Losing It...

Then again, perhaps I've never had it. It's illogical to miss something that you may or may not have had to begin with, yes? And I'm all about being logical. No, I'm not joking. Logic is important. Especially, the nuttier things (or I) seem to be. Besides all that, having "it" is probably overrated anyway.

I really do have to get on board with the whole focus thing, though. I will...eventually. In the meantime, I've decided that what my world needs is more doodles of snails. I came to this conclusion after a lengthy internal debate (not really. it took me an hour tops). You have to admit (or not) that there is a serious lack of snail exposure. As such, I'm doing my part. And she may look like she's not going anywhere, but she is. At her own pace. Which is after all the only pace that she can go.



Disclaimer: Many health care professionals and Wise Women advise: venting is good for the soul. My take is that venting (generally) keeps most murder sprees in check. I don’t have any hard evidence, I just happen to know a lot of people who repress. I can hypothesize what the results of this repression could be if it should explode out of them, rather than little leaks at a time. This post is merely a little leak. If you happen to work in law enforcement, I hope you know the difference between venting and actual plotting. If not, please look it up before you start arresting people. Thanks.

As most females and some males can attest, testosterone has nothing on estrogen when it’s not in balance. Mine is not in balance right now. As a woman who’s reached a certain age, my little bottle of little lilac hormone pills gets me through my day without experiencing what are referred to as “hot flashes.” Anyone who hasn’t experienced a “hot flash” has no idea how absofu*ckinglutely insane one makes you feel. One, people. And by the way, a woman doesn’t just have one in a day’s time. One, you could deal with and quite easily plan your day around.

“No, John, I can’t meet you in the board room at 2:00. I’m having my hot flash at that time and before you ask, no I can’t rearrange it. Believe me, you do not want me at that meeting during my hot flash. Oh, then you know what I’m talking about. I’m sorry to hear about your gardener. Your wife’s all right now? Good. And your gardener? No longer your gardener. Well, it sounds like everyone learned a valuable lesson that day. Will 2:15 work for you? Yes, a few minutes are all I need. So, 2:15? Good. See you then.”

We don’t just have one, though. There are several, and sometimes (whee!) many. Women are so damn lucky.

I can see my point just beyond the horizon, thither and yon. I’m getting to it. Now is not a good time to push me.

I went to the doctor’s three weeks ago and had some tests run on me. Don’t you just love how doctors get to experiment on you, you submit quite easily and hardly ever put up a fuss, and you pay them? Anyway, these tests came back saying that there is some kind of stress on my liver. Contrary to all the rumors, I’m not a heavy drinker. “I only wish I was,” she says in her best drawl, with a sigh and a flip of her hair. 

Because I’m not a heavy drinker, here’s where the experimenting begins. No more ibuprofen for me. That’s a bummer, because ibuprofen is my buddy. I like to take her with me everywhere. Just in case, I get a headache or exercise too hard or carry something I really shouldn’t etc etc. This all happens to me a lot, by the way. But okay, I’m willing to play along with the doctor and stop taking ibuprofen. Next? No drinking. Oh, water is okay. Soda, juice, blah, blah, blee, blee are all fine. But no alcohol. As I mentioned I’m not a heavy drinker; however, I do enjoy the occasional glass of pinot grigio. And if I’m not in the mood for wine, then there’s nothing like a glass (or pint, depending on my mood) of ice cold lager, is there?  So, no drinking. Okay, now I feel a bit as though I’ve been bad and my crayons have been taken away from me until I learn my lesson, but I’ll deal with it. Then, just as I’m on my way out the door,

                “Oh, and one more thing,” says the doctor evilly.
You can hear the evil, can’t you?
                “You’ll have to stop your estradiol, too.”
                “What?” I ask. Maybe my hearing is going. Does a bum liver affect your hearing?
                “Estradiol can also be hard on your liver, so I need you stop taking it.”
                “What??” I ask again. You know, hoping I might get a different answer. But I don’t. Crap.

