I mean that. This was my calmest year in a while, and I needed the break.
I'm in the minority. Most of my friends have had hellacious years (hmm. Blogspot doesn't know that word). New jobs, lost jobs, floods, chronic illness, never-ending divorces - you name it, I have a friend going through it.
But my 2013 was good. I kicked depression in the teeth and out the door. I settled into my cemetery job and gained a little mastery and a lot of attitude. The weather was remarkably calm for Kansas. My zucchini flourished, even if the tomatoes faltered. I found peace with Zynga.
I've read some books. More books than I've read since pre-college. I've watched some movies I've never seen. I attended a conference and met people I've only known virtually (and still liked them). I'm remembering how to sing in the shower. If lack of cavities is proof, I've successfully reintroduced fluoride to my teeth cleaning regimen.
The only thing that suffered this year was my writing. I've been avoiding my WIP like a clingy, demanding boyfriend. I've forsaken NAF almost entirely (as an alumnus, my responsibilities are less than they were, but still...). I've run out of blogging ideas, as if you couldn't tell. Not a good thing, as I've apparently added some fans. Got a message from one last week asking if I had a release date on my next book.
Sigh. A release date. I should probably get on that.
Thank you, 2013, for being a year I could love. A Year of Jubilee, as it were. I needed it. I suspect 2014 will be a real nutcracker.
Happy New Year's Eve, dear readers. Count your blessings and forget the rest.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Winter in Kansas
A few things to know about Winter in Kansas.
Usually, it's cold. Not Antarctic-kill-you-if-you-step-outside cold, but 30 degree highs and 0-10 degree lows with a wind chill. You'll want a coat, boots and thick gloves. And a ski mask because our winds keep blowing in Winter, and that north wind will peel the skin off your face if you're not careful. I add earmuffs because I can take almost anything but cold ears.
We don't see a lot of snow. We get sleet, freezing drizzle, the occasional ice storm, but snow doesn't happen as often as we would like, especially considering the cold temps. I mean, if you're going to freeze your nose off, you may as well have something pretty to look at, right?
When it does snow, people go a little crazy. SUVs think they're masters of the road, when in fact they tend to wind up in ditches and rollover accidents. An SUV can't stop any better than anyone else on snowpack. Keep that in mind, young'uns. Snow driving means down-shifting, slow speeds, and no tailgating.
Even in Winter, Kansas sun melts snow. What your parents may not have told you is to shovel your drive a) before you drive on it, and b) before the sun gets too high. If you get the snow off, the sun and wind take care of the remaining moisture, and you get a dry driveway by nightfall. If you don't clear it off, the sun melts the snow, and you get a sheet of ice by next morning. This holds true for clearing off your vehicle, too. Sun either heats a car and melts ice off the windows, or heats a car and turns snow left on a car into a thicker layer of ice.
This clearing and melting can backfire if the sun doesn't come out until late, but generally you're better off clearing than not clearing. It's good exercise, too, as long as you don't pull your brachioradialus muscle.
Snow is both moisture and an insulator, so I always shovel it onto the flower beds. This is another good reason to move it before you drive on it. The chemicals used to clear roads have no business on your flower beds.
Any day above freezing will be a good day for the carwashes. Kansas drivers know to get the road sand and salt off their vehicles as soon as possible. With my growing affection for the new van, I'll be doing this myself when the opportunity arises.
We got snow this weekend, so I've been shoveling and scraping and pulling muscles. Good times.
Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Drive careful out there.
Usually, it's cold. Not Antarctic-kill-you-if-you-step-outside cold, but 30 degree highs and 0-10 degree lows with a wind chill. You'll want a coat, boots and thick gloves. And a ski mask because our winds keep blowing in Winter, and that north wind will peel the skin off your face if you're not careful. I add earmuffs because I can take almost anything but cold ears.
We don't see a lot of snow. We get sleet, freezing drizzle, the occasional ice storm, but snow doesn't happen as often as we would like, especially considering the cold temps. I mean, if you're going to freeze your nose off, you may as well have something pretty to look at, right?
When it does snow, people go a little crazy. SUVs think they're masters of the road, when in fact they tend to wind up in ditches and rollover accidents. An SUV can't stop any better than anyone else on snowpack. Keep that in mind, young'uns. Snow driving means down-shifting, slow speeds, and no tailgating.
Even in Winter, Kansas sun melts snow. What your parents may not have told you is to shovel your drive a) before you drive on it, and b) before the sun gets too high. If you get the snow off, the sun and wind take care of the remaining moisture, and you get a dry driveway by nightfall. If you don't clear it off, the sun melts the snow, and you get a sheet of ice by next morning. This holds true for clearing off your vehicle, too. Sun either heats a car and melts ice off the windows, or heats a car and turns snow left on a car into a thicker layer of ice.
This clearing and melting can backfire if the sun doesn't come out until late, but generally you're better off clearing than not clearing. It's good exercise, too, as long as you don't pull your brachioradialus muscle.
Snow is both moisture and an insulator, so I always shovel it onto the flower beds. This is another good reason to move it before you drive on it. The chemicals used to clear roads have no business on your flower beds.
Any day above freezing will be a good day for the carwashes. Kansas drivers know to get the road sand and salt off their vehicles as soon as possible. With my growing affection for the new van, I'll be doing this myself when the opportunity arises.
We got snow this weekend, so I've been shoveling and scraping and pulling muscles. Good times.
Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Drive careful out there.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Insight, or Another Excuse?
Money doesn't motivate me.
I'm almost ashamed to write that. It sounds horribly elitist, as though I cannot be bothered with the travails of mere mortals. I assure you, money worries me as much as it worries most people. I just don't translate "money worry" into "make more money." In fact, I seem to take the opposite route of "money worry" becomes "money hoarding."
This lack of desire to pursue money makes me a bit odd, I suspect, and may add to the elitist image of "I cannot be bothered to sully myself with grubbing after income like a commoner." I hope that's not the case. If it is, I assure you, the issue is entirely mine, as my entire family is of common stock with an excellent work ethic and normal perspectives of income vs. outgo. I have no business thinking I'm made of grander stuff than most. I'm plain old homespun from wool and cotton, no matter that I behave like the silk petticoat of a queen.
TT: Probably time to reread The Lost Princess by George McDonald. I do that when I start to get above myself.
Back to my point. I didn't publish a book to make money. I published a book because a lot of people made my life miserable until I did. Now that I have, they've mostly backed off (possibly because I bite people who ask "when's the next book coming out?")
One of my writer's groups is once again discussing book pricing. I fall on the lower price point side for ebooks because the physical costs are lower and higher prices for print books because the physical costs are higher. However, I wonder if I'm about lower price points because I don't want my books associated with me making a profit.
Now that absolutely goes against everything I espouse. I am a rabid capitalist, provided the capitalism is balanced with integrity. I firmly support the mutually beneficial exchange of goods and services, and that is the foundation of capitalism. Two people getting exactly what they want from each other, and being so satisfied with the exchange, they'd gladly do it again. It's what I used to have with Zynga before the company went money crazy.
I want people who buy my books to be satisfied with the purchase. There is nothing inherently wrong with me benefiting monetarily from that. But, I admit, I would rather have the praise than the cash. I would rather my product be admired and respected than fill my savings account.
Therein lies the pinch. I am reluctant to gain money from my books, and I am terrified that I will lose what respect I've earned by producing the next one (a very real possibility, btw, considering how often it happens to others).
