quest for a faerie child

in which I realize I am boring AND forever stained

Ok, so I have hit that point when I am beginning to wonder if I will ever have anything truly profound to write again.  I also realized today that I do not own a single item of clothing that fits me AND that does not have at least two stains on it.  And when I say stains, I do not mean little tiny things that only I can see.  I mean very large stains that are in very visible places.  Part of this is due to my absolutely massive breasts, which act like a shelf to catch every misplaced mouthful and I tend to lack any grace when it comes to eating lately.  Part of this is due to baby mess.  But yanno, that makes me a momma, right?

right...

Here's a conversation between Moose and myself last night:

Me:  I no longer have any idea what day it is.
Moose:  Why?
Me:  Because I'm not used to not working.
Moose:  Oh, you mean because you no longer have the structure of trying to make it through each day just to get to the weekend so that you don't have to work?
Me:  That's exactly it.
Moose:  And you are complaining, why?

Uh yeah.... was I complaining?  Perhaps I was.  Or perhaps it was just a statement on the fact that I require structure to figure out the day of the week.  I mean, seriously.  How does one keep track when every day is the same as the next?  The only difference is that daytime TV changes slightly on the weekends.

Thank god for the Emperor's various appointments on a weekly basis.  They keep me semi-aware of passing time.

Speaking of the Emperor, this week's labwork showed his levels are all coming down.  Two major numbers that we are watching were significantly lower.  I was speaking to his Renal nurse on the phone and when she told me the levels I wanted to jump through the phone line and kiss her.  I can't help but attribute this to myself and Moose, which is, of course, rather self-centered.  But : (cheese alert, cheese alert) love heals everything, right?

Actually, there is the possibility that his lone little 10% functioning kidney will pick up function over the first 2-3 months and it appears that it might be doing just that.  I'm going to knock on wood right now, because I am superstitious that way.

Knock Knock Knock

on Wood.

He also ripped out his nasal feeding tube last Friday and clairvoyant parents that we are, we decided to leave it out, knowing that he would be able to take all of his feeds by mouth, which he has done. Is it that we actually knew it?  Or is it that we somehow realized that we may have been giving up a little too early during a feed, thinking he couldn't take it all, when he really could have if we'd only had a little bit of faith in him.

I believe it is the latter, to be honest.  I also believe the doctors instilled that belief in us to begin with by telling us he would need a stomach tube in order to get all the nutrition he needed.  We eventually asked to hold off on that surgery and thank god we did, since he's now functioning without any tubes at all and seems quite happy and about it.

With that, I will leave you with pictures to worship:

killing tears of envy

I received a very rude awakening today.  I received a very rude awakening when I realized that people with whom I took a writing class last summer and subsequently then with whom I opened a writing bulletin board on my darkfaeriegirl domain and who have been diligently working along, perfecting their writing skills while I wasted away into creative oblivion, have been published in the last year.  That's right I said published.

When I logged onto the board for the first time in several months this morning, I read some of the posts to find that two of my fellow writers have submitted and had their work accepted, work I helped critique. 

Then a part of me curled up into a fetal position and began to weep pitifully, while the other died of envy. And that was the end of me and my writing career.  Stick a fork in me buddy, because I'm well done.

Actually, what it truly did was cause me to sit in front of the monitor with my mouth hanging open, a dumbfounded look on my face, while a good portion of me was screaming, "Well what the hell did you expect?  Did you think that you could get published by simply wishing it to be so?  Did you think you could just sit back and dream about writing and SOMEDAY it would happen?  Were you so damn arrogant to think that you and you alone would be the first one to be published because you are just so amazing?  It takes some work girlie, work you have absolutely not been doing --and which they obviously have!"

So after berating myself for a good hour or so, which I might add, is what we writers do best, I dried my tears of envy and resolved myself to bury my issues of commitment, to stop hiding behind the mindless drone of the tv, and to actually start working on some of the prompts that my fellow writers work so hard to come up with and work so hard to do.

