Hopefully I'll get to some juicy quicker reads soon. 

I did Picture of the Day and that was enjoyable. Have to decide here in the next few hours if I'm keeping it this month or not. Probably will, but haven't for sure decided. 

Picked up Duolingo again after a long time off. Brent has been using it to learn Spanish, German, and Dutch (though I convinced him that German and Dutch at the same time was a little crazy so he's down to just Spanish and German) I figured it would be a good time to pick back up Spanish since I could practice with him. I'll probably never be conversant in it, but being able to do more than swear and ask where the bathroom is would be a good idea. (I actually understand quite a bit of it since it was always around when I was growing up, I can read it better than understand it spoken and I can understand it spoken better than I can speak it)

Also picked back up the Calm meditation app. Trying for just 10-15 minutes a day. Not a lot, but a good transition from working out to the rest of the day. 

AND I finally got that magnesium sleep supplement yesterday so this month I'll be trying it out. Not really thinking it will do much for my sleep but have high hopes now for it helping my twitchy legs. 

I guess I did do a few things differently than I had been. But since I started doing the goal thing again it didn't feel like it. It just felt smooth. So that's good. 

And this didn't end up being terribly short afterall. 

But terribly rambly for sure. 

Sepia...

 Sepia

Have you ever noticed she said to me

As a slow smile started across her face

The type that takes awhile to develop

The kind that starts as a slow lift

At the corner of a mouth

Before it finally reaches the eyes

Though hers never did

Have you ever noticed in old photos

How the sepia tones smooth everything out

How it softens the lines

How it mellows the rough edges

Even if their clothes were dirty and torn

Their faces weary and worn

The sepia evens it out, softens it

We see them stuck in amber

Like a mosquito in a museum

Dying turned into beauty

She lifted her glass to the light

Looking through the shot of whiskey

Everything looks better in sepia

Latest Sleep Hilarity...

I talked about making the mistake on clicking the ad for sleep aids, but that apparently wasn't my worst move lately. 

I picked back up the Calm app. I try here and there to do a more formal meditation practice. To see if I can clear out some of the chatter, or at least redirect it in a better manner. Well one of the guided meditations they have is Seven Days of Sleep. It's supposed to help you settle in and sleep better. There is a day time component and a right before bedtime one. So I've been doing it for the past five days. 

And I've been getting terrible sleep. 

I joke all the time that you can call me Insomnius of Borg. There isn't a sleep patch, pill, system out there that I cannot adapt to and overcome. 

I think the reason this one isn't working is because the bedtime routine ones are screwing up my own bedtime routine. And getting to sleep isn't my greatest challenge. Staying asleep is. Also the daytime meditation focus is about stress and leaving it behind to sleep. I don't have that issue. Not normally. My insomnia isn't tied to a stressful life. It just is.

I'm going to finish out the week since I'm a completist but I can fairly safely say that bedtime guided relaxation isn't for me. I'll go back to my set routine, sort of, I mean we have playoff hockey at least two nights next week and possibly three and then a soccer match on the weekend so it will be over a week before I can truly settle back into my favored routine. By then I should really be ready!

I also ordered one of the sleep supplements to try. I know, it's just going to make the ads worse, but...

This one is a magnesium supplement. It's supposed to help you sleep but more importantly it's supposed to be good for restless leg syndrome. One of the things that happens when I get really tired is I get twitchy legs. It's really hard to fall asleep when you are close to nodding off and KICK out goes your leg. It's very annoying. So I'm hoping that this fixes the leg situation. I'm not super hopeful about the sleep portion of it, but if its stops the legs from twitching that would be good enough. 

They haven't arrived yet, but I'll let you know if they work. 

And then the last part of my sleepless in Hillsboro week...

Last year I bought a sleep program that was based around binaural beats. Basically two different sounds are played in each of your ears (one is each ear) at a low frequency and there is some white noise, masking noise on top of it and it's supposed to help you concentrate if you are prone to busy brain and also help you to sleep. Brain science stuff. I thought it was interesting and it wasn't terribly expensive so I bought it. Ears buds and access to their sound library. One of the things they really stressed was how great it was that it wasn't app based, all web based. 

