Another Monday

Hey World,

Well, here we are on another Monday and even before I got to the job I was stressed.  Fun.  There was some sarcasm in there in case you didn't catch it.  I didn't really have anything else to add.  I was more or less just sitting here contemplating my Monday, looking to the long week ahead and wondering how best to get through it.  Sometimes that's all you can do.  There's a long road ahead of you, a flat barren landscape and the only thing in sight is the horizon.  You can complain about how far away that horizon is, but that's not going to bring it any closer.

Though, sometimes the complaining can at least burn off enough depression to get you motivated.  I suppose that's what this is.  I just need to put enough of my own problems out there in the universe to remember that it could be worse.  For me, it could be a lot worse.  That doesn't always make you feel better, but it's the slap in the face that could bring things back into focus.

I need that focus.  I need that horizon that's so far away.  And every day that goes by, every morning that my alarm goes off at 6:00 AM and I have to roll out of bed I'm getting closer.  Every fake smile I have to paste on my face and useless report I have to churn out is another step.

Because just over that horizon is a little house all my own.  A little house with a pretty garden and a big tree for shade, perhaps a couple dogs and a cat.  And in that little house I smile because I want to and do something that has meaning to me.  In that house, so close and so far, I've found my purpose.

I don't know how far the horizon is from where I am now, but I'm going to get to it.  I have to

In the meantime, if I have to wake up stressed on a Monday morning, at least I can wake up to a sky like this.  That's got to count for something.

Until next time.

 

Writer's Group / October 3

Word of the Blog: Agita (n.) - agitation; anxiety
And my being named after the patron saint of love, St. Valentine, when I've had nothing but agita in romance just makes it painfully more ironic.
    --Rosanna Chiofalo, Bella Fortuna

Hey World,

Another group, another day I should have posted some of my writing.  Unfortunately, between work and trying to get this blog back up and running (and my chronic laziness) it was a no go this week.  I know that's not a very good excuse, but what can I say?  When the inspiration's not there it's kinda hard to come up with the strenuos mental fortitude required to get words down on paper.  I've been tired and stressed and unmotivated...  And did I mention the laziness?  Because I don't think the significance of my totally slothful nature can be easily ignored.

Which actually leads me to a painfully thin segue into the newest thought which most recently occupied my time.  While scanning ye olde interactive cable guide, I came across one of my more favorite reality shows, Rehab with Dr. Drew.  Somehow watching other people make exceedingly obvious mistakes with their lives (i.e., drugs, drinking, horrible relationships and other associated behaviors) makes me feel better about myself.  I'd say I can't really think why that is except we'd both know I was lying.  Obviously it's a not very successful ploy at seeing the benefits of my own life/decisions in comparison to others.  A common enough concept to all of us, and what I think is secretly the purpose of every Kardashian, Jersey Shore guido, and Real Housewife on TV.

Only, I'm not sure I'm as different as I'd like to be.  Admittedly I haven't developed a habit to any hard or prescription drugs, I know my limit when I drink alcohol and don't imbibe more than three or four times a year, and have not had much contact with local authoritative legal figures.  But, even I have my vices...oh, yes.  I feel I can trust you now, after all we've been through so, prepare yourself world.  I'm about to tell you my dark secret.

I...am...enamored of food.  And, I mean in a big way.  Much more than just as a source of sustenance.  Pretty much, if it wasn't originally termed as some kind of insect when alive, I'll probably eat it.  But, I'll definitely eat it if bacon, cheese, butter, or sugar is involved in any way shape or form.  Unfortunately, as is typical with such an affair, my love has become easily apparent around my face, along my arms, about my thighs, and across my midsection.  It is not pretty (unless you're into bigger women and then I suppose it's actually very attractive).  I'm not Extreme Makeover (another favorite show) big, but I've definitely left behind chubby.  Hell, I've left behind zaftig.

Now, here's where you'll probably suggest I do a little dieting and add in some exercise.  To which I will remind you of my persistent laziness.  Remember that?  I mentioned it like four paragraphs ago.  You can go back up and check.  I'll give you a minute...

Done?  Okay, so here's how I connect back to Rehab.  I know that it's not healthy for me to eat every good (terrible), tasty (fatty), filling (cardiac arrest inducing) thing that crosses my path.  I know this, but I do it anyway.  In the same vein, I don't think there's a person alive that doesn't know drugs are a terrible idea, but addicts do it anyway.  You see where I'm going with this?  I'm sure you do, as only highly intelligent (or really bored) people would read this blog.

So, what to do?  I'm logical enough to know I should suck it up and make the change to being healthier, but how often does that work for people?  If it did, I wouldn't have Rehab to watch every Sunday night.  I need some motivation, and I'd like to get it before I hit rock bottom.

What do you think world?  What would be (or is) your motivation?  I'm not above stealing.  Especially with so much to gain (correction, lose).

Writing update next week.

Until next time.  :-)

Not Who I Thought I Was



Hey World,

 

Have you ever stared into a mirror and forgotten your own face?  Sort of like saying a word over and over again until it suddenly becomes a strange configuration of letters you could have sworn never went together before.  You get the feeling you might have doused your head in a huge vat of jello as everything around you goes a bit amorphous and dim.  And for half a moment you're not quite sure you have a real grasp on the English language.  But, after a few seconds the feeling fades and you remember that the term "little" has always had two l's, two t's and has something to do with smallness.

 

Well the mirror thing is much bigger than that.  It happened to me the other day.  Now, never let it be said that I'm vain enough to be staring at my reflection for long spans of time every day.  For the most part I like to avoid images of myself in actual, photographic, and video format.  Which is also not to say that me and Quasimodo are blood-related.  No, I have the standard face with all its features, assigned to their right places and approximately the size they should be.  If anything, my face is so regular you could probably forget it a minute or two after being introduced.  But, while I don't like to linger over my physical mediocrity, I do find it necessary to occasionally make sure I haven't acquired some weird growth or missed a blob of lunch at the side of my mouth.

 

Anyway, back to my point (to know me is to love my tangents).  A few days ago I was doing my usual morning routine and between washing my face and brushing my teeth I had a bout of amnesia.  I couldn't recognize myself, and was absolutely sure I'd never seen the face staring back at me.  My history was a vague memory, out of focus and beyond comprehension.  I was, for lack of a better term, a blank; completely unwritten and free of all constrictions my past might have placed on me.

 

And then I was back, filled with everything I was and had been, all while I stood in my bathroom, wrapped in my fluffy white bath sheet.  If you hadn't guessed, I made that sound much more dramatic than it really was, but what do you expect, I'm trying to be a writer.  After my episode I went on with my day, but a thought stuck with me: are we really who we think we are?

 

Most of us probably believe we understand ourselves better than anyone.  The truth of that is highly debatable.  In actuality we're more likely to lie to ourselves before anyone else.  We reserve huge amounts of denial as reassurance against the mistakes we make and the everyday imperfections of our lives.  Not that there's, in essence, anything wrong with that.  Denial is how we get through the day.  It's a part of humanity as much as any of the bigger emotions like love and hate.

 

However, it begs the question if we don't know ourselves so well, who are we really?  Who might we have been if we had been born to a different time, or different parents, or in a different place in the world?  Who might we yet be in the grand scheme of things and how much of are we going to control how we turn out?

 

Pretty heavy stuff, huh?  Yeah, I don't really have any answers, and anyone who says they do is probably going to want you to give them all your money and join their commune in some mid-west state where you'll shave your head and chant mantras all day.  Not my idea of a good time, but hey, whatever floats your boat.  Still, I think they're good questions to ask every once in a while if only to get a clearer perspective on myself.

 

What do you think?  Just something to consider the next time you glance in the mirror.



 

 

 

Prince Charming

Hey World,

In light of the re-released version of Disney's Cinderella, I've found my mind turning more and more to matters of love.  I know, it's a topic much discussed, analyzed, despised, agonized over, taken for granted, made light of, abused, forgotten, exalted, set on a pedestal, and generally a concept you're going to run into more than you'd probably like to.  Nearly every book you've read, song you've heard, and movie you've watched has dealt with it.  It's got so many different forms and meanings, can be expressed in so many different ways, it's hard to think there can be any one definition of it.  Just looking it up in an online dictionary gives close to thirty explanations before we get to synonyms.  Guess it's no wonder it's on our minds so much of the time.