So, once again, I've found an underlying insight to the paralysis I face whenever I look at my laptop. Will it help me overcome that paralysis? We'll see. Sometimes insight is enough to remove the dam.
Happy Wednesday, dear readers. May you have all the money you need, even if it's not all the money you want.
I'm almost ashamed to write that. It sounds horribly elitist, as though I cannot be bothered with the travails of mere mortals. I assure you, money worries me as much as it worries most people. I just don't translate "money worry" into "make more money." In fact, I seem to take the opposite route of "money worry" becomes "money hoarding."
This lack of desire to pursue money makes me a bit odd, I suspect, and may add to the elitist image of "I cannot be bothered to sully myself with grubbing after income like a commoner." I hope that's not the case. If it is, I assure you, the issue is entirely mine, as my entire family is of common stock with an excellent work ethic and normal perspectives of income vs. outgo. I have no business thinking I'm made of grander stuff than most. I'm plain old homespun from wool and cotton, no matter that I behave like the silk petticoat of a queen.
TT: Probably time to reread The Lost Princess by George McDonald. I do that when I start to get above myself.
Back to my point. I didn't publish a book to make money. I published a book because a lot of people made my life miserable until I did. Now that I have, they've mostly backed off (possibly because I bite people who ask "when's the next book coming out?")
One of my writer's groups is once again discussing book pricing. I fall on the lower price point side for ebooks because the physical costs are lower and higher prices for print books because the physical costs are higher. However, I wonder if I'm about lower price points because I don't want my books associated with me making a profit.
Now that absolutely goes against everything I espouse. I am a rabid capitalist, provided the capitalism is balanced with integrity. I firmly support the mutually beneficial exchange of goods and services, and that is the foundation of capitalism. Two people getting exactly what they want from each other, and being so satisfied with the exchange, they'd gladly do it again. It's what I used to have with Zynga before the company went money crazy.
I want people who buy my books to be satisfied with the purchase. There is nothing inherently wrong with me benefiting monetarily from that. But, I admit, I would rather have the praise than the cash. I would rather my product be admired and respected than fill my savings account.
Therein lies the pinch. I am reluctant to gain money from my books, and I am terrified that I will lose what respect I've earned by producing the next one (a very real possibility, btw, considering how often it happens to others).
So, once again, I've found an underlying insight to the paralysis I face whenever I look at my laptop. Will it help me overcome that paralysis? We'll see. Sometimes insight is enough to remove the dam.
Happy Wednesday, dear readers. May you have all the money you need, even if it's not all the money you want.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
To Steal or Not To Steal
Yesterday, Katherine Coble asked the question,
About half of the responders thought it was fine as long as you paid before you left. I don't think that's the question. The question is did you steal by opening the bag and eating during your shopping trip?
If you've interacted with me for any length of time, you know how much food occupies my thoughts. You should also have gathered how extremely possessive I am. This question touches on both issues. I have no doubt at all that eating food that isn't mine is stealing.
I'm not condemning those who've done it. My greater concern is how easily rationalizing comes to us as a society.
"Well, it's fine as long as you pay before you leave." No. Eating something that isn't yours is stealing. You can pay for it afterward, but it was stolen until you paid. That's an "end justifies the means" argument. Those never fly with me.
"Well, the clerk didn't say anything/stop me, so it's fine." No. Bad behavior doesn't justify more bad behavior. If you take something that isn't yours, you steal. It doesn't matter if someone calls you on it. This is the same rationalization we use when running a stop sign because no other cars are there. The law doesn't stop existing because no one sees you break it.
"Well, I really needed it because I was having a (insert medical condition)." If you are that likely to have such a medical condition, why aren't you carrying whatever you need with you? I'm borderline hypoglycemic (one of the reasons I'm so concerned about food). I promise you, I have snacks with me at all times. I don't need to steal from a store because I'm experiencing low blood sugar.
Again, I'm not condemning. I'm observing. As a gatekeeper/guardian/ anti-change agent, I will always call out b.s. And those answers sounded my b.s. horn.
Happy Hump Day, dear readers.
This was apparently prompted by observations of another shopper. She had her opinion on the matter, but was curious what her FB Friends thought on the issue.
About half of the responders thought it was fine as long as you paid before you left. I don't think that's the question. The question is did you steal by opening the bag and eating during your shopping trip?
If you've interacted with me for any length of time, you know how much food occupies my thoughts. You should also have gathered how extremely possessive I am. This question touches on both issues. I have no doubt at all that eating food that isn't mine is stealing.
I'm not condemning those who've done it. My greater concern is how easily rationalizing comes to us as a society.
"Well, it's fine as long as you pay before you leave." No. Eating something that isn't yours is stealing. You can pay for it afterward, but it was stolen until you paid. That's an "end justifies the means" argument. Those never fly with me.
"Well, the clerk didn't say anything/stop me, so it's fine." No. Bad behavior doesn't justify more bad behavior. If you take something that isn't yours, you steal. It doesn't matter if someone calls you on it. This is the same rationalization we use when running a stop sign because no other cars are there. The law doesn't stop existing because no one sees you break it.
"Well, I really needed it because I was having a (insert medical condition)." If you are that likely to have such a medical condition, why aren't you carrying whatever you need with you? I'm borderline hypoglycemic (one of the reasons I'm so concerned about food). I promise you, I have snacks with me at all times. I don't need to steal from a store because I'm experiencing low blood sugar.
Again, I'm not condemning. I'm observing. As a gatekeeper/guardian/ anti-change agent, I will always call out b.s. And those answers sounded my b.s. horn.
Proverbs 30:7-9
7 Two things I asked of You,
Do not refuse me before I die:
8 Keep deception and lies far from me,
Give me neither poverty nor riches;
Feed me with the food that is my portion,
9 That I not be full and deny You and say, “Who is the Lord?”
Or that I not be in want and steal,
And profane the name of my God. (NASB)
Happy Hump Day, dear readers.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Issues of Dismemberment
or, Why I'm OK With Dolls Whose Arms Come Off, But Not Dolls Whose Feet Come Off.
I have issues with dismemberment. You might not think so if you've read my stuff because I appear eager to sever protuberances, but it is never a good thing. Actually, that could go either way.
It started with those Disney head purses. You know the ones. Purses that are just the heads of famous Disney characters: Pooh et al., Mickey et al., Nemo et al.? OK, Nemo is pretty much a giant head anyway, but you get my point. I put my foot down when Niece #1 wanted a head purse. There was no way in The Nine Hells My Lamb was going anywhere with a severed head dangling from her tiny shoulder. Unless she killed it herself with a bottle opener and her teeth.
I got her a Djali backpack instead (this was during the Hunchback of Notre Dame ouvre).
TT: Not sure I'm spelling that word correctly or even using it right, but I heard it on Buffy the Vampire Slayer so I'm giving it a shot.
Yes, the goat was eviscerated, but he was otherwise intact. Stuff him with a blanket and no one knows his sorrow. She got the point, and Weird Aunt Turtle got peace of mind.
Fast forward several years, and Bratz enter the scene. I have no issues with disproportionate dolls. Hey, I played with Barbie for years. And years. But when you have to change a doll's shoes by pulling off its feet, I draw a line. These are caricatures of real girls, and real girls' feet don't come off on purpose. I banned the Bratz. Pretty sure the nieces still had some, but we didn't discuss it, and they certainly didn't depedocate them around me. (Is that a word? Should be.)
Why, then, am I fine with the removable arms (and in some cases, everything) of Monster High dolls? Because they're monsters. Monsters can do all kinds of things normal humans can't, including switching forearms.
Which is why, after nearly a year of yearning, I finally broke down and bought a Monster High doll (actually, I bought three - one assembled and a set of two, assembly required, mwahahahahahaa!). They should have been around when I was younger, and it isn't my fault they weren't.
 |
| They came! |
Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Grasp a bit of your lost youth today, as long as all your pieces stay attached.
Monday, November 25, 2013
The Twitch
I've got a twitch. In my eye.
I get those on occasion. A few years ago, the twitch was so persistent and long-lived, I went to the optometrist. Eye twitches are usually a combination of too much histamine and too much stress. I took my Benedryl, got more sleep and the twitch subsided.
About two years ago, the twitch changed to numb eyelids. That's the only way to describe it. My eyelids go numb, and I can't keep my eyes open. I think it's my body's attempt to mimic the Joo Janta 200 Super Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses by ending my ability to see what's stressing me. Again, the solution is more sleep and a histamine blocker.
The twitch started two weeks ago, when I had my little upset. It's switching from right to left eye, it's hit both eyes at once, and it's alternating with the numb eyelids. You can't see it, but, trust me, I feel like Bugs Bunny after he swallows that shot of alcohol (don't remember why he swallows it; just what he looked like after). It has to be stress, because I've taken that generic Claritin for six weeks and I believe that contains antihistamine.
"Choosing to forgive" is a bit harder this time around. I keep making the choice, and I think I'm setting the issue aside for God to handle, but the twitch makes me think I'm failing. So be it. I don't know any other way to handle this than to keeping praying, keep forgiving and keep taking Benedryl.
Happy Monday, dear readers. Should my eyes slam shut while talking with you, you're stressing me out. Stop it.
I get those on occasion. A few years ago, the twitch was so persistent and long-lived, I went to the optometrist. Eye twitches are usually a combination of too much histamine and too much stress. I took my Benedryl, got more sleep and the twitch subsided.
About two years ago, the twitch changed to numb eyelids. That's the only way to describe it. My eyelids go numb, and I can't keep my eyes open. I think it's my body's attempt to mimic the Joo Janta 200 Super Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses by ending my ability to see what's stressing me. Again, the solution is more sleep and a histamine blocker.
The twitch started two weeks ago, when I had my little upset. It's switching from right to left eye, it's hit both eyes at once, and it's alternating with the numb eyelids. You can't see it, but, trust me, I feel like Bugs Bunny after he swallows that shot of alcohol (don't remember why he swallows it; just what he looked like after). It has to be stress, because I've taken that generic Claritin for six weeks and I believe that contains antihistamine.
"Choosing to forgive" is a bit harder this time around. I keep making the choice, and I think I'm setting the issue aside for God to handle, but the twitch makes me think I'm failing. So be it. I don't know any other way to handle this than to keeping praying, keep forgiving and keep taking Benedryl.
Happy Monday, dear readers. Should my eyes slam shut while talking with you, you're stressing me out. Stop it.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Not NaNo
I am not a NaNo writer. I disparage no one who does it, but it just ain't my style and I'm at peace with that.
However, my goal for the remainder of this month is to write something on my WIP every day. That hasn't been happening and I'm at the end of my procrastination rope. I mean, I've been procrastinating so hard, I'm exercising rather than writing. That's sick.
I'm afraid of my WIP. Personal expectations are too high and personal motivation is too low. I have no great ideas left. I can't even figure out who the antagonist is. On the other hand, I have no other project that tweaks my interest any more than this one, so it seems silly to write on something else.
It's not that I can't write. I put words down, and they make sense and everything. It's that I don't care about writing anymore. I have no drive to tell the story. If I don't want to tell it, why would anyone want to read it?
Doesn't matter. I must assume this is simply my own lazy, apathetic nature seeking to condone my inclination to do nothing more in life but go to work to support my Farmville habit. Being half Vulcan, I understand emotion cannot dictate direction. Being half human, though, I understand without emotion, there's no drive to complete the journey. That's where I am. No drive.
If I can get as many words on my WIP as a typical blog post, I'll be...well, farther than I am. If it doesn't matter whether I write or not, I may as well write, right? With such willingness to be distracted by anything, the holiday season is as good a time to start as any.
Happy Tuesday, dear readers. May you find the drive to finish all your worthy projects.
However, my goal for the remainder of this month is to write something on my WIP every day. That hasn't been happening and I'm at the end of my procrastination rope. I mean, I've been procrastinating so hard, I'm exercising rather than writing. That's sick.
I'm afraid of my WIP. Personal expectations are too high and personal motivation is too low. I have no great ideas left. I can't even figure out who the antagonist is. On the other hand, I have no other project that tweaks my interest any more than this one, so it seems silly to write on something else.
It's not that I can't write. I put words down, and they make sense and everything. It's that I don't care about writing anymore. I have no drive to tell the story. If I don't want to tell it, why would anyone want to read it?
Doesn't matter. I must assume this is simply my own lazy, apathetic nature seeking to condone my inclination to do nothing more in life but go to work to support my Farmville habit. Being half Vulcan, I understand emotion cannot dictate direction. Being half human, though, I understand without emotion, there's no drive to complete the journey. That's where I am. No drive.
If I can get as many words on my WIP as a typical blog post, I'll be...well, farther than I am. If it doesn't matter whether I write or not, I may as well write, right? With such willingness to be distracted by anything, the holiday season is as good a time to start as any.
Happy Tuesday, dear readers. May you find the drive to finish all your worthy projects.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Greatest Queso Ever
Because My Best Friend apparently went through contortions trying to find the recipe so she could make this, I promised I would post it here for perpetuity.
Ingredients
Ingredients
1 block (32 Oz. Block) Velveeta Cheese
1 package (8 Oz. Package) Cream Cheese
1 can (10 Oz. Can) Rotel
1 can (10.75 Oz. Can) Cream Of
Mushroom Soup
1 pound Ground Beef OR Sausage
(or A Combination Of Both)
1 Green Onion, optional
1 sm can corn, optional
Instructions
Brown ground beef or sausage (or
both) in a pan over medium heat and set aside.
Cut up the Velveeta and cream
cheese into cubes and place into a crock pot.
Pour in the Rotel and the cream
of mushroom soup (and drained corn) and stir ingredients together.
Place the crock pot on low
setting.
After about 30 minutes, add the
browned meat and continue to let cook, stirring as needed, for another 30 minutes or so.
May we all die happy of coronary heart disease.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Pant Rant
Y'all remember when I bought new pants, right? I'd had enough with the old ones being too tight (read "I've gotten too fat") and in a fit of exasperation, I went to the store and bought five new pair in all the colors I wanted. They fit, too. Mom is a witness.
Well, they're too loose now. They fit that night, and now they're falling off and bunching in weird ways and just infuriating. Did I lose weight in the meantime? More likely it's a conspiracy involving space age polymers that cling in an environment of low humidity, white linoleum and florescent lights and relax under all other conditions. I must be a size 11. One salty chip and I'm a 12; one hour in The Swamp and I'm a 10.
I also have to say, once again, I hate low rise pants. Pear-shaped women carry weight in their bellies and butts, and low-rise pants accentuate not only the muffin-top of belly bulge but broaden the beam by focusing on the widest part of the hips. I guess it's more important to show off that tramp stamp and thong than have flattering clothes. I've been waiting since 1991 for colors I can wear to come back in style, why should I be surprised that clothing trends only get worse? Pretty soon it'll be normal to show pubic bones at work. Better yet, we'll wear nothing on the bottom and focus entirely on baby doll tops that make everyone look pregnant or willing to be pregnant.