Well a few weeks ago I noticed that one of my widgets on my phone screen was gone. It wasn't something I used often enough to automatically know what it was. Well it was the link to the website for the binaural library. And, this is the funny part, I don't have the card with the website information anymore because a few months ago I saw I still had the box for the earbuds and was like...why do I keep phone boxes and ear bud boxes? I don't need them. Silly. And I threw it away. Not remembering that I was keeping that specific box because it had the QR code I had to scan to get to the website with the whole system on it. 

Happy ending, I emailed the company and they sent me a link to their new app that they have now instead of the website. Turns out that's why my widget disappeared, they took down the website. 

It does make me laugh that they were so pleased that they didn't have an app right up until the point that they had one. And that when I finally tossed out an empty headphones box it was the ONE headphones box I shouldn't have. 

*sigh*

So anyway, two more days of the Seven Days of No Sleep and hopefully the supplement will get here soon so I can give it a try and stop kicking the cats and the hubby while they are trying to sleep, or at least kicking them accidentally.

Dream Stories...

I had a dream last night that I thought, OH this is going to be a great story. 

Let me give you the highlights. 

It started with Brent and I looking through a back lot area of Lowe's. We were looking for some rocks for the yard and thought maybe they would have discount rocks back there. Yes, I was dreaming of cheap rocks. 

So anyway as we worked our way further and further into this back area it was getting darker and darker and spookier and spookier. I finally turned on the flashlight on my phone to look around. And apparently we had wandered off of the Lowe's lot and onto someone's private property. And they had spent years designing it to keep people away. 

There were tons of carved stones and wood work. Skulls and faces and dark craggy areas. Just really creepy. Finally we found the caretaker to have him show us the way back out. And as we were walking out I suggested to him that instead of trying to keep people away by scaring them they should open it up to the public and charge admission because a lot of people would pay for the experience. 

He said he'd take it as a suggestion. 

Which, of course generally means, yeah no. 

So I was telling Brent he was really missing out on a fortune and that's when we ended up at the house where the owner had gone missing. Everyone was pretty sure he had killed his daughter and then disappeared. Somehow Brent and I had been recruited to take a look around the house to gather clues for the police. 

There was a missing picture from their hallway of family photos. That was really about it. Except, of course, for the missing people. 

We were wandering around taking inventory of everything when THE GUY SHOWED UP! Oh! So we are in his house, without his permission, and we think he is a killer! How scary! Well, no. I mean, I was very nonplussed. He was there with his new girlfriend which made me wonder if he killed his daughter or if his girlfriend did. And the only thing I asked them about was if there was a cat. Because we were going to make sure the cat was taken care of since everyone had disappeared, but it looked like maybe they didn't even have a cat. 

While the girlfriend was showing me the cat food, I missed it because they kept it in a tupperware container. (Like we do, but somehow I didn't recognize that as cat food) the grand daughter and her new husband showed up. She had also gone missing. But apparently she was on her honeymoon. 

So the old man hadn't been missing, he'd just been out of the house for the day, the grand daughter was on her honeymoon and the daughter, well, we never got to the bottom of that but neither of them seemed concerned that she wasn't around. After all, she didn't live there.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was what I woke up thinking, OH that will be a great story. I was sure the missing picture part was going to be the linchpin in the whole mystery. Even though I knew there was no mystery. Just Brent and I breaking and entering an old man's house. This was story time gold. I didn't write down any notes because I've learned over the years that they never make sense. And usually if it's really good I remember enough of it to write a story from it. And it was 3AM so I really didn't want to wake up enough to write down the notes. 

But lucky you, I remembered it. It's stuck with me all day. With the added, What the heck? vibe. 

So what that means is there is something in there. I just don't know what. I don't know if it's something I need to pay attention to in my life that the dream is highlighting in some way. I don't know if it's something in the dream that really will make a great story. 

The only thing I do know is I got a blog out of it and I gave you all a little understanding as to why it's not terrible that I suffer from insomnia. 

Flames...

