Hello, from a deep dark cave.

MayorTHello, residents of Crazie Town.

You may be wondering where in the world have I been for the last 616 days? Then again maybe not.  Maybe you don’t care one whit about me.  But, before you delete this, I’ll share one parting shot from my Catholic Guilt Mother, “Go ahead without me.  I’ll be fine here all by myself.”

Somewhere, around day 597, I crawled into a deep, dark cave, curled up in a fetal position, and decided it was a good way to live out the rest of my life.

A few months ago I was listening to a podcast from best motivational speaker ever, Mama Ru/ aka: Drag Superstar RuPaul, and when asked how his past formed his life he said, “I am NOT a victim.”

Five little words changed my path.

Those words circled around my head for weeks, then they moved to my heart, then to my soul.  I realized I didn’t want to be a victim anymore.

But how could I change my entire way of thinking?

I now read every self-help book I can get my hands on.   I write my thoughts and fears and, (dare I say it?) dreams, in journals.  Lots and lots of journals.

Here is a small sampling of what I’ve mowed through so far.

IMG_2410 copy

I have a loooong way to go.  As the lyrics from my favorite song remind me all day long – “I am brave. I am bruised. I am who I’m meant to be.  This is me!”

Who I am is not a victim.

Fear of Friday the 13th – Paraskevidekatriaphobia

ATTENTION all residents of Crazie Town.

I have been summoned from the dark cave of writer’s block for a rare performance this Friday – THE 13TH!

By mayoral decree, any Craize Town resident unable to name all items beginning with W – T or F in the poster below, are required to attend said event.  Anyone who does solve said puzzle will be required to provide evidence at said event.

wtf-poster

Thank You to All Lab Rats

Thanks, my little lab rats, for joining me in my thirty twenty-two day experiment.

I’ve realized what I wanted to know about me, as a writer — I can’t write a blog and write stories that might actually earn me a paycheck.

Thank you so much for all your kind support and comments.  It’s the one truly enjoyable thing about writing a blog.

Now, go off and start your own Crazie Town.  I’ll come visit.

I Can’t Unsee That

Here’s a life lesson for you.

If perchance your Husband has a colonoscopy and if perchance you visit him in his curtained cubicle in recovery – do not, I repeat, DO NOT exit said curtained cubicle to “take a look around.”

Bailing Twine and Bubble Gum

Dad proudly announced at every opportunity, “Everything on this farm is held together with baling twine and bubble gum.”  I’m not sure if its a trait of all farmers or just Dad but he was a “good enough” kind of guy and that’s the way I learned things.

Getting the broken item fixed quickly (before Mom’s temper exploded) was Goal One. There wasn’t a second goal.  After the fix, any tool he used was left where it lay or if he was outside, tossed through the door of the ramshackle shed.

It came as a great shock to me when I moved in with Husband and he pointed out that the job was not complete until everything was put back where it came from.  Fast forward twenty years and although I’m not as meticulous as Husband, I’ve come to expect a certain standard of repair and order.

Yesterday I went to the hardware store to buy a five-foot closet rod.  When the salesclerk was unable to find what I wanted, he said, “Well…this will probably work.”  It was a hundred degrees outside and I really, really did not want to go to the big box store so I picked up the “good enough” and headed to the cash register.

A picture of my childhood bedroom flashed before my eyes.  Closet with no door, an unfinished plywood floor and  a rod that collapsed if more than three hanging items were attempted.

I did an about-face and returned the good-enough item and, after wandering the store for twenty minutes, found the exact thing I needed.

I could finish by saying Dad would be proud of me – but that would not true.  He’d be prouder to have walked into my closet and seen a pair of old shoes attached to the wall with twelve rusty nails supporting the handle of an old broom.

 

 

Good Morning, Sunshine.

I’ve pushed through the “I’ll never write again feeling” and life is great!

But, I’m not making any promises because who knows what could happen, right?

It’s not that I like to disasterize life, but I want to be prepared – JUST. IN CASE.  Imagine my life is a car on the road, I’m constantly looking at the ditch to prepare in case my life car ends up there.  Where’s the best place to crash?  Can I hold on until I get across this bridge?  Who will I call first?  What if I can’t reach anyone?

And before I know it, even though my life car is still on the road, cruising along as nice as can be, I’m upset because I haven’t prepared properly for the life car in the ditch.

Ummm.  Let’s get back to today, shall we?

My life car is riding smoothly down the road.

Wait!  What’s that on the side of my life the road? AHHHHHHH!!!!

 

Wrasser. Fraser.

Are these curse words for any other families?  My Dad uttered it daily, when he couldn’t find a tool, or his shoes, or anything to eat.

That’s how I feel right now.  I can’t find a story to write.

Twelve more days of this torture I signed up for.

A high school friend wrote on the first day of my experiment, “Don’t let me down!”  Ugh. The guilt.  But it’s working because I know I could never sleep tonight if I didn’t get something posted.  Thank you, Jane.

Wrasser.  Fraser.