I should have learned to sew. Except I would have to find patterns from the 1950's to make a decent pair of pants.
Happy Wednesday, dear readers. May your pants fit in a good way.
Well, they're too loose now. They fit that night, and now they're falling off and bunching in weird ways and just infuriating. Did I lose weight in the meantime? More likely it's a conspiracy involving space age polymers that cling in an environment of low humidity, white linoleum and florescent lights and relax under all other conditions. I must be a size 11. One salty chip and I'm a 12; one hour in The Swamp and I'm a 10.
I also have to say, once again, I hate low rise pants. Pear-shaped women carry weight in their bellies and butts, and low-rise pants accentuate not only the muffin-top of belly bulge but broaden the beam by focusing on the widest part of the hips. I guess it's more important to show off that tramp stamp and thong than have flattering clothes. I've been waiting since 1991 for colors I can wear to come back in style, why should I be surprised that clothing trends only get worse? Pretty soon it'll be normal to show pubic bones at work. Better yet, we'll wear nothing on the bottom and focus entirely on baby doll tops that make everyone look pregnant or willing to be pregnant.
I should have learned to sew. Except I would have to find patterns from the 1950's to make a decent pair of pants.
Happy Wednesday, dear readers. May your pants fit in a good way.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Too Right
I hurt my arm last month. Not sure exactly what I did, but somewhere between digging and hauling, I strained my forearm. The brachioradialis muscle, as far as I can tell with an Internet search when the pain got so bad I feared carpal tunnel or bone cancer. My elbow wasn't happy with me, either. Could be a chicken and egg situation.
This weekend the pain was so intense, after my one-handed research laid my worries to rest, I started using my left arm to lift heavy things like the half gallon almond milk carton, my half full electric teapot and the brown sugar container. That's when I realized how "right" I am. I must be using my right arm a lot outside if I'm using it this much inside. I guess it's had enough.
I'm not a crazy gardener. I'm crazy about gardening, but I don't go all out insane with the whacking and boulder rolling and whatnot. I'm the slow and steady gardener who sits down to weed so I don't put my back out, takes more trips than necessary with the wheelbarrow to avoid muscle strain and goes inside between 10 AM and 2 PM because that's when UV radiation is most intense in Kansas. Zucchini isn't worth melanoma.
To actually hurt myself is rare, and to hurt myself in a way that hangs on for weeks is unheard of. Until this year.
That fall in April that led to the horrible knee ache in July and August has morphed into what I can only describe as a groin pull. Rotating my left leg in certain circumstances leads to a pain that nearly buckles my good knee and causes inappropriate words to spew from my lips. So, lame on the left, crippled on the right.
I've read gardening magazines for years, and every once in a while, I'll see an article about garden safety that involves exercises, because everybody knows gardening can be extremely dangerous if you don't warm up properly.
That was sarcasm, if you didn't hear it.
The old joke says a twenty year old gardener has a forty year old back and sixty year old knees. They ain't kidding. Add 20 to all those numbers, and you know what I'm dealing with.
I'm not laughing quite so hard anymore. Gardening is about the only exercise I like doing, so I'm stretching those muscles slowly and carefully and applying heat as needed. Once these injuries have healed, I'll add some weight training to help prevent this kind of thing in the future. Nothing crazy, though. That wouldn't be me.
Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Remember, Monday is always the first day you go to work, no matter when that day happens on the calendar. Be ready for it.
This weekend the pain was so intense, after my one-handed research laid my worries to rest, I started using my left arm to lift heavy things like the half gallon almond milk carton, my half full electric teapot and the brown sugar container. That's when I realized how "right" I am. I must be using my right arm a lot outside if I'm using it this much inside. I guess it's had enough.
I'm not a crazy gardener. I'm crazy about gardening, but I don't go all out insane with the whacking and boulder rolling and whatnot. I'm the slow and steady gardener who sits down to weed so I don't put my back out, takes more trips than necessary with the wheelbarrow to avoid muscle strain and goes inside between 10 AM and 2 PM because that's when UV radiation is most intense in Kansas. Zucchini isn't worth melanoma.
To actually hurt myself is rare, and to hurt myself in a way that hangs on for weeks is unheard of. Until this year.
That fall in April that led to the horrible knee ache in July and August has morphed into what I can only describe as a groin pull. Rotating my left leg in certain circumstances leads to a pain that nearly buckles my good knee and causes inappropriate words to spew from my lips. So, lame on the left, crippled on the right.
I've read gardening magazines for years, and every once in a while, I'll see an article about garden safety that involves exercises, because everybody knows gardening can be extremely dangerous if you don't warm up properly.
That was sarcasm, if you didn't hear it.
The old joke says a twenty year old gardener has a forty year old back and sixty year old knees. They ain't kidding. Add 20 to all those numbers, and you know what I'm dealing with.
I'm not laughing quite so hard anymore. Gardening is about the only exercise I like doing, so I'm stretching those muscles slowly and carefully and applying heat as needed. Once these injuries have healed, I'll add some weight training to help prevent this kind of thing in the future. Nothing crazy, though. That wouldn't be me.
Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Remember, Monday is always the first day you go to work, no matter when that day happens on the calendar. Be ready for it.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
The Logistics of Blogging
I am an excessively scheduled person. My life is maintained with a precision likely stemming from an undiagnosed mental disorder (it's only undiagnosed because I haven't pulled out my DSMIII-R and diagnosed myself). This is why I can keep six cats with varying dietary and exercise needs. This is also why I occasionally miss my blog time.
I have 30 "free" minutes between waking up and leaving for work. Since that's my average writing time for a blog post, this generally works well. However, some days I get off track. Farmville has loading issues. Someone coughs up a hairball in a particularly difficult place to clean. I've forgotten the fridge is empty and must make something for lunch that day. All kinds of things.
TT: The fact that these things happen and I cope with a minimum of trouble leads me to believe I don't have a mental disorder, just very rigid habits.
So, when you don't see a new post from me, more often than not it's a case of bad timing. I'm not dead or depressed or kidnapped. I'm just off schedule.
Happy Thursday, dear readers. May any inconvenience today be God's blessing in your life.
I have 30 "free" minutes between waking up and leaving for work. Since that's my average writing time for a blog post, this generally works well. However, some days I get off track. Farmville has loading issues. Someone coughs up a hairball in a particularly difficult place to clean. I've forgotten the fridge is empty and must make something for lunch that day. All kinds of things.
TT: The fact that these things happen and I cope with a minimum of trouble leads me to believe I don't have a mental disorder, just very rigid habits.
So, when you don't see a new post from me, more often than not it's a case of bad timing. I'm not dead or depressed or kidnapped. I'm just off schedule.
Happy Thursday, dear readers. May any inconvenience today be God's blessing in your life.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Practicing Forgiveness
Every decade or so my world gets shaken. It's probably more often than that, but I'm trying to be positive. Usually this shaking comes in the form of someone doing something that is completely out of the character I understand them to have.
I'm not a good judge of character. I have no instincts, no intuition. I measure folks by one yardstick, really - me. What would I do in a similar situation? Which is why I often get the hell shocked out of me when someone doesn't choose the path I would.
Most of the time, this is surprising but not world-shaking. Most of the time, this doesn't cause a problem. Every once in a while, though, this surprise leads to shock, disappointment and anger.
Had one of those happen recently, and I'm struggling to deal. This is the time to apply that "forgiveness" lesson I learned last November.