Flames

Fire makes its own wind

The oxygen rushes in to feed the flames

A large fire can make tornadoes

 Spinning walls of flame

Consuming 

Moving

Burn

The only thing left is ash

Piles of what was, now blowing in wind

Wind created by the same fire

Its own destruction

Reclaiming

Clearing

Change

The smoke clears and what's left?

Some seeds cannot open, cannot grow without fire

It takes extreme heat to crack them

For the new to start again

Germinating

Sprouting

Grow

Fire can make its own wind

The wind feeds the fire, hotter, bigger, stronger

Ashes left behind feed new growth

That only happen from fires

Burn

Change

Grow

Old Habits...

Being a child of the 80s and growing up with diet culture and thin equals healthy and nothing tastes as good as thin feels and fat shaming and no positive body representation it's very hard for me to not equate my weight with a good day or a bad day. 

And since I am heavier right now than I like to be it's been quite a few bad days. 

So I'm doing something I've tried in the past, without much success, I'm going to just stop stepping on the scale. It tends to make me anxious to not do it though, like I feel like I'm out of control just by not paying attention.

Disordered eating, it's the gift that keeps on giving. 

But I think I've found a way to work around it. No Weigh May. 

You all know I love a rhyming challenge. 

And because it's a set amount of time I think it won't trigger that feeling of losing control.

I think.

And I know, a lot of people have thrown out their scales and never been happier. I am not one of those people. But I'd like to be. 

I'd like to never ever consider what my weight is. I'd like to be one size for clothes and never shift. I'd like to not equate my size with my health. And I am trying. I really am. 

But it's years of conditioning to overcome. And it's been really hard. 

Brent and I have talked about it and he is the same way. Really easy for him to tell people, "Are you healthy? How is your blood work? How is your fitness?" and then tell them to not worry about the weight if everything else is good. And yet, he still freaks out about his own weight. 

I am the same. Be healthy. Be happy. Love the body you are in and appreciate everything it does for you. 

YOU, not me. Don't be ridiculous. 

But because I know that I have these challenges, and these triggers that can lead me into literally starving myself, I am careful at least. I pay attention to what is setting me off. And I try. That's a huge change from my youth. But I'm still not completely there. I'm not sure I ever will be and I try not to beat myself up for that either. But I would like to be better about it. To love myself a little more. Not have that be dependent on what the scale says.

So this is going to be me trying. 

No Weigh May. 

Communication...

Communication is difficult at times. 

Or at least clear communication. 

I've written about it before, how important it is to me to not be misunderstood. After Brent asks me a question and I've answered in a paragraph worth of words and he then sums up the answer as "yes then?" I often feel like I need another paragraph to explain why I needed the first paragraph. Yes the answer is yes but there is a reason for it. It's not a stand alone answer, there are reasons.

I want to be understood. 

And I understand how frustrating it is when I think I've been really clear in what I'm saying and someone does misunderstand me. And how angry it makes me when I realize someone is intentionally misunderstanding me. 

So all of that is a lead in to an interesting interaction over the past few days with an author that I follow, Father Nathan Monk.

When Taylor Swift's album dropped he posted the following: "Taylor just dropped a new album which is a great time to remind y'all to buy art from starving artists. Signed, a starving artist"

So what do you see when you read that? 

Is there an also in your head or an instead of? 

That's what the discourse broke down to.

And I will say when I first read it I saw an instead of. 

And this is why: 

When Beyoncé released her country album a few weeks ago and people were having HUGE fits about it, Father Nathan Monk wrote one of the best reviews of the album I've read. He talked not only about how good the music is, but how it fits into an historical timeline of country music. How wonderful it was. But he didn't mention buying art from starving artists. Though Beyoncé is far from starving. 

Having those posts come on the heels of each other it was easy to assume he was saying, don't buy this, buy that. 

And people jumped all over him for it. 

Even I had something to say. (I know you all are shocked considering how reticent I am to share my opinions) "I think the word also in this post would have been good. Without it it's really easy to insert an implied instead of.

Edit: Which as I wrote it down it made me realize we all should insert the implied also. If there are two ways to take something and one makes you mad, take it the other way."

And that was my take. With the fact that people love to hate on Taylor Swift. With the recent love in post for Beyoncé. I think it was easy to misconstrue what he was saying. If he was indeed saying "also."

I also think it would be fine if that's what he was saying. If that was his opinion then that's his opinion. 

But he didn't take it well. And I mean, I'm not the only one to have suggested an also would have been a good addition for clarity. There were other comments. And I will say I don't think making a suggestion for clarity is bad thing. 

So today he posted an essay about being purposefully misunderstood. And how that wasn't what he meant at all. Though he spent a lot of time talking about how Taylor Swift doesn't need your money and other people do so maybe it is what he meant, he just didn't mean it in a way that would make people angry? 

But anyway, he ended it with a call out to the word 'also' and a call out to other Taylor Swift lyrics, which was both clever as well as kind of snotty. Which I for one, appreciated. 

"That’s what I was trying to say the other night, but because I didn’t say “also,” then I guess it’s me; I’m the problem, it’s me.

Oh, there he goes. Playing the victim, again"

Yeah, I mean, I love his writing, but in this instance I think so, I do think he was the problem. I understand that when your job is communicating, and that is what writers do, and you miss the mark when you feel like you hit it squarely it's hard not to take it personally. I mean, they are your words, of course it's personal. But sometimes you really do need a paragraph to explain your point, or even just one more word. 

And at the end of all of this I will leave you with a recommendation to follow him on whatever social media platform you use and to subscribe to his substack. He really is a gifted writer even when I think he missed the mark by just one word. Maybe even especially then, because he did come back with a whole essay about one word, and I can appreciate that. 

To guess what Brent would have said about it, "So you mean also then?"

Where Does It Come From?

I've had people ask that a lot. Where does the story come from?

Sometimes, okay often, I think it's asked with worry. Considering the number of dead people I write about I can sort of see that.

But sometimes I think it's just genuine curiosity. How do you make up a whole scene out of your head? I used to (and sometimes still will) do it as a party trick. When we were travelling during the summer with the church group I would tell stories on the bus. Just start one and go. Same as writing it down, but there is nothing left at the end except the memory of the story. The way stories used to be told before writing. 

I did it when Katie was growing up. First telling her stories, then telling stories with her. And we had stories we told over and over again. Things we had made up but became just as ingrained as The Birthday Monsters or Goodnight Moon because we told them over and over. But each time just a little differently I'm sure. 

I've done it at lunch with friends. Sometimes they've given me a brief "what about them?" nudge and watched as I spun a whole story about the couple at the next table. Or in New York, about the mafia squirrels in the park. 

I don't always know where the story comes from. It's just there. But sometimes I know what triggered it. What was the pushing off point. 

Today's story Shhh.... was one that started a couple of days ago. I was reading the comments on an ad looking to see if anyone had tried the product. 

It was for nonalcoholic tequila. I've tried the nonalcoholic bourbon from that company and it's pretty good. You wouldn't want to sip it straight but with a mixer? It's close. The challenge with nonalcoholic tequilas is that most companies add some sort of chile to it to get that tequila burn. I can't have nightshades so it takes it right off the list for me. This one doesn't have that so I was wondering if it was any good. 

It never fails that in the comments of any nonalcoholic drink there are people who are mad, like BIG mad that anyone would bother. If you aren't drinking for the alcohol why are you even drinking? Like just liking the taste of it isn't enough. Then there are actual alcoholics who are BIG mad about it because it could be triggering for someone to drink the nonalcoholic version and then just dive right back into a bottle. Both groups think there is no reason for these products. 

And in this comment thread there was a group listing their reasons for not drinking alcohol even though they weren't alcoholics. Family history was a big one. And I get that. I've always watched the amount I drink just because of that reason. Addiction is big in my family. Alcohol, drugs, shopping, food, we like to have those pleasure centers lit up, thank you very much. So over the years I've often just stopped drinking to prove to myself that I can. And then I start again when I feel like I want to. And stop again when I want to as well.

For instance, I haven't had a drink since last June. I did Dry July and never picked it back up again. I started Dry July because I was in one of my phases where the fact that your body processes alcohol as a poison, no matter how much or how little you drink, really bugged me. Like there is no other poison you would willingly ingest. Oh it's just a little poison, no big deal. Ridiculous. So I stopped drinking. Also alcohol makes my night sweats worse. And like I talked about yesterday I have a hard enough time sleeping, I don't need to do something that is going to trigger a heat wave that's going to wake me up. So why in world would I drink poison that is going to make me have a hot flash? Easy to stop. 

But during the times I'm not drinking people have opinions. And they get really mad at me for choosing not to drink. Like my not drinking is some sort of judgment on them. I don't drink. I'm not drinking right now. I might drink some other time but for now the whole hot poison thing is keeping me away from it. You do what you want, I'm fine. 

But if I were an alcoholic then people would be supportive of my not drinking. 

Like it has to be a disease before you are okay to stop. No preventative treatment allowed!

And reading all of the comments from people as to why they didn't drink made me think, what if someone pretended to be an alcoholic so everyone would get off their jock about not drinking? And then this story started in my head. The drunken confession of a nonalcoholic. 

I can't always pinpoint where a story idea comes from, but this time I could.

It was those damn ads again. 

Shhh....

She wasn't the only liar in the room. She believed that she was never the only liar in a room, but at least in this room they all admitted it. Addicts were known liars. To others, to themselves. They lied. But she was pretty sure she was the only one lying about this.

She also wasn't the only person in this room to have had an affair. Or if not an affair, slept with someone they should not have. It was a common part of their rock bottom stories. The affair, the tawdry one night stand, the piece that brought it all crashing down. She'd heard a lot of them. The stories. 

She'd been in AA for five years at this point. She often thought she'd heard all of the stories that there could be. Or at least all of the variations on a theme. 

She had never shared her own story. She'd thought about it in the beginning. But then talked herself out of it. Rightly, she believed. When it became too awkward to attend a meeting without sharing she'd change times or locations. A whole new room full of liars to hide with. 

In vino veritas. 

You are only as sick as your secrets. 

She did not drink and she did not share her secrets. 

So she guessed she remained sick. 

But that was okay to her. She'd rather be sick than spread poison. 

She'd argued once with a group leader working the steps. He believed that often addicts hid behind the second half of the 9th step. The one about making amends but only if doing so wouldn't harm others more. He thought people hid behind the do no harm part to protect themselves. She did not agree. She thought that often people made confessions to make themselves feel better, to stop carrying the weight of the transgression, without ever considering how that would make someone else feel. 

She had been drinking at a conference. That was her last time. She was drinking with a woman who she really believed would be able to make that leap from work colleague, to work friend and eventually to just friend. There had been a real connection. One of those very comfortable things that happens. You just click. And they had spent the past two days going to meetings together and eating meals together and sticking by each other at all of the forced fun events. And actually having fun. 

Then the last night she had more to drink than she should have and said something she shouldn't have. Revealed an level of intimate knowledge about a man that she could not have known if they hadn't slept together. Because they were only work colleagues at the time, because she didn't know her that well yet, her work colleague didn't even realize what had been said, but if the friendship progressed, eventually she would. Eventually she would think about that conversation and the math would not have worked out. And she would have known. 

It wasn't a risk she was willing to take. 

Technically she had not been married at the time. But it was truly a technicality based on legality. She and her wife had been together, had committed to each other, years earlier. And the affair, it was an affair, not a one time drunken accident, had ended not because she had realized she didn't love him, but because she realized she loved her wife more. And she loved how her wife looked at her. And felt about her. And all of that would go away if she found out. 

And all of her wife's friends who had told her that a bisexual could never be faithful would have been right. That she wasn't really one of them. She was just oversexed and couldn't make up her mind. She'd been dabbling but would go back to dick as soon as one came along she liked the look of. Some lesbians could be very unwelcoming to those they felt didn't fit the whole mold. And she didn't really blame them. So many of them had been told their whole lives that they didn't really want a woman, they just hadn't found the right man yet. And here she was sleeping with women when she wanted and men when she wanted. Just making it more difficult for the rest of them to assert that they had no urge to sleep with men.