For nearly three weeks, I’ve been living without my little lilac pill. It’s not just the hot flashes (by the way, my husband calls these power surges. Is that awesome, or what? It’s why I married him), it’s also the not sleeping. Flipping great, right? But no, it doesn't stop there. On top of the at-no-notice-I-want-to-rip-every-stitch-of-clothing-off-my-body-regardless-of-where-I-happen-to-be AND I’m beginning to feel empathy for zombies (they don’t get any sleep, either) now begins the [insert sinister music here] intense emotions. It’s sort of like PMS, only much worse. And patience? Where the f*ck did I put my patience?? So now I’m a pissed-off, hot-flashy/power surgey, sleep deprived woman with no patience.

All I can say (haven’t you already said way too much??) is that if I don’t get back on my little lilac pills soon, I’m going to have to kill someone. Perhaps many someones. And it won’t be pretty. This isn't going to be dropping an elegant spoonful of poison in someone’s porcelain teacup. It’s going to be bloody. Body parts will be flying. I’m talking axes, chainsaws, perhaps explosives of some kind. Who will it be? Does it really matter? Okay. Well, I’ll start with the doctor. From there, who knows? I have a lot of friends who have people they can do without. I’ll exercise my demons and help out some pals.

Gees. Hope I’ve not scared anyone. It’s a good thing I’m a writer and I can kill people off, without getting arrested (I think). I actually do feel better and much less inclined to take out my wrath on society at large. This venting thing really works. Huh.

There are more tests to deal with in the next few weeks. In the meantime, let’s just hope that no one tips the balance of this already imbalanced soul. More venting may follow…


“I have questions, queries, posers.”

Recognize the quote? It's from a movie. Johnny Five? Not ringing any bells?? No, I didn’t choose the most obscure quote, from the most obscure movie ever. It just seemed to suit the occasion, as I’ve been tagged! Thank you to the lovely Scarlett of Scarlett’s Tattoo. And what does it mean to be tagged in non-playground terms? *The Rules* I am to follow are to seek out worthy opponents and ask them (worthy) questions that I’ve penned. Ideally, my worthy opponents will name their own opponents, as well as come up with their own questions. Hopefully, I’ve understood! Regardless, it sounds like fun and I’m game.

Scarlett’s Questions and My Answers:

1.       If your life were a book, what would it be titled?
“Are You F*cking Kidding Me?” No, really, that’s what it would be called. Granted it may not end up a best seller with an expletive in the title, but that wasn’t the question, was it? Believe me, as a title for my life (as a book) it makes perfect sense.

2.       Tell s a favorite childhood memory.
Camping with the Girl Scouts. Yep. I was a Girl Scout.

3.       Is there a time limit on fortune cookie predictions?
Absolutely not.  I’ve never found an expiration date on one.

4.       Name three lessons LIFE has taught you.
Don’t be afraid to fall flat on your face. It will hurt much less than if you don’t try at all.
Always tell your truth to those you love, even if telling that truth risks the relationship.
Sometimes people dig holes to deep to get out of, think about that while you dig away.

5.       Oceans or mountains, and why?
Mountains. I grew up surrounded by mountains and took them for granted. I briefly moved to Kansas and although the people were amazingly kind souls, the flatness of the land depressed me. AS much as I love the ocean, I can live without it. Mountains make me feel like soaring and I don’t want to live without that feeling. Plus, I’m much more likely to climb a mountain than swim in the ocean (sharks…eek).

6.       What makes you smile?
My husband. He makes me laugh, too.

7.       What would you dare to do if you knew you could not fail?
If there’s no risk of failure, then there isn’t any real joy, is there? Besides, failure is generally a perception and often a temporary one.

8.       Do you believe in ghosts? What about Muppets?
Both, but I draw the line at the ghosts of Muppets.

9.       What is your favorite thing about yourself?
My heart. It’s a good one. Not perfect, but really good. My breasts aren’t too shabby, either.