See, forgiveness is a choice. It's me being aware a wrong was done, but not marking it in my Book of Wrongs and reviewing it nightly as I plot revenge. I know the wrong occurred. I will take steps to deal with the consequences. I will not brood over how I was wronged and how that person should now burn in hell for eternity. I will not allow one wrong to ruin the rest of my life, or the rest of my relationships.
It's hard. I don't have good instincts, but I have an excellent memory. Burn me enough and we are done. Not because I hate you, but because I won't live my life in a fireplace. I doubt that's how Christ would do it, but I'm not Him yet.
Anyway, today is a day of forgiveness. No wrong done against me will destroy my eternity, and I will trust the real Judge to deal with true wrongs in due time. God has my back. I don't have to waste another emotional minute on this.
Happy Hump Day, dear readers. Choose to forgive today, for your sake, not theirs.
I'm not a good judge of character. I have no instincts, no intuition. I measure folks by one yardstick, really - me. What would I do in a similar situation? Which is why I often get the hell shocked out of me when someone doesn't choose the path I would.
Most of the time, this is surprising but not world-shaking. Most of the time, this doesn't cause a problem. Every once in a while, though, this surprise leads to shock, disappointment and anger.
Had one of those happen recently, and I'm struggling to deal. This is the time to apply that "forgiveness" lesson I learned last November.
See, forgiveness is a choice. It's me being aware a wrong was done, but not marking it in my Book of Wrongs and reviewing it nightly as I plot revenge. I know the wrong occurred. I will take steps to deal with the consequences. I will not brood over how I was wronged and how that person should now burn in hell for eternity. I will not allow one wrong to ruin the rest of my life, or the rest of my relationships.
It's hard. I don't have good instincts, but I have an excellent memory. Burn me enough and we are done. Not because I hate you, but because I won't live my life in a fireplace. I doubt that's how Christ would do it, but I'm not Him yet.
Anyway, today is a day of forgiveness. No wrong done against me will destroy my eternity, and I will trust the real Judge to deal with true wrongs in due time. God has my back. I don't have to waste another emotional minute on this.
Happy Hump Day, dear readers. Choose to forgive today, for your sake, not theirs.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Out of the Study
If my WIP were a sketch, I would have rubbed through the paper by now. I have written, re-written, pondered, procrastinated and persecuted my brain for how to get them out of there. I can't gain enough traction to propel my people out of this scene.
They're close. The door swings open, inviting. They just have to walk through it - against all common sense and leaving Obvious Danger to stab them in the backs. No thinking person would do it and these are thinking people.
I'm almost ready to just write the next scene. No transition, no idea of how they did it, just the assumption that they did on the hope that somewhere in the future a brilliant and obvious "of course!" moment will wake me at 3 AM and I'll actually get up and write it down before I forget.
However, if past is prologue, the moment I move them on without regard for how they get there, some snag will arise that makes where they move impossible and I'll have to rewrite anyway. Obvious Danger must be outsmarted or defeated or neutralized for the time being.
Good Lord. I just thought of how to do it. Literally this moment thought of a way. Gotta go.
Happy Friday, dear readers. May you find inspiration in your most frustrating moment.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
The Answer
I am officially The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. Yes, today I am 42.
This will be the first birthday I do not eat an entire 3-layer German's chocolate cake in celebration.
I don't have a good track record with birthdays. They tend to be all about me. Yes, I know that's how they normally work, and for normal people, that system works well, but for an egomaniac like myself it leads to tantrums, unreasonable demands and self-indulgence of truly epic proportions.
No more.
I am now The Answer. Today I shall be gracious. Today I shall be kind to all those who are not The Answer. Today I am All There Is, and I have no reason to be petty about it. Today I will march out my door with a Pan-Galatic Gargle Blaster under my belt, my Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses on my face, and my towel firmly in hand.
Don't panic. I am here, and I am The Answer.
Oh, and regarding all those previous birthdays...
"We apologize for the inconvenience."
Douglas Adams
So Long and Thanks for all the Fish.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Fall in The Swamp
I'm learning my ideal gardening environment is 45 to 65 degrees on partly cloudy days. The lower the temp, the less "partly" on those clouds, please.
It's been a looooong time since I've tried "Fall-cleanup" in The Swamp. Not sure if I've ever really tried it. It's more the kind of thing vegetable gardeners do than flower gardeners. While the weather has been kind with mild temps and sunny days, the sun rises after 7:30 AM and sets around 7 PM, so it's a race to get home and get dirty while I can still see the shovel.
I've moved the raised bed dirt into the flower bed and the "almost finished" compost into the raised bed. I've dug up the 10x10 Wild Plot in the middle of the yard and seeded with fescue, mostly because I can't maintain all the beds I want to have and Sweetie does need a bit of lawn for butt-hunker running purposes. That sounds so easy. This is the part of the yard most destroyed by the arborists, so with every shovel, I'm hitting rocks and buried tree branches. Fortunately, I've forgiven that crew, so I'm not furious anymore.
I expanded the asparagus bed slightly to allow for a garlic bed, too. Seems you have to leave garlic alone for a while if you want multiple cloves.
I tore out the disappointing tomato plant last night. It tried, poor thing. It just couldn't get any traction with the weather. Next year, I'll go back to "Early Girl," even if I have to buy two because the first one dies. There's something to be said for an indeterminate tomato.
I transplanted half my lilac bush closer to the house. I meant to move the whole thing, but lilacs sort of turn into masses of suckers, so I took a mass of smaller suckers and moved them. I may move more in the Spring to the south side as part of the "green screen" I'm planting between me and the Neighbors to the South. The ornamental grass from last Spring is doing it's bit, but everyone appreciates a well-planted lilac bush.
I hope to switch out some peonies for lamb's ear in the rock garden. The peonies don't get enough water back there and the lamb's ear is a bee friendly weed, so the move makes sense. I also plan to transplant autumn sedum (or live forever, as we call it around here: a Kansas weed sold in garden catalogs to other States) to the back because butterflies love it and it can take the sun and heat. Don't know why I didn't think of doing it before.
If I can remember (and resist), I won't buy annuals next year. I should have enough self-seeders to keep the flower bed going and I'll transplant herbs to fill the bare spots. My annuals just didn't like the weather this year, and I did not get my money's worth. Considering the number of volunteer basil and dill that came up from two plants in 2012, I shouldn't have to buy those ever again. I hope.
That's a quick summary of how I'm spending the dying light of an evening and the daylight of a weekend. I'll be suiting up in winter gear to collect leaves, too. My compost bins are empty and momma needs brown stuff.
Happy Hump Day, dear readers. Get out while you can. Winter is coming.
It's been a looooong time since I've tried "Fall-cleanup" in The Swamp. Not sure if I've ever really tried it. It's more the kind of thing vegetable gardeners do than flower gardeners. While the weather has been kind with mild temps and sunny days, the sun rises after 7:30 AM and sets around 7 PM, so it's a race to get home and get dirty while I can still see the shovel.
 |
| The asparagus bed with added space for garlic. |
I've moved the raised bed dirt into the flower bed and the "almost finished" compost into the raised bed. I've dug up the 10x10 Wild Plot in the middle of the yard and seeded with fescue, mostly because I can't maintain all the beds I want to have and Sweetie does need a bit of lawn for butt-hunker running purposes. That sounds so easy. This is the part of the yard most destroyed by the arborists, so with every shovel, I'm hitting rocks and buried tree branches. Fortunately, I've forgiven that crew, so I'm not furious anymore.