So, what do I have to say of love?  For the most part, I've tried to forget about it.  At least that romantic part of it that nearly every woman seems to be on a constant, ever-vigilant expedition to find.  Admit it...if you're female and of the human species the search for love takes up a lot of our thought processes.  Probably about the same amount that sex takes up of men's.  It's the high mountain women want to climb, the English Channel they want to swim, and the marathon they train for months to run.  Even the women that seem all about their career can't deny that they've given love a thought a time or two.  Maybe even a time or ten (hundred, thousand, million, gajillion).  And why?  Why would a perfectly logical woman do the most outrageous things for this greatest intangible of intangibles?  Because of freaking Prince Charming.

Don't get me wrong, I love every Disney movie.  I know the songs, can recite most of the scripts by memory, and if I could afford it would have every single one sitting in my movie library.  Hell, I had a pink bedroom with a Beauty and the Beast canopy bedset when I was younger.  Try to picture, from what little you know of me, one young Jade Rosen ever being girly enough to want a canopy bed.  Let alone one that featured one of Disney's most popular franchises.  Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking either.  Except I do know.  I was thinking of Prince Charming.

And when I was a little girl, that was a valid excuse.  I grew up in a loving household, which meant a general degree of naivety was acceptable and even expected.  I was supposed to think I'd grow up and find the man of my dreams (or he'd find me), get married, and live happily ever after.  It was the basic foundation of nearly every childhood (at least in America, and above a certain economic status).  That was my daily sustenance, the reason for my existence.  It gave my mind a starting point for imagination and an ultimate goal to achieve.  There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could have dimmed my faith in this universal religion.  The great god Cupid was the altar to which I sacrificed.

Until I hit puberty.  It was not long into my path towards womanhood that I began to realize Prince Charming might not be quite all he's cracked up to be.  I'd like to think that with the sudden shower of hormones and freakishly confusing, irritating, and disgusting things that were happening inside my body, I also gained a more elevated view of reality.  In actuality, when the kids started pairing off and finding their first loves, I was suddenly on the outside looking in.  I was forced to re-examine this idea of love as I knew it.  And pretty soon, it became clear to me that there were several things which made my pre-menstruating version of love not only unfeasible, but also incredibly stupid.

I won't go into detail of all the things that made it wrong (we don't have all day), but there was one thing that stuck out really well.  In all my time thinking of Prince Charming, I never actually gave the guy a name.  Now, you might be thinking: what's a name got to do with anything?  Well, I'll tell you.  A name makes him real.  With a name, I'd have to confront everything that makes up a man I'd want to marry.  I'd have to admit that most dumb schmucks with names never were, and never would be, Prince Charming.  They'd just be some dude who was probably equally as confused about this whole love thing, and would also have a volcano of testosterone erupting in them making them less than likely to ever think of love much beyond the pretty face in the short skirt they'd love to get into bed.  At least that would be the goal through their twenties, and for many such ideas would continue some decades after that.

Now, don't start thinking I'm casting aspersions upon the male sex (although I am).  Women have their own faults when it comes to not seeing the forest for the trees.  There are numerous sayings to this effect: nice guys finish last; only looking for tall, dark, and handsome; women love a bad boy; and so on and so forth.  And every woman wants to think that they're better than such superficialties, but we're not.  I'm certainly not.  So, I guess if women are looking for Prince Charming, men have every right to look for their own Princess.  Although in most cases, they don't need her to be so much charming as have great flexibility and be down for almost anything in the bedroom.  Being able to cook and also knowing to shut up during Sports Center would probably also be pretty beneficial.

So, what's my point?  Um...well...what was my point again?  Oh yeah, it's that love is not a Disney movie (duh).  If you're like me, painfully plain, characteristically chubby, and outrageously outspoken, love is pretty hard to come by.  There's no white horse for me and chivalry was long dead before I even got on the scene.  If I'm lucky I'll find a nice guy who doesn't mind my quirks, finds me attractive enough to only glance at the really pretty girls, laughs at my cynical craziness, and is willing to go halves on a mortgage; and of course I'd do the same for him.  If I'm not so lucky, I live alone, try to have a career as a writer, buy a little house with a couple of dogs, and get on with it.