10.   Given three wishes, what would you wish?
Peace on earth. Why not give it a shot? The war and terror thing has been done to death (hah!).
Live without fear (expect of course when it comes to fire or getting my photo taken).
Have the means ($$$) to travel the world with my husband, going anywhere our heart’s desire at any time.

11.   What is the one thing you could not live without?
Humor, because seeing it in all the right places enables us to overcome anything.

Not too painful! Now it’s your turn. How does that spotlight feel? Not too hot? Good, here we go:

Mr. Green Genes @ Is There Anybody There?

No pressure to play, but I’d love to hear your answers to My Questions:
  1. What are you OCD about? Come on, I know there must be something.
  2. What’s the most recent music/album you’ve purchased and do you recommend it?
  3.  What fictional character would you like to interview and what is your first question?
  4. Cake or pie? And what flavor??
  5. What is your best quality?
  6. What’s your book or movie favorite: zombies, vampires, or werewolves and why?
  7.  Do you have a junk drawer and what do you usually throw in it? Please be more specific than junk or more junk.
  8.  If you could strike up a conversation with an inanimate object, what is the object and what are you talking about?

Have fun! Can’t wait to see your answers! Oh, and the quote at the beginning of this post? It’s from the movie Short Circuit. If it’s available do check it out.


In My Head

A scary place indeed! Sometimes I have a difficult time getting out of this head and out into the "real" world. When that happens on those rare (daily) occurrences, I take a walk. I really have to take a lot of walks. I'm lucky to live in a semi-rural area. Total rural would freak me out, so here is just right. Or at least until the publishing/greeting card business takes off and we can buy a winery/goat farm. Not really. Although, I do love goats...and wine. I wonder if goats like wine.

So, semi-rural which equals lots of trees, flowers, birds, squirrels, horse ranches, hawks (love them), and coyotes (love them, too). Since my brain-type mechanism is spinning inward the last few days, I thought I’d share some of my photos of the flora (and a bit of fauna) in my neck of the world. Once everything gets unraveled in this head of mine (and it will, it always does), I’ll post something with words. Maybe I’ll even string some sentences together…in paragraphs even. Whoo-hoo.




The ORIGINS Blogfest

 “When did your writing dream begin?” What an excellent idea for a blog hop! This blogfest is being hosted by DL Hammons and co-sponsored by Alex Cavanaugh, Katie Mills, and Matthew MacNish. I found out about the hop through  Jeremy Bates. Thanks to all!

I’ve always thought of myself as a storyteller first, a writer second. Storytelling comes naturally, writing (as we all know) is the hard part. And contrary to what parents and teachers scolded, being a storyteller is not just one rung down the criminal ladder from shoplifting.

As a child of about five, I remember sitting in the backyard and being absolutely positive that I could see evidence of tiny people and tiny animals living in our strawberry patch. The story of how these tiny people came to live in the strawberry patch, where they came from, who they were, and what they did all day just, um…popped into my head. I seemed to have been born with [insert horrifying realization background music here] an imagination (eeekk). Since no one believed me when I told them about the people who lived in the strawberry patch, or for that matter the little king who had lost his kingdom, or the goat who liked to hide treasure under the neighbor’s house, I decided to write down these stories. Then, I created someone to believe me. Her name was Henny and she was a chicken. Just to clarify, as a child I did not live on a farm or what would even be considered a rural area. Although I had heard of them, I’d never seen a chicken or a goat, which became proof of the aforementioned, dreaded (at least by my parents and teachers) imagination.

Stories continued to present themselves to me. Characters continued to fill my head. By the time I became I teenager I decided that I was either nuts (a distinct possibility) or I was a writer (same thing). And here I am. The truth is, I write to keep the characters who continually dance, cry, sing, walk, fly, laugh, fight, or whatever else they dream up in my head, appeased. Above all, this motley group is demanding, so believe me when I say that I will do whatever it takes to keep the peace…even if it is writing. 