The prompt for this week was written by my good friend and entails writing a fairy tale or nursery rhyme from a different point of view than that from which it is originally written.  This is in the vein of Wicked. 

I am feeling good about this one.  I'm feeling really good about this prompt.

And the good news is, that I actually have begun composing it in my mind, which is when I know true creativity has struck.  The other good news is that I have resolved myself that I am going to submit one of my short stories.  I'm not sure where, yet.  However, I'm going to research in the next week and begin submitting.  I will never get published if I don't start submitting. Will I?

Will I?

reincarnated flower child

I've decided I'm done with work today, even though I'm still lacking about 5% of what I had decided I would do.  However, what the hell.  It's nice out today.  Very warm, but not the do-we-live-in-hell-now HOT of the beginning of this week and I've got camping plans to work out for this weekend.

I broke down and rented a car for this holiday weekend because I have absolutely got to get out of here for a couple days.  Why did I rent a car?  Because, we do not own a car.  That's right.  I said, we do not own a car.  We do own a vespa, which I brought to the relationship.  But other than that, it's public transportation or the feet baby.  However, we live in probably one of the best cities ever designed for public transportation, so it's not that bad.

The only time I long for a car is when I want to go major shopping, like to Costco.  Or, if I want to jump out to the national forests and camp for the weekend on the spur of the moment.  I'm still not quite used to not having that ability.  It's not that I can't buy a car.  It's just... well, for one thing, I love not having the payment and I love the tiny little payment that insurance is on the vespa and I love that I fill up the vespa about once every two weeks and it costs me under $5.   

Yeah buddy.  You can't really beat that, can you?  Oh, and most importantly, I am also in love with and about to marry, as well as have a baby with a former member  and employee of greenpeace, who formed the green party in Oregon, who tried to abolish clear cutting in Oregon, who worked on a cougar rescue farm and who is still a bit of a hippie.  And beyond that, I always feel as if I am a 60's flower child reincarnate.  It's possible, yanno.  Born in 1971, it is entirely possible that I overdosed on some amazing drugs and then was reborn into the faerie girl.  So, anyway, we like not contributing to the environment with excessive exhaust from our own vehicle.

We are not, however, adverse to renting a car on occasion.  Because, you know, sometimes you've got to have a car, yo.

So, I put up my little inherited north face tent to make sure there's nothing funky going on in there.  I checked on the sleeping bags, made sure the egg carton pads are good.  You know... all the prep stuff.  Then we made the executive decision that no cooking is going on this trip.  First of all, my nausea won't allow it.  And secondly, I just don't feel like buying a lot of extra stuff in order to get out and go for the first time this season.

Oh, in other news, I've finally decided to get off my ass and I'm taking another writing class beginning at the end of July for 3 months.  This one is on writing for children and I'm excited about it.  The fact is, that I sometimes need a swift kick in the ass in order to get myself motivated and working and a class can do that for me, or rather has done that for me in the past.  Hopefully that will be the case this time.  I also figure that come July, it will be good for me to be really focused on my self and things I like to do, rather than obsessing incessantly on my pregnancy.

we'll see...

got me some writer's block

I suck.  I am in such a fantastically crappy mood today that I can't even manage to leave my office for fear that I may just rip someone's head off, devour it and then feel incredibly nauseous for the next several hours while remorse overwhelms me, or even worse ---doesn't.

I feel as if I just want to be home.  But then when I actually contemplate that, I begin to feel nauseous and bored to tears at what awaits me at home ---which is, actually, nothing ---nothing but TV, sleep or my laptop screen staring at me, blinking at me, screaming at me to write already, write something, edit something, FINISH something for god's sake! 

I think I just really need to finally accept the fact that I got me a big case o' writer's block, yo and stop denying it.  I mean, it's bad. It's so bad that I now make myself sick as soon as I think about opening up the laptop for a creative endeavor beyond reading blogs or posting my own nonsense.  I think this writer's block business is really self-imposed.  Of course, that's a fucking ridiculous statement, because honestly, what else would it be?