I expanded the asparagus bed slightly to allow for a garlic bed, too. Seems you have to leave garlic alone for a while if you want multiple cloves.
 |
| I'll seed this swath, too. No more vegetables so far from the house. I'm considering making a dividing line of ornamental grass (you can see the grass I'd use just behind the tomato. I'd do that in the Spring. |
I tore out the disappointing tomato plant last night. It tried, poor thing. It just couldn't get any traction with the weather. Next year, I'll go back to "Early Girl," even if I have to buy two because the first one dies. There's something to be said for an indeterminate tomato.
 |
| Up here, maybe it won't be so frost-susceptible. It will certainly be easier to smell. |
I transplanted half my lilac bush closer to the house. I meant to move the whole thing, but lilacs sort of turn into masses of suckers, so I took a mass of smaller suckers and moved them. I may move more in the Spring to the south side as part of the "green screen" I'm planting between me and the Neighbors to the South. The ornamental grass from last Spring is doing it's bit, but everyone appreciates a well-planted lilac bush.
 |
| That's lemon balm and lamb's ear in front of the lilac. Both are "weeds" and should provide plenty of ground cover for next year. |
I hope to switch out some peonies for lamb's ear in the rock garden. The peonies don't get enough water back there and the lamb's ear is a bee friendly weed, so the move makes sense. I also plan to transplant autumn sedum (or live forever, as we call it around here: a Kansas weed sold in garden catalogs to other States) to the back because butterflies love it and it can take the sun and heat. Don't know why I didn't think of doing it before.
If I can remember (and resist), I won't buy annuals next year. I should have enough self-seeders to keep the flower bed going and I'll transplant herbs to fill the bare spots. My annuals just didn't like the weather this year, and I did not get my money's worth. Considering the number of volunteer basil and dill that came up from two plants in 2012, I shouldn't have to buy those ever again. I hope.
That's a quick summary of how I'm spending the dying light of an evening and the daylight of a weekend. I'll be suiting up in winter gear to collect leaves, too. My compost bins are empty and momma needs brown stuff.
Happy Hump Day, dear readers. Get out while you can. Winter is coming.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Stupid Humans and the Zombie Apocalypse
Season four of The Walking Dead is underway. Two amazing episodes so far. Here's hoping they can keep up the tension.
I'm not generally one for end-of-the-world story lines. I hated Stephen King's The Dark Tower as soon as I read the back explanation. I completely avoided the Left Behind series. If it says "dystopian" in the blurb, I walk away.
Until you add gore, I guess. Something about decomposed bodies going splat as they fall from 20 foot heights piques my interest.
Four seasons of this show have brought home one stark reality, though: no one can survive a zombie apocalypse.
Let's assume for a moment that a zombie virus only affects humans (true in The Walking Dead, not true in Resident Evil, another series of zombie movies I love for the fight scenes). You still have 300 million - give or take maybe 20,000 - Americans now morphed into mindless, unstoppable killing machines. We'll ignore the rest of the world for the moment.
Those unstoppable killing machines eat anything that moves. That means all land animal life will eventually be eaten by zombies. All the mammals, for sure. Massive extinction in a relatively short amount of time. Add that all living humans now carry the zombie virus and automatically become zombies at death and you're beginning to understand the meaning of "apocalypse."
Survival for humans would depend on three things: food, shelter, and killing zombies. That's really the only things anyone should focus on. No in-fighting. No political systems. No "does she love me or my best friend?" musings. Unless killing zombies is high on the list of priorities, you will run out of food and shelter and you will die. And become a zombie.
By this point in the show, the zombies are at least 10 months old. They're getting pretty rotten. They're still dangerous, and I'm glad to see the survivors are more cautious than ever, probably because they're tired of watching people die. But no one alive should walk away from a moving zombie. The goal of every mission out should be 1) search for supplies and 2) destroy as many zombies as possible. You have 299 million (assuming we've lost 10K live humans in the last three seasons) to dispatch. It's more than a job; it's a career.
Our survivors on The Walking Dead haven't quite figured this out yet. Maybe they don't want to face that truth. Maybe they're tired. Maybe they tried during the spring hiatus and they've decided it's too costly. It doesn't matter how costly it is. It's the only chance humans have.
I don't worry about it too much. According to a Facebook quiz, I won't last 16 hours into the zombie apocalypse because I won't leave people behind.
Happy Monday, dear readers. Enjoy your lives while you have them. The zombie apocalypse is coming and we won't get out alive.
I'm not generally one for end-of-the-world story lines. I hated Stephen King's The Dark Tower as soon as I read the back explanation. I completely avoided the Left Behind series. If it says "dystopian" in the blurb, I walk away.
Until you add gore, I guess. Something about decomposed bodies going splat as they fall from 20 foot heights piques my interest.
Four seasons of this show have brought home one stark reality, though: no one can survive a zombie apocalypse.
Let's assume for a moment that a zombie virus only affects humans (true in The Walking Dead, not true in Resident Evil, another series of zombie movies I love for the fight scenes). You still have 300 million - give or take maybe 20,000 - Americans now morphed into mindless, unstoppable killing machines. We'll ignore the rest of the world for the moment.
Those unstoppable killing machines eat anything that moves. That means all land animal life will eventually be eaten by zombies. All the mammals, for sure. Massive extinction in a relatively short amount of time. Add that all living humans now carry the zombie virus and automatically become zombies at death and you're beginning to understand the meaning of "apocalypse."
Survival for humans would depend on three things: food, shelter, and killing zombies. That's really the only things anyone should focus on. No in-fighting. No political systems. No "does she love me or my best friend?" musings. Unless killing zombies is high on the list of priorities, you will run out of food and shelter and you will die. And become a zombie.
By this point in the show, the zombies are at least 10 months old. They're getting pretty rotten. They're still dangerous, and I'm glad to see the survivors are more cautious than ever, probably because they're tired of watching people die. But no one alive should walk away from a moving zombie. The goal of every mission out should be 1) search for supplies and 2) destroy as many zombies as possible. You have 299 million (assuming we've lost 10K live humans in the last three seasons) to dispatch. It's more than a job; it's a career.
Our survivors on The Walking Dead haven't quite figured this out yet. Maybe they don't want to face that truth. Maybe they're tired. Maybe they tried during the spring hiatus and they've decided it's too costly. It doesn't matter how costly it is. It's the only chance humans have.
I don't worry about it too much. According to a Facebook quiz, I won't last 16 hours into the zombie apocalypse because I won't leave people behind.
Happy Monday, dear readers. Enjoy your lives while you have them. The zombie apocalypse is coming and we won't get out alive.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Another Way to Flesh Out a Character
Spent a little time last night with Creating Characters: Heroes of Legend by Paul Jaquays and my old gaming dice (and an extremely pupil-dilated Caleb when those dice hit the desktop). With some help from my former DM, I found a clear downloadable version of this out of print book (at least, I couldn't find a recent copy or an old one for less than $50).
Once upon a time, this book helped create Caissa, Kirk, Galena, Rhami, the Harvarkoset children, Raven and Horus. Every character from Star of Justice I first role-played or used as an NPC for a role-played character.
See, some characters spring to life fully formed in my brain. Some need a little help. Like Merritt's mom and siblings. Didn't know he had siblings, did you? Well, he does, but I couldn't quite get them to step out of the shadows of his past and introduce themselves.