Strange & Unusual

Please note: I wrote the following, as is often the case, because I need to hear it. Sometimes, we must remind ourselves of simple facts.

Once I grew up (last week), I realized that everyone struggles with parts of themselves that they are reluctant to share with the public at large. Hmm, perhaps "everyone" is too broad a stroke. It does appear that there are those of us who don't seem to give a flying fig or a spinning turnip (come on, why not?) what anyone thinks. Ever heard of Walmartians? I rest my case. For the remainder of us though, revealing ourselves is a terrifying prospect. Some of us would rather have several teeth pulled during a rectal exam while having our heads shaved, than actually expose even a tiny part of our innermost self. Sorry for the visual. I am so not speaking from personal experience (per se) it’s merely an example to illustrate how terrified we can be. Totally sad. How is it that we can walk among each other, sit next to each other at work or on a bus and not let people see who we are? The really sad thing? Some people don’t even know that they’re hiding. Um, me? I’m slightly (hah!) normalcy challenged. I spent many, many years trying to cover up what others deemed “odd” about me. Covering up doesn’t usually work, because my strangeness seems to have a way of popping out (helloooooo) at the most inconvenient of times.

I actually don’t feel strange, but then crazy people never think they’re crazy either, right? Logic aside, in my maze-like brain, I’m normal for me. Being “different” or just plain old weird isn’t something I try to do. I just came that way. Maybe there was a special on weirdness while I was in the womb, and my mother being a compulsive shopper, just couldn't pass up that deal.

Will she ever please get to the point??? Okay, here’s my point. I realize that this isn’t news to anyone, but in never hurts to validate: we are all weird in our own weird little ways. And you know what? That truly is the best fu*king part of us. That’s the part, we need to let out of the flipping box. It works best in writing, music, art of any type, cooking, whatever. What you think of as your "weirdness," that secret self you try so hard to contain, may not speak to everyone.  However, it will have an audience, because what people really dig is authenticity. Yeah, yeah I know it doesn’t always mean something. The IRS doesn’t give a spinning turnip (see, it does work!) if you’re authentic as long as you pay your dang taxes. But if you want people to enjoy the dinner you cook or buy that book you’re selling, being authentic will come in handy.

Share the real you with your public, even if your public is only a few close friends, your family, and several crickets. Without the essential “you,” what is there to your music, poetry, novel, painting, or dinner party? Technique? How empty and utterly boor-ing. And you are so definitely not empty or boor-ing. 

My goth is showing, but wasn't Lydia Deetz in Beetlejuice an excellent character?
"...the living ignore the strange and unusual, I myself am strange and unusual..."


“We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad”

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is my favorite book of all time. If you know me at all, this will not come as a shock. My favorite character? No, it’s not the Mad Hatter (although, he is a close second). My favorite character is the Cheshire Cat. He both annoys and cheers up Alice. He’s never around when she thinks he should be, but then turns up when she does actually need him. He’s full of riddles, yet completely logical. Yes, how can you behead a head when there is no body attached? And he’s nearly always in a jolly mood. The Cheshire Cat makes me think of my mind and how it works (or doesn’t). Perhaps I was too influenced by the book I read as a child, and now possess a twisted mind that raises questions when people demand answers, finds humor at what causes despair in others, and more often than not seems to be nothing more than a grin in the darkness. Wow. Deep.

Regardless, I have been feeling of a literary bent (or perhaps, just bent) this week and Alice, the Cheshire Cat, and Lewis Carroll are on my mind today.

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat, “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

Simple logic…and why complicate matters if there is no fun to be had in it? You have got to love that Cheshire Cat. 

Lewis Carroll
If you haven't read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, please do so today. And no, the Disney cartoon does NOT count!