Maybe that's why I try to think about romantic love as little as possible.  It's never what you expect it to be and it was never promised.  Perhaps that's depressing, or perhaps it's only true.  Either way, I've alreay broken up with Prince Charming and decided Mr. Actual Man is a much better bet.

And yes, I'll still be buying Cinderella on Blu-Ray. ;-)

 

Writer's Group / September 25

Word of the Blog: Palter (v.) - to talk or act insincerely or deceitfully; lie or use trickery. To bargain with; haggle. To act carelessly; trifle.
Since murder was that man's intention, why should he palter with small details?
    --Mark Twain, A Tramp Abroad

Hey World,

Bet you thought you'd never be hearing from me again.  I mean it's been what, more than a year since I last posted without so much as a note to let you know I'm okay.  I know, I know, I'm a terrible person.  Well, maybe that's a little strong.  I'm more incredibly lazy and typically unmotivated.  You know, like 90% of most people in their 20s.  But, I've decided to attempt a cast off of that old me and put pen to paper (finger to keyboard?) once more within the confines of this blog.  Just in case I had some die-hard reader that was lost without me these past 13 or so months.

So, what's new with me.  Not much.  I've got a new boss, but the same job.  Still writing on my book (over 75,000 words and probably close to halfway through).  Still living in the same city and doing the same things everyday.

Right now you're thinking: why does this chick even have a blog, she doesn't actually have anything to blog about?  And why am I even reading it in the first place?  Well, I can't deny that those are valid questions.  The second I can't really answer.  Obviously you have your own issues if reading about the life and times of the most mediocre person on the face of the planet rocks your boat, but I'm not complaining.  As to the first, I guess the old adage would come into play here.  "It's not you, it's me."  Yep, this is all for me.  A place I can continue to get out my crazy in a way that is socially acceptable and causes only miniscule amounts of harm to the universe.

With your first thought answered you're now asking yourself: why has this chick not finished that damn book yet?  It's been over a year and she's still only about halfway through.  And I can't believe I'm still reading this blog!  Yeah, I'm still working on it.  Although, to be fair, quite a few of those past months have been spent in revising that first half.  It's now much more exciting with two dead bodies in the first five chapters alone!  I'll be getting back to writing new stuff in the next couple of weeks.  Of course, it would be helpful to know what I'm going to write next, but c'est la vie.  At this point, as long as I can get something down on paper, (down in data?) I'll feel good about myself.

So, what else is there?  Let's see...  I'm trying to cook more and spend less, not let the lawnmower of stress ready to mow me down see any sign of fear, and accept that everything will happen in its own good time.  That last one sounds kind of new age-y, but sometimes you have to tell yourself that life is what it is.  At the risk of sounding preachy, it's hard enough just getting through without worrying yourself to death about the things you can't control.  So, if it's beyond you, maybe it's better to just let go and get on with the business of getting by.  At least then you'll be relaxed before the shit hits the fan.

I guess that's it for now.  As an addition, I randomly decided to take a picture of the view outside my building.  I'm sitting in my grey cubicle, in my prison-quality building and all I can be thankful for is my window.  It's not a very big window, but it's mine (and probably the only thing standing between me, the top of a roof, and an AK-47).  And yes, that is a tiny pumpkin at the bottom of the screen!

Until next time.

 

Just Because...

Well, it's been months since I posted (which is no surprise to me as I'm not really good at keeping up with this kind of thing).  But, I'm happy to report that I've continued writing at the very least.  Quite honestly writing seems to be the only thing keeping me sane at this point.

Work continues to be...well, work.  I don't really love what I do, hence why I've taken up trying to be an author as I may have mentioned.  But, in the last few weeks it's been getting harder and harder to continue caring about what I do.  Especially when it doesn't really seem like my position is necessary.  I make a lot of reports on things that don't really effect the company I work for and fill a lot of requests which needed to be done yesterday.  Although, I still say I'm content to be working at all, I'm pushing myself even harder to complete this book because I think it's the only way I'll actually do something worthwhile with myself.