We writers are encouraged to know our characters well (some more than others). We're not supposed to write everything we know into the story, but we should know more than we tell you. I can't always pull "fun facts" out of thin air, and a character generator program doesn't give me the specific, hands-on control that I prefer. They also don't go as deep as I like to go into a character's history.
This book is made of tables. Birth Circumstances. Childhood Occurrences. Skill Sets. Blessings and Curses. All kinds of fun and quirky bits that can spark imagination and make a two-dimensional character way more fun.
TT: Remember Raven's reference to her "third birth?" She wasn't talking conversion, folks, but I won't spoil that story just yet.
Merritt's mam is first on the list and coming along nicely. If I want to be slightly more focused on my WIP, I should roll for Gowan Rudebeck next, but Jezreel MacEwan has been bugging me about her backstory anemia longer, so she gets first turn.
Anyway, should be a clickety-clackety weekend as I role those d20 and 2d10 and whatever else Paul wants me to throw.
Happy Friday, dear readers. May your character creation be fruitful and your 20's excessive.
Once upon a time, this book helped create Caissa, Kirk, Galena, Rhami, the Harvarkoset children, Raven and Horus. Every character from Star of Justice I first role-played or used as an NPC for a role-played character.
See, some characters spring to life fully formed in my brain. Some need a little help. Like Merritt's mom and siblings. Didn't know he had siblings, did you? Well, he does, but I couldn't quite get them to step out of the shadows of his past and introduce themselves.
We writers are encouraged to know our characters well (some more than others). We're not supposed to write everything we know into the story, but we should know more than we tell you. I can't always pull "fun facts" out of thin air, and a character generator program doesn't give me the specific, hands-on control that I prefer. They also don't go as deep as I like to go into a character's history.
This book is made of tables. Birth Circumstances. Childhood Occurrences. Skill Sets. Blessings and Curses. All kinds of fun and quirky bits that can spark imagination and make a two-dimensional character way more fun.
TT: Remember Raven's reference to her "third birth?" She wasn't talking conversion, folks, but I won't spoil that story just yet.
Merritt's mam is first on the list and coming along nicely. If I want to be slightly more focused on my WIP, I should roll for Gowan Rudebeck next, but Jezreel MacEwan has been bugging me about her backstory anemia longer, so she gets first turn.
Anyway, should be a clickety-clackety weekend as I role those d20 and 2d10 and whatever else Paul wants me to throw.
Happy Friday, dear readers. May your character creation be fruitful and your 20's excessive.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Doctor, Doctor, Leave Me Alone
Yesterday, a FB friend asked for testimonies concerning holistic medicine.
My doctor is an advocate and practitioner of healthy lifestyle choices as both preventive and curative, which matches my philosophy if not my habits. I don't know if that makes him holistic or not, but it means I will go see him if I'm on the brink of death because I don't think he'll push me over. OK, maybe 24 hours after the brink of death. I mean, I might get better on my own. Why not? I got sick on my own. No point rushing it.
I don't trust doctors in general. I consider the majority of them to be pill-pushing shills of the drug companies, much like the FDA. How else can you explain 60 second commercials for new pills where 40 seconds are warnings about all the horrible things the pills can do to your major organs, immune systems and anyone "who has been to certain regions where certain fungal infections are common?" What on earth does that even mean? These commercials are then followed by the ambulance chasing lawyer commercials asking if "you or a loved one have suffered" any of the list of symptoms, including death, while taking any of these medications because "you may be entitled to a large cash settlement" so contact them right away.
Yes, I watch too much cable TV.
I don't think doctors mean to be pill-pushing shills. It seems to be a matter of training. "You're already 200 lbs overweight, pre-diabetic and don't listen to me anyway, so here's a pill covered by insurance that masks most of your symptoms. Let's see if that helps. Of course, your liver might stop working and you could go blind, but at least you can keep eating pork ribs." So we take Tums instead of avoiding the BBQ with the fiery peppers in it. Maybe your body doesn't like fiery peppers. Maybe that acid reflux is an honest reaction to a stupid action and if you stop the stupid action, the symptoms will stop.
Obviously, this isn't every doctor or every patient. I'm using sarcasm because I'm feeling better.
This vertigo thing has me thinking I do need to see a specialist. I should make sure it's the congestion holdover from a cold that I think it is and not a tumor or alien implant or brain-eating pre-zombie virus I might hope for. My current method of slow-and-steady treatment producing slow-and-steady improvement seems to confirm it's congestion. I'm on day two of no morning wobbliness or nausea. That means it took six days to feel improvement on a condition that probably took six days to reach its apex of discomfort. I'm OK with those numbers.
I am blessed to have a relatively healthy life so far. If family history is an indicator, breast and colon cancer may be in my future, as well as hip and knee replacements, but I'm doing what I can to prevent those. TV has convinced me a major step is to avoid taking or using anything approved by the FDA in the last fifteen years.
For those of my friends currently experiencing serious health issues, I am truly sorry and I am praying for relief for you and wisdom for your doctors. On the one hand, we live in an age where actual cures exist. On the other hand, finding them may be as deadly as the disease.
Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Thank God for the health you have and pray for someone who suffers more than you do.
My doctor is an advocate and practitioner of healthy lifestyle choices as both preventive and curative, which matches my philosophy if not my habits. I don't know if that makes him holistic or not, but it means I will go see him if I'm on the brink of death because I don't think he'll push me over. OK, maybe 24 hours after the brink of death. I mean, I might get better on my own. Why not? I got sick on my own. No point rushing it.
I don't trust doctors in general. I consider the majority of them to be pill-pushing shills of the drug companies, much like the FDA. How else can you explain 60 second commercials for new pills where 40 seconds are warnings about all the horrible things the pills can do to your major organs, immune systems and anyone "who has been to certain regions where certain fungal infections are common?" What on earth does that even mean? These commercials are then followed by the ambulance chasing lawyer commercials asking if "you or a loved one have suffered" any of the list of symptoms, including death, while taking any of these medications because "you may be entitled to a large cash settlement" so contact them right away.
Yes, I watch too much cable TV.
I don't think doctors mean to be pill-pushing shills. It seems to be a matter of training. "You're already 200 lbs overweight, pre-diabetic and don't listen to me anyway, so here's a pill covered by insurance that masks most of your symptoms. Let's see if that helps. Of course, your liver might stop working and you could go blind, but at least you can keep eating pork ribs." So we take Tums instead of avoiding the BBQ with the fiery peppers in it. Maybe your body doesn't like fiery peppers. Maybe that acid reflux is an honest reaction to a stupid action and if you stop the stupid action, the symptoms will stop.
Obviously, this isn't every doctor or every patient. I'm using sarcasm because I'm feeling better.
This vertigo thing has me thinking I do need to see a specialist. I should make sure it's the congestion holdover from a cold that I think it is and not a tumor or alien implant or brain-eating pre-zombie virus I might hope for. My current method of slow-and-steady treatment producing slow-and-steady improvement seems to confirm it's congestion. I'm on day two of no morning wobbliness or nausea. That means it took six days to feel improvement on a condition that probably took six days to reach its apex of discomfort. I'm OK with those numbers.
I am blessed to have a relatively healthy life so far. If family history is an indicator, breast and colon cancer may be in my future, as well as hip and knee replacements, but I'm doing what I can to prevent those. TV has convinced me a major step is to avoid taking or using anything approved by the FDA in the last fifteen years.
For those of my friends currently experiencing serious health issues, I am truly sorry and I am praying for relief for you and wisdom for your doctors. On the one hand, we live in an age where actual cures exist. On the other hand, finding them may be as deadly as the disease.
Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Thank God for the health you have and pray for someone who suffers more than you do.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Vertigo Continues
My thanks to those of my readers who now recognize my whiny-day rants as little more than over-reaction to sleep deprivation (either that or you're all so busy having real lives you barely noticed me - good on you!). Those self-pitying bouts rarely last more than 24 hours.
The sleep deprivation continues, however. The antihistamine is helping, but I won't take it at night anymore. I don't know exactly when my eyes opened last night, but I'm guessing 2 or 3 AM when the time-released meds time-released. I don't know for sure because once again I couldn't turn my head or body without turning the world upside down. Getting very tired of that. So there I lay for hours, motionless, unable to sleep or get comfortable, waiting for something to happen. Preferably an asteroid, but, you know, I'm flexible.
When the alarm went off at 5, I sat up carefully like yesterday and thought I did a good job - until the cold sweat kicked in. No idea where that came from but I sat completely still for about 5 minutes while sweat poured out of me and soaked everything. I managed to get a trashcan in place because what usually follows sweating is puking but that didn't happen. My temp was normal: 97.4 (that's normal for me).
A quick check of webMD says it could have been anemia, low blood pressure, possible mini stroke or motion sickness.
I'll choose motion sickness for $500, Alex.
I don't remember a sickness where I felt worse lying down than standing up, but I'm getting mighty tired of that, too, in every sense of the word. Tonight I'll go back to the Benedryl and motion sickness medicine combo that worked a few days ago. The Turtle needs sleep.
I've avoided wheat like the plague, and I'm eating pretty much rice and green vegetables trying to get rid of the mucus in my head. I am better during the day. It's night that has me flummoxed. Stupid night.
Happy Friday, dear readers. Keep your heads up and your noses clear.
The sleep deprivation continues, however. The antihistamine is helping, but I won't take it at night anymore. I don't know exactly when my eyes opened last night, but I'm guessing 2 or 3 AM when the time-released meds time-released. I don't know for sure because once again I couldn't turn my head or body without turning the world upside down. Getting very tired of that. So there I lay for hours, motionless, unable to sleep or get comfortable, waiting for something to happen. Preferably an asteroid, but, you know, I'm flexible.
When the alarm went off at 5, I sat up carefully like yesterday and thought I did a good job - until the cold sweat kicked in. No idea where that came from but I sat completely still for about 5 minutes while sweat poured out of me and soaked everything. I managed to get a trashcan in place because what usually follows sweating is puking but that didn't happen. My temp was normal: 97.4 (that's normal for me).
A quick check of webMD says it could have been anemia, low blood pressure, possible mini stroke or motion sickness.
I'll choose motion sickness for $500, Alex.
I don't remember a sickness where I felt worse lying down than standing up, but I'm getting mighty tired of that, too, in every sense of the word. Tonight I'll go back to the Benedryl and motion sickness medicine combo that worked a few days ago. The Turtle needs sleep.
I've avoided wheat like the plague, and I'm eating pretty much rice and green vegetables trying to get rid of the mucus in my head. I am better during the day. It's night that has me flummoxed. Stupid night.
Happy Friday, dear readers. Keep your heads up and your noses clear.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Justice for My Characters
I could turn over last night without wanting to throw up, and I was able to sit straight up this morning with only a little dizziness. The Wal-itrin-D is working its generic drug magic. I'm not pushing it, but I may just survive this bought of vertigo.
I took my own advice about my WIP. You know, that advice I told myself last week about not focusing on what I couldn't do but considering what else I could do? I rearranged the scene slightly and the difficulties have smoothed out. Most recent hurdle jumped. Check. While I did it, I realized I've forgotten yet another plant I'll have to add to previous scenes. I never had this trouble with Star of Justice.
Do you ever feel like you're not doing your characters justice? I was thinking about Patrick Carr's second book and how he had all the makings of a really great story and fell just a bit short. Will I do that? Will I fail to give Kiven and Lucki all the room they need to be truly brilliant? I love these characters. I want other people to love them, too.
I understand why George Lucas keeps going back to original Star Wars (I despise him for it as only one who shares that log in the eye can, but I understand). As often as I sit at my keyboard and compare what I'm doing now with Star of Justice, I want to give up. That book wrote itself. I didn't have to decide what to do next; it just happened.
Frankly, it was too easy. It didn't prepare me for the bleak reality that some stories have to be planned. They need plotting and research and rewriting and adding plants and a ton of other stuff my arrogance thought I was past.
For all my admonitions and complaints about the hard work of writing, I hadn't realized it gets harder every book. I hoped at some point some of this would become old hat. I suppose if I wrote to formula, it would.
But I want to dazzle. I want unique, and plausible, and humorous and bittersweet and all that other nonsense I promised myself I would never worry about. I want better than Star of Justice, but apparently it's going to be harder than I expected and without any of the joy I once experienced. Writing isn't fun anymore. I dread opening the manuscript. I fear the second book syndrome. I'm paralyzed by indecision, like Sarah with the Helping Hands. "Which way do you want to go?"
In short, I care too much what other people may think. I hate you all a little for that. Why did you have to like my book? Why couldn't you have ignored it or stopped reading at chapter three? No, you had to keep going and tell me how much you liked it. You had to tell your friends. You had to congratulate me and give five stars.
I'm glad you enjoyed it. It may be the only thing you get from me in your lifetime.
Happy Thursday, dear readers. Hope your day isn't starting as whiny and self-loathing as mine.
I took my own advice about my WIP. You know, that advice I told myself last week about not focusing on what I couldn't do but considering what else I could do? I rearranged the scene slightly and the difficulties have smoothed out. Most recent hurdle jumped. Check. While I did it, I realized I've forgotten yet another plant I'll have to add to previous scenes. I never had this trouble with Star of Justice.
Do you ever feel like you're not doing your characters justice? I was thinking about Patrick Carr's second book and how he had all the makings of a really great story and fell just a bit short. Will I do that? Will I fail to give Kiven and Lucki all the room they need to be truly brilliant? I love these characters. I want other people to love them, too.
I understand why George Lucas keeps going back to original Star Wars (I despise him for it as only one who shares that log in the eye can, but I understand). As often as I sit at my keyboard and compare what I'm doing now with Star of Justice, I want to give up. That book wrote itself. I didn't have to decide what to do next; it just happened.
Frankly, it was too easy. It didn't prepare me for the bleak reality that some stories have to be planned. They need plotting and research and rewriting and adding plants and a ton of other stuff my arrogance thought I was past.
For all my admonitions and complaints about the hard work of writing, I hadn't realized it gets harder every book. I hoped at some point some of this would become old hat. I suppose if I wrote to formula, it would.
But I want to dazzle. I want unique, and plausible, and humorous and bittersweet and all that other nonsense I promised myself I would never worry about. I want better than Star of Justice, but apparently it's going to be harder than I expected and without any of the joy I once experienced. Writing isn't fun anymore. I dread opening the manuscript. I fear the second book syndrome. I'm paralyzed by indecision, like Sarah with the Helping Hands. "Which way do you want to go?"
In short, I care too much what other people may think. I hate you all a little for that. Why did you have to like my book? Why couldn't you have ignored it or stopped reading at chapter three? No, you had to keep going and tell me how much you liked it. You had to tell your friends. You had to congratulate me and give five stars.
I'm glad you enjoyed it. It may be the only thing you get from me in your lifetime.
Happy Thursday, dear readers. Hope your day isn't starting as whiny and self-loathing as mine.
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