I cannot believe February is almost done and I haven’t updated the blog since December.
I also have not edited that 50k. Instead, I’ve focused on the romance side hustle and getting my Amazon account paying my car note again. Only 1,684 dollars left, and I’ll be free and clear. Might frame that pink sheet. So, what—8 months if I pay minimum. Ugh. That would be October.
After that, I can put that money back into the business of writing and the household. I’m also not too proud to admit that I am accepting 140 a week from my parents to help me have some spending money and for groceries.
Three weeks ago I slipped and fell on the ice. It was January 31st. Since then, I have been wracked with pain. I thought I might have a solution after I saw a pain specialist and they gave me a deep hip injection into my bursa.
That brought my pain down from about an 8 to a 4/5. Now, here I sit at a 4/5 and I need to figure out why. I don’t want to go back to the pain doctor. He’s treating the symptoms and don’t get me wrong, I respect that, but I need to fix this. It feels for the world like sciatica brought on by injury from where I hit when I fell (I hit right at the top/back of my left hip right where those nerves exit from the spine).
I’m worried I’ve got a herniated disc. If I do, I’m doing everything right to fix it already. So that’s cool. It has been excruciating staying in the house all the time, but it’s more excruciating moving at all with the pain. Luckily, I can position myself both in the bed and on the recliner with my feet up so that I can still be upright and type without pain.
I’m walking in the back yard every day. It helps the dogs and from what I can see, walking is totally cool as long as it doesn’t hurt. If I stay in the backyard, I can come in as soon as it starts.
I was supposed to go down to Olli and teach a class with dad (one of the things on my bucket list). But, There’s no way I can sit for two hours, let alone the 18 hours required to get down to Mississippi. I’m super disappointed to because I had plans to get the flowers started and planted down there in the beds.
Our Lucky is holding out and proving to be a fine dog. Here’s some pics of the last two months.
This is me. Right now. Sitting in my chair with my torn up vest on. I’m playing music on my iPhone and I’m anxiously awaiting the drive tomorrow in order to go down to Mississippi.
Most things are progressing well. I’ve made the sugar cookies and Doug and I made the eggnog. I ordered the presents for folks and now, all I have to do is drive and then do.
I’m not sure why the drive makes me so nervous and upset, but it does and it usually takes me a day or two to work myself up mentally for it. Me, two dogs, and the car. 16 hours driving.
Don’t let Google drive tell you it’s 14 hours and change. It ain’t. It’s 16 hours unless you plan on peeing in bottles (but, you do you). I’m usually spent at the end of the ten hours on the road. It’s weird how it affects my body. I get shake and unsteady at the end of the long day. I try to go directly to the hotel, walk the dogs (and me), and then I take bath at the hotel.
It’s something about the sitting in the hot water that is so soothing and normalizing for me.
I hope to post a bunch of new videos and all from the farm and the holiday so stay tuned. Have a great holiday!
Hubris or not, this is where my total stands this morning. I’m pretty proud of this and that makes my anxiety spike because pride is the thing that happens before ya fall according to all the literature.
Still, I’m happy to have made it this far and if this is as far as I get, well, so be it. I worked hard to get stopped at this point. I guess.
I haven’t updated the blog in a while and it’s partly due to some pretty severe life changes on my part. I haven’t really credited how big things have changed in just the last few weeks. Mom and Dad are doing well on their own and I’m being encourages to reroot/reroute my life to mainly being out of Omaha.
I was eccstatic about it at first. More time here. More time to write, maybe some time to work and make some money. But then, it hit me. Staying here. Building something that will only fall down as soon as they need me down south. I feel like a.ragdoll being pulled between being available and settleing down here.(again).
I also didn’t post because I’ve just been so darned depressed at having lost everything that I built for so long. I was reminded again last night that I have had no lasting impact anywhere from my stint in Gretna or Bellevue or Newport News. Nothing I worked to build remains.
I feel like this is a pity party for one, but who have I got to tell? Maybe that’s why I’m putting so much into my writing and my book creation in NaNoWriMo. I want to have something I build last. I’ve always kinda strived for the “loved each other well” legacy, but as I grow older, I want more.
On a brighter note, I have been using the whiteboard I purchased at Aldi’s to outline and keep track of things with the novel.
Well, I’ve learned how to pronounce it at least.
Yes, this year, I plan to devote one month to writing a novel that is not silly romances. It is terrifying.
My main issue is the word count. Somedays I seiously struggle to put out 500 words. I don’t know how or why I think I can hit 1667 a day with NaNoWriMo. Hubris? Probably.
Right now, I’ve got outlines. Four to be exact. One of them is realtively detailed in a 27 cahpter format with 3k word developmental arcs. I really like that structure. Thanks, Katytastic!
I’m super lucky in that this month of writing is being financially sponsored by my husband and my parents. I’m still making my car payments (Thanks, Smut!), but I have no other obligation that will prevent me from true focus on my goals.
Trying to get the tiktok thing up and going is daunting as well. Since I won’t be able to publish anything smutty during the month, I’m working doubly hard to market what I’ve already written.
Imposter Syndrome is real. I learned this while experiencing intense feelings of inadequacy about my writing after seeing some reviews (2.9 stars on Amazon). Let’s face it. My sexy romance writting is not high literature.
But here’s the interesting part of it all. My worst rated story is also my BEST SELLING story—like ever—over any other line (I have three pens currently).
Anyway. I’m starting up the YouTube Channel again. I’ll be posting how to publish a novel from your iPad and iPhone. I’m hoping it will encourