Well...

So...did you know that if you break out in to tears in the middle of the gym nobody asks if you are okay?

Not sure if they just think you are working past your limit or if they are just freaked out but nobody says anything.

Which I'm actually fine with. I mean aside from crying in public I'm actually fairly private. Which I know is hard to wrap your brain around considering I write about everything. But writing is different. First off I'm in control of what I'm writing. I get to decide how much I share. And it's me sharing. It's not you coming in to my space, it's me giving you information. And writing is how I process things. Sometimes I just need to write about what I'm feeling to deal with it. Or even to understand it. One of the reasons I'm pretty decent at having discussions online without totally losing my cool is that I write. I have practice forming my ideas into the written word.

So back to the crying in the gym and tying it to discussions online for a minute. Just this morning someone on my friend list did one of those "get a real life" posts. Denigrating online interactions as not real. As some people do. Which is always so fucking weird, I mean, you're online right now posting about how people online need to get real lives? What? But when I broke out in to tears in the gym and nobody asked if I was okay I thought to myself, gee, in the fake world if I posted a status that said, "Crying" and just that, I would have a handful of PMs and DMs and texts and responses to that post all asking if I was okay. If it was happy or sad crying. What was going on.

You know. In the fake world. Where people don't interact like they do in the real world.

Just thought it was interesting.

And it was the way my brain started to disassociate from what was going on. Because sometimes you need a little barrier from the "real world."

See...my mother is dying. I'm not surprised. You all know that. I've been saying for a long time that I was pretty sure she was about done. She's been telling me for a long time that she was about done. Just waiting. Seems like she is tired of waiting. She's 87 years old. Dad's been gone for awhile now. Her sister died a couple years after Dad. She's been ready. As she would tell me every time I would talk to her. It's why we went home this year. Because it just felt like this was going to be the last year. Like deep in my bones I just knew this was it.

But even not being surprised. Even knowing it was going to happen sooner rather than later it's still hard. My sister sent a text out this morning letting all of us know that she didn't think it would be much longer. I happened to be at the gym when I got it. And I didn't leave. Because I wasn't done with my workout. I mean I thought about it. Because that seemed like the right thing to do, but then again there was that part of my brain that thought, what good will that do? So I finished my workout. While texting with my sister about the end of my mother's life and the planning date for her funeral.

And I cried a few times. Did you know how hard it is to hold a plank position when you are crying? Extra level of difficulty right there.

I'm sure it's a form of shock. That keeping going when you are trying to process something like that. I can remember when Brent's father died and I knew that as soon as Brent got out of the shower I was going to have to tell him. I didn't tell him while he was in the shower because it seemed like he should at least be able to shower in peace before I wrecked his day. And it's practical as well, right? The keep going portion has to kick in or we would all just shut down in grief and not ever stop.

So yeah...my mother has decided that she is done. I have to imagine she is at peace with her decision. Now we just wait for the final word. And we learn how to be at peace as well.

You know I'll be writing about it for awhile. Because I have to. It's how I deal with things.

Thanks for being here with me.

Tidy...

She wiped the drop from her cheek. Honestly she had no idea how one person could be so messy. You would think that there had been a houseful of monkeys throwing shit at each other, but no, just one person. And no shit throwing. But still really messy.

She looked around the room to see what else she might have missed. There was a smudge on the wall a little higher than her first round of cleaning could reach. She went to find a step stool. There really was no telling how long it had been there. She once found a splash of blueberry smoothie on a cabinet a year after the exploding blender incident. How it had avoided detection for so long was a mystery. But it had. Old or new the smudge was going away.

It could be she noticed it because of that inevitable cascade that happens with a really deep cleaning. You know the one. Where you clean the carpet and then that shows how dirty the couch is and then when that's clean the drapes really look drab and before you know it the whole house needs to be remodeled because cleaning just wasn't going to be enough. Or at least that's how it worked out for her. The cascade effect.

So much in life could actually be traced to that really. You want to try a new recipe so you find one that sounds good but you don't have all of the spices it calls for so you have to buy all of those, then you discover that it calls for a pan you don't have or a cooking technique you don't know so you are buying, researching, and stocking up on all new things for a simple new recipe. It would be easier to eat every meal out, right? But no, instead the cascade takes effect and you have a $50 plate of food in front of you and a cabinet full of spices you'll never use again.

Or how about a new outfit? How many times had there been a really cute top that then needed a new skirt or pair of pants to go with it? And then the shoes really needed to match and how about that necklace that would go perfectly but you don't have any earrings to match? Cascade effect in action. Now you have all new things and have to figure out where to wear them that is special enough for this really great outfit.

Maybe that new outfit could be worn when trying that new recipe.

She laughed out loud.

She really did crack herself up.

She peeled the gloves off of her hands as she did one last look around to make sure that one rouge smudge was all that she had missed. Everything looked good to her. She tossed the gloves in the center of the drop cloth and began rolling up the edges. The drop cloth had saved a lot of extra work. Even though the floor was tile and probably wouldn't have been too difficult to touch up this way she didn't have to mop. She hated doing the floors any more often than she had to. Especially tile with all the grout lines. Really could fall down the cascade well there. Grout lines scrubbed with a toothbrush leading to the baseboards needing to be washed, or worse, repainted if you found stains that just wouldn't come out. Honestly, how much mess could one person make?

She taped up the bundle and backed out of the room doing one more scan of the walls and floor.

She peeled the shoe covers off of her feet and handed them to the man waiting on the front porch. "Put these on before you go inside. And be careful of any leaks. I'm pretty sure I've got it all sealed up tight, but you'd be surprised how big of a mess one person can make."

House About That?

Can you believe that Brent and I went and looked at an open house on Sunday? AGAIN. After swearing we were done. After getting all of the remodeling on this place taken care of. After starting the "Needs Freshened" list. After replacing the hot water heater, installing a plug for the car and having the deck stained...we went and looked at another house.

And if we had seen it in the first round or even second round of looking we would have made an instantaneous offer. And we're still considering it. Though I'm pretty sure that the family we saw sitting at the table with the realtor yesterday while we looked was ready to make an offer. But...

It's all on one floor. It has the potential for a great yard. It has a sunroom. It has a little patio off of the master bedroom. It's pretty close to our neighborhood so it wouldn't be a massive commute change. It has solar panels on the roof and a plug for the car already set up in the garage. It kind of backs up to a park so at least part of the area won't be developed.

But...it needs some things. Bathrooms and kitchen remodeling, yes, the things we JUST DID here. A laundry room remodel. Yard work. The double garage doors either need enlarged or made into a single door. And it's an older house....kills me to say that because just like me it was built in 68 but that's older for a house. So there are going to be older house issues that pop up as we work on it. We also aren't sure if the neighborhood is on a downswing or if it's just older people who are living there so they don't take care of the yards like they used to and it's not really something to worry about...

And it's the same discussion that we always have. The cost. We have a reasonable mortgage here and we will be done paying on it by the time Brent retires. No house payment on retirement income. There? We would be starting over with a 30 year mortgage (we were built in 68 remember) so that means no way in hell will we be done paying on it before retirement. It's also a lifestyle changer. I would have to cook more. We would have to travel less.

But it's one story. And it has a yard with tons of potential. And I don't think any of the remodeling things are necessary, as in we could make due for awhile with the tiny bathrooms, not ideal kitchen, etc.

So basically I'm halfway hoping that there were multiple offers on it this weekend and I can just shrug my shoulders and say, "I really like my house and lifestyle" and move along and halfway hoping that we buy it and dive in to the changes.

Halfway between is a weird place to be.

I am pretty positive I'd be happier staying here.

And almost certain that I'd be happier moving.

We never should have looked.

Sunday...Someday...

We had four mass shootings from yesterday afternoon to this morning. Four. Two will get more press than the other, but four. And to be perfectly honest I had three written in that sentence before remembering that it was four. That's how fucked up things are.

El Paso- 20 dead, dozens more injured

Dayton- 9 dead, dozens more injured

Douglass Park, Chicago - 7 wounded

Chicago - 4 dead

We've got a problem. We've actually got a lot of problems. We have a ton of problems. And people are dying because of them.

I'm not writing about guns or gun control. You know I gave up on that after Sandy Hook. But honestly, I shouldn't fucking have to be writing about it. I shouldn't have to try and convince you or anyone else that there are real serious problems with gun violence and hateful rhetoric and poverty and crime and...

But I'm not writing about that.

I'm not even writing about the way that list will be divided to suit political parties. The pay attention to two of these and not the other two because that will suit the story I want to tell you. I'm not writing about how bullshit diversionary tactics solve zero fucking issues. They just give false morality coverage to cowards.

I'm certainly not going to write about how thoughts and prayers are useless without actions. And I wouldn't dream of pointing out that for those of you that practice that faith, the verse is: "For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is also dead." James 2:26 (actually you should start with James 2:14 and get a little reminder on how we are supposed to treat those less fortunate than we are, but 2:26 is a good one for summing up, if I was going to write about that, which I am not)

I'm clearly not going to write about how fucked up it is that yet another Republican Senator is ready to blame video games when we are not the only country with video games but we are the only country with this level of gun violence so it's CLEARLY not fucking video games. Or that people are ready with their lone wolf theory even though the El Paso shooter posted his manifesto to a board in 8chan where the New Zealand shooter had posted before him and the San Diego Synagogue shooter had as well so it's not so lone wolfy is it? But why would I write about that?

I'm not writing about any of that, because there seems to be no point to it.

I mean, why would we want to examine the real issues?
Why would we want to have an honest discussion about the abundance of easily accessible fire power we have in the United States?
Why in the world would we want to address the underlying issues that are causing these deaths?

20 dead.
9 dead
4 dead
dozens and dozens and dozens wounded

Yesterday.

Grind My Gears...

Okay, I know the title makes it seem like this will be a ranty post. "That really grinds my gears!" But it's more that I seem to have entered an idea wasteland so I will be writing daily trying to get things moving again.

Until I find the sweet lubricant of creativity (sounds super dirty that way) I will be grinding the sand out of my gears.

Grind my gears.

Forced march writing.

Doing the work.

Ugh.

It's such an odd thing. Writing. Especially fiction. I have been watching MasterClasses this year (as you know) and I've watched a few by authors I enjoy. All of them touch on their process. And all of their processes are different. And none of them can really explain HOW or WHERE the ideas come from. They just are. Because that's what happens. They just are.

Like yesterday's short story. I really needed to write SOMETHING and I really WANTED it to be fiction. But I had zero ideas or starts that were really grabbing me. I mean I have notes for stories I could have picked but I didn't want to waste those on a grinding exercise. The things I have notes on are for days I'm feeling it. I want those to be something special, not just something for the sake of being.

So anyway...

I sat down at the computer and thought...let's see who is in the bar today. My bar people rarely let me down. I opened my head up wide and let it flow out. The story was suddenly there. Though it twisted at the end (I even do it to myself) in such a way I had to go back and change a piece in the middle that didn't make sense anymore. Now was it a great story? No. Not at all. But it was a fine story. A good diversion. A thing. And most importantly a thing that showed I can still do it.

Which is the biggest challenge I think people who write face. We are always pretty sure that whatever this magical sauce is it will dry up and go away. And then we will be left with the yearning to write but no words to do so. No story to tell. No rants to rant about.

And fear dries up the creative juices.

And grinds your gears.

So I keep writing. Forced march writing. Waiting for those floods to come back. And you know they will. I hope they will. They always have before.

But until that happens you are stuck with blogs about nothing and stories about bar people.

Grinding those gears.

Sorry for the noise...

Not My Type...

"What are you staring at?" Glen had been trying to track where Janet's eyes were focused but it was too crowded in the bar to pinpoint.

"See that guy over there at the corner of the bar? In the brown leather jacket?"

"Yeah..."

"I used to date him."

"Really?" Now Glen really looked at him. "He doesn't look like your type at all."

"He's the reason why he doesn't look like my type."

Glen laughed, "That bad?"

"So much worse."

"How long did you date?"

"Asking me or asking him?"

"Well, I don't know him so we are going to go with you."

"I say we dated for a year. He would tell you we dated for two."

"And why?"

"Because he couldn't believe I would break up with him. So he kept insisting we just were too busy to go anyplace but that we were still dating."

"That sounds a little crazy."

"Yup. But that's what he did. Friends would see me and ask about him and I would say we had broken up. They would see him and he would insist that we were still dating but that I was busy at work, or with my family and that's why I wasn't with him right then. They would say, 'Janet says you split up.' and he would tell them we just had a fight and we're fine."

"Why?"

"Like I said, he couldn't believe I would break up with him. After a year of refusing to give in and see him again he broke up with me and moved on."

"He broke up with you after you had been broken up for a year?"