But in all seriousness, I think it is a result of a number of things.  The first of which is that I am too self-absorbed, body-absorbed, symptom-absorbed to be able to reach deep and draw forth any gems of literary genius.  The second is that I seem to not be comfortable writing anywhere in my home or outside my home, for that matter.  I can't get comfortable anywhere.  The third is that I'm dealing with the fact that Moose doesn't like to read my type of writing.  He's just not really a fiction person.  He's more historical and political in slant. So, I'm trying not to feel like he just doesn't care, because I know he does (or at least I know in my rational, non-hormonal moments) and I am trying to not take it personally.  I am trying not to hope for constructive criticisim in any way shape or form.

But I think that lack of desire to read my writing on his behalf has really kind of been somewhat of an earthshattering blow.  I mean, shouldn't your partner, the one who loves you, the one who has impregnated you and wants to raise a family with you, be interested in that which MOVES you?  Shouldn't he just fall all over himself to get his hands on the fruits of your mind?  Or is it OK to be with someone who just doesn't get what you write.  They respect that you do it and think you are an amazing writer, but what you write isn't really their cup of tea.  Is that ok? 

I'm having trouble here because I'm so damn hormonal that I can't really make a decision as to what is rational when all it really feels like is that this is NOT a good sign, buddy.  In my pregnant state, it makes me feel as if we are headed for the rocks and we only just began.

I think this is why they tell you to uhm, get married and be together for a while before you attempt the baby-making game.  What they neglect to tell you is that you need to feel really strong in your relationship before all these hormones kick in and make you feel like a two-headed monster all the time, before you start feeling like a cow and before you start feeling as if every bit of your life's essence is being sucked out of you.

Gawd.  Am I a piece of work today, or what?

distraction is my downfall

I am managing, quite effectively to do everything except work on the novel this morning.  Oh man, I'm an expert at procrastination.  This has been my day so far:

• Up at 5 am, which is late for me if this were a normal work day, which it was supposed to be.
• Piddle around the house and take out the pork shoulder which was basking in all its glory in the fridge, sporting a new rub.
• Make coffee and think about taking a pregnancy test, which I did not.
• Get Moose to start the coals at around 6am for the great faerie smoking challenge.
• Put the shoulder on the smoker at 630am.
• Sit down to blog and get started with my writing day.
• Proceed to blog and then move on to editing Sophie.
• Get distracted by the smoker and piddle around with that for awhile.
• Go pee.
• Get water.
• Sit down to write and manage to do so for about 20 minutes.
• Get distracted again by the smoker.
• Sit down to write and instead, get caught up reading baby and mama blogs.
• Piddle around with my own blog.
• Read some more.
• Think about writing and even flip to that screen and then stop.
• Get distracted by Moose.
• Decide to blog again.  It is now 9:15am and I have truly nothing to show.

I suck at writing as a job.

work day

I have christened today work day --that is, writing work day.  I am under strict orders from myself today to treat this Friday as if I were going to work, and I am.  I am going to work on the first novel and try to get beyond the editing I feel I have to do in order to get back into the story.

The decision to edit first was a stroke of genius on my part.  I've been working on that for a week and I think, as I get past each chapter and further into the story, I am getting some ideas on how to get out of the block I was in when last I put this down.

The only thing which could give me pause in my plans today is this little, uncontrollable thing called the weather.  For the first time in over a week, it is supposed to possibly rain, which would, in fact, rain on my little parade --pardon the pun.

It would be better for me, if I had a place in which I felt comfortable writing indoors.  But, the fact remains that I do not and that I somehow crave being outside for the creative juices to flow.  There is still the covered porch, which I may have to resort to.  But, I am trying not to focus on this.  If I do, I'll talk myself out of working.  I am fickle that way, you see.

Even writing in the blog this morning has its purpose.  It starts my mind turning, begins the creative process by providing some introspection into my own thoughts, which in turn, allows me to become introspective as I move forward.

At least I hope that is the case.  Yes I do.