I wonder how many people feel that way?  I know it's a pretty common occurrence for people not to do exactly what they want, but what would be the exact percentage of people who really aren't doing what they want out of life?  And how much happier would we all be if we could find something that we really cared about?  I'm not talking about being famous or a celebrity as most people would probably love to be, but instead being a part of something that gives you some kind of purpose.  And if you don't have that purpose what do you do?

I've learned from watching my mother that you don't always get the things you most want.  She never really got the opportunity to find what she really wanted out of life.  She was the first in our family to graduate from college (both undergrad and grad) and she went out and got a job because she's responsible and that's what you're supposed to do as an adult.  Then, of course I came along and she had even less of a chance to take chances and risks because she had this little life to take care of and she was (and is) the ultimate parent.  Basically, putting aside her own needs for her kid.  I wonder what she might have been if she'd had more freedom (and foresight) to choose her path.

I know no one really reads this, but it's a question that's constantly filling my head these days: what can we do to make ourselves happy?  I've long given up having anyone else help to get me to happiness.  With every year that I remain single I'm pretty sure that my chances of finding that sappy, movie love grow less and less.  So, I've prepared myself to be happy on my own.  And I believe becoming an author might do that.  But, what if all the fantasies dancing in my head are just that?  What if my book doesn't get picked up to be published?  I could self-publish, but I'd probably never be able to live off what I make, and that's really the goal.  Will I continue plodding along doing jobs that allow me to live comfortably, but don't fulfill anything else in me?  Or, will I take a chance on something else in an economy that is increasingly uncertain with nothing really to fall back on?

I just don't know.  But, I know I'm doing something right now.  And that's got to be better than nothing.  Right?

Writer's Group / March 9

Word of the Blog: Senticous (adj.) - prickly; thorny
The judges weren't fond of Edna's senticous disposition so they voted her off the island.
http://www.savethewords.org/

Hey World,

Now over 30,000 words and ten chapters in!  This is officially the longest I have ever worked on one piece and it feels great.  I'm still only about a quarter to maybe a third of the way through, but that's something.  There might actually be some light at the end of this tunnel.

You might notice I sound positive this week.  Don't worry, it probably won't last.  And the real reason might just be that I decided to work from home today and, surprisingly, discovered that my manager is also working from home.  So no worries that I'll get an unexpected call.  As you can see, I'm taking a little break, but for whatever reason, not going into the office is always much more relaxing for me.  I don't have to be up nearly as early, no fighting any traffic that shouldn't exist in a town this size anyway, no looking for the prime parking spot, and no having to make small talk with co-workers.  Do I come off as having some animosity toward my current occupation?

It's really not as bad as I make it seem, and considering I have a job at all I really shouldn't complain.  Still, writing is the dream.  Now that I've gotten this far in my novel, the dream feels like it might become reality.  Of course, that's if anyone has interest in it.  But, even just getting a few readers would make me ecstatic.  Maybe that's what's making me so happy.  Despite still having few friends and doing nothing too much new with my life, it's still nice to have a goal that I'm working to achieve.  Not to mention, I don't have a lot of time to think of all the ways my life could be depressing when I'm so busy imagining the very interesting lives of the made up people in my head.  Now, I realize that sounds a little crazy, but it's probably keeping me sane.  At least, that's the way I'm going to look at it.

Anyway, I'm thinking of getting back into dance.  Other than writing, when I was younger that was the only thing I liked to do.  And since I think most all exercise is synonymous with torture, it might be the only thing that can help me lose weight in time for my best friend's wedding.  I have plenty of time, the blessed event being in December, but I'm also pretty lazy, so the possibility of me not losing these extra thirty pounds is very likely.  Still, if anything could do it, dance would be it.  So, we'll see what I can find around town that I can afford.

Well, I guess that's about it for now.  Here's hoping that I'll get to a point where I also write in this blog on a weekly basis.  Not that I think anyone finds these ramblings all that interesting, but who knows.  Until next time.