"Yup. Sent me a long email message about how it just wasn't working for him anymore, that I was a great gal, seriously, he called me a great gal, but that he just didn't see a future with us and that he hoped I'd be able to move on."

"Wow. And well, were you?"

Janet laughed, "You'd think so right? I mean I already had. It should have been a relief. And at first I felt that way. Then friends started to act weird around me. People started avoiding me. I wasn't being invited to things anymore. He told everyone that I was crazy. That I had been stalking him. I wouldn't let him go. I was making up stories about him. I was creating drama, saying we were broken up just to make him come back begging for forgiveness for sins he never committed. And since I had been telling everyone we were broken up they thought he was telling them the truth."

"Why didn't they think you were telling the truth?"

"Because he added details to make it all look real. Pictures of me stalking him."

"What?"

"Yep. Seems as though he had begun following me, I never saw him, but he saw me. He'd take my picture and then send them to mutual friends, 'I'm so worried about her, she's here again, I don't think she knows I've noticed her...' and when they would show me his proof I would sound crazy, of course I hadn't noticed him, I wasn't the one following him! But there would be the picture."

"It sounds like you needed a new bunch of friends if they all believed him over you anyway."

"Yeah, that's the conclusion I finally came to. But it was a rough few years. And so, now you know why he doesn't look at all like my type."

Glen tried to imagine what it must have been like, losing her friends over a crazy ex-boyfriend. But he was glad that brown leather jacket wearing guys were no longer her type. He was not the sort to ever sport a brown leather jacket.

"Do you think he's still stalking you?"

"I don't think so. I don't have anything left he can ruin. He got his revenge over me daring to leave, I can't imagine all these years later he'd still be that invested."

"But he is here."

"He is."

"And you are keeping your eye on him."

"I am."

"So you don't fully trust that?"

"I don't. But what else can I do?"

"Well....we could kill him."

Janet laughed, "Oh, Glen, you always say the funniest things. Thank you, I needed that laugh."

Glen laughed with her. But he wasn't joking.

Crazy is also a type.

Shared Moments...

There was a really loud guy at the gym this morning. I mean REALLY LOUD. I wear earbuds and listen to a podcast while I workout. Most everyone around me wears headphones of some type, either in ear or over ear and I have to imagine there is music or a podcast playing in their ears as well. The gym plays music over a speaker so if you don't have your own thing going there is that as well. Now I don't listen to my stuff on blare, I want to be able to hear things around me just for safety reasons, but it's all pretty muted. And especially when I'm lifting and listening to my podcast I just don't have a lot of other focus to go around.

But this guy was LOUD. Like look around the gym to spot him because holy shit he's loud loud.

OOOORRRRPPPHHHH....OOOORRRRPPPHHHH....YAWWWWHHHHHHFFFFF....UUUUUUUUGGGGHHHH....

And rest.

Then he'd do it all over again.

And he was a fairly large guy. Like I'd say 6'4" or so. And big. Not a willowy guy. And he was lifting decent weight but I've see smaller guys lift more. And quieter. His size probably helped with the volume. Lung capacity or something...

He was LOUD.

And you get that every once in awhile. You always have some of your grunters and groaners and whooshers. You have some that you know sometime in the 70s read an article about focusing their chi with noise and do that EEESH sound on the last few lifts. And it's all a bit much, but this guy? This guy was LOUD. Like his chi was so focused it was peeling the paint off the walls.

But here was where it went from super annoying to quite funny.

I wasn't the only one who was looking around for the noise machine. It took me about three of his sets to start. And as my eyes skipped over the weight area I noticed everyone else doing the same. We were all looking for this apparently wounded animal that had broken in to the gym. And as eyes would meet eyes a smile would break out on each face. Usually accompanied by a small head shake or a shoulder shrug.

Little moments of contact all across the gym floor because of this one guy being REALLY LOUD.

It was so ridiculously loud that none of us could help but be amused. I was quieter when I gave birth to Christopher. Seriously. This guy was LOUD.

So smiles here and there. And then by the time the 15th set of his was finishing there were a few heads hanging down, hands over faces, shoulders shaking, trying to contain the spread of laughter.

Okay, would it be somewhat mean in a way that we were all laughing at how FREAKING LOUD this guy was? Maybe...

But I prefer to think we were all focusing our chi on our laughter...

There was a lot of chi focusing.

I mean it, he was LOUD.