There had been many late night discussions about monogamy and that it was the same with her as it was with her wife. Just because she was bixsexual didn't matter. Monogamy was monogamy. They were only going to sleep with each other. They promised. 

She had lied.

She didn't realize at the time she was lying. She hadn't meant to lie. And she had been deeply ashamed of herself even while the affair was happening. But she had fallen for him as well. And she had a lot of excuses and reason why it was okay. Why nobody was going to get hurt because nobody ever had to know. And that worked until the first person found out. And she realized it was only a matter of time before her wife did as well. And she did think about it for a moment. What she wanted to do. Maybe she didn't want monogamy. Maybe it had been a mistake to think that it was for her. 

Then she went home and saw her, at the time, eternal fiance, and realized that no, she was her home. She was worth everything and more and that there was no excuse in the world for doing something that could hurt her that deeply. 

So she ended the affair. Messily it turned out. Nobody wants to hear, I love you but I love them more. And no matter how she tried to word it, he had heard that as the truth. I still love you, but you are not enough. She is. She is enough. And you are not her. It had been dicey for awhile. She thought any day she would come home and find he had confessed, he had spilled her secrets. But he didn't. And she didn't. And life moved forward.

Until that night in the bar when she heard the words so casually slip from her mouth and the alarm bells that hadn't been dampened with booze rang. 

She hadn't touched another drop. She couldn't risk it. 

She told her wife she was stopping because her family history was rife with addicts, which was true. And that she was getting too comfortable drinking too much, which wasn't. She rarely drank too much. She could take it or leave it. But if she just left it people would still want her to drink. She didn't want to have that one too many drinks in vino veritas moment to sneak up on her again. So she would just leave it.

But nobody likes a sober person unless they are an alcoholic and then they leave you alone.  

She wasn't the only liar in that room, but she was pretty sure she was the only one lying about being an alcoholic. 

So Many Ads...

I have always had trouble sleeping. If you know me you know that about me. It's so much a part of who I am that I didn't realize it was odd until I was in high school. Like I legit thought that everyone had a hard time falling asleep and that everyone woke up for hours in the middle of the night. When I first heard that there were people that would go right to sleep and not wake up again until morning I was shocked. Thought that there was something wrong with them!

The few times in my life where I've slept well have been amazing. Just often enough for me to chase that high...low? The high of being able to stay low? Something like that...

But yeah, I'd love to sleep better. Though I manage with less sleep than most and I do think that my body is designed that way. And I don't really break down unless I'm in a complete insomnia stretch where there is little (an hour or two a night) to no sleep. I can do that and handle that for about three days. Generally it happens when I'm manic and so it balances out. The manic energy overrides the sleep need and I just keep going. But if it hits when I'm in a "normal" space or heaven forfend a lull it's miserable. By day three I'm in tears over everything. 

But that's rare. Usually it's just I'm a little tired and I would like some more sleep. 

I made a mistake the last time I was in a stretch of not enough sleep. It was one of those bad stretches where I didn't have a false bump of energy coming in to balance out the lack of sleep. I was just exhausted and it was taking its toll. And so the mistake happened. 

I clicked on an ad for a sleep aid. Then clicked through to their website to read what the ingredients were and if it was worth trying. 

I know. But I was tired and not thinking clearly as to the consequences.

So now I have at least a dozen sleep aid ads in all of my feeds. Facebook, Instagram, Google, Threads, over and over and over again. THC gummies, mushroom tea, ashwagandha, valerian root, melatonin, magnesium, tart cherry, over and over and over again. 

And I've tried most of them. Melatonin is no good. (It's actually not really good for anyone in the way that they market it, maybe for jet lag, but otherwise your body makes its own, and you'd be better off heading outside first thing in the morning for a dose of natural light to start your own system up) Valerian is a no way from me. (I get really odd dreams while taking it, and it doesn't work for staying asleep all night, just deep sleep for a few hours with really odd dreams then laying awake for hours wondering what the fuck I just dreamt) Ashwagandha I'm allergic to. I tried CBD drops before and they did nothing and I don't really think adding in the hallucinogenic part is a good idea. (I've never smoked pot or taken pot gummies, it's just not a thing I think is a good idea with the way my brain chemistry is already) I've tried the tart cherry and it did nothing but make my teeth feel fuzzy. So that leaves the mushroom and magnesium. 

And I just don't think that's the answer. But maybe?

If I could find one that didn't have all of the other pieces as well.

Because that's a big thing with sleep aids, they throw it all in there hoping one of them will work for you. 

And do not click through an ad to see if it does have all of those ingredients but then you will be just like me and inundated with nothing but ads for gummies, teas and pill. 

It's exhausting. 

But not in a good way that helps you get to sleep.

So what does work? As odd as it sounds I do have suggestions for anyone who has problems sleeping. 

Get a good sleep routine established and try your best to stick with it. 

We drink some tea an hour or so before bed. A warm cup of tea signals to my body that it's time to head to bed. A warm shower or bath does the same thing if you like doing that in the evening. For me the tea works because a bath takes too long and I don't want to get my hair wet in the shower. 

So a warm cup of tea
Brush teeth, wash face, go pee, all that bedtime maintenance stuff
I read for a bit. I know that a lot of sleep experts will tell you not to read in bed. Or watch TV in bed. That the bed is only for sleep and sex and I've tried that as well, but it doesn't work for me. What works for me is to read a bit to wind down. Usually only for 15 or 20 minutes maximum. 
Then I go to sleep. 

That's the routine. Every night. The only thing that varies is the starting time for the routine. I'd really prefer to be in bed by 9:15 and asleep by 9:45 every night. The hope is that I sleep most of the night and so clock as close to 8 hours of sleep as I can. It doesn't usually happen for me, but Brent gets close that way and he functions best on 7-8 hours so it's a good compromise time. That doesn't always work since we have hockey games and soccer matches and such that keep us out later than that at times, but I function better if I stick with the 9:15 in bed time frame. 

I'm waking up at least 3 times over night. If I'm lucky I get back to sleep right away. If not I pick up my book and read until I'm sleepy again. Again, the experts will tell you to get out of bed, but if I get out of bed it's game over. I am awake for the rest of the night. The idea of getting out of bed and doing some quiet activity until I get sleepy again is foreign to me. Once my feet hit the floor my brain is fully on and engaged and I will read or listen to music or color or whatever quiet activity I am trying out until the sun comes up and Brent starts his day. 

And I've also mastered lying in bed perfect still and almost asleep. It works for me as an almost good enough solution to sleeping. If I can shut everything down, quiet my mind as much as possible, keep my body as still as possible, it's close to sleep. Again, the experts will tell you that you should never do that. That if you cannot sleep you should get up. But if you have chronic insomnia sometimes that's as good as you are going to get so you should take it. Rest if you cannot sleep. 

I never pick up my phone overnight. I have it on do not disturb from 9PM until 7AM (we usually get up at 6 but if we're lucky and can sleep in until 7 I don't want a text ruining that). There are only a few people on my override the DND list and I cut it even further once our parents all died. There are very few problems that cannot wait until the morning to deal with. You'll handle them better with a full night's sleep anyway. If you do pick up your phone just say good morning and get out of bed. 

The blue light tells your brain it's time to be awake. All of your social media accounts give you something to focus on that isn't calming. It's just not a good idea. Leave it on DND, or leave it in another room if you have to. It's just not good for sleeping. 

Comfortable bed, good room temperature (I like it close to chilly without becoming freezing), comfy night clothes or no clothes if that's better for you. White noise or ear plugs if you want. We have blackout curtains (thanks to Dana and honestly I cannot believe we didn't have them before), or an eye mask would work. And no pets. 

Yeah, that last one isn't for us anymore, but it really does help your sleep if you don't have someone waking you up for a walk, or to be let outside, or to be fed, or because they just miss you so much while you are asleep (Tig). 

But handle the things you can. Set yourself up the best way for you to get the best night's sleep.

And NEVER, EVER, no matter how tired you are, click the sleep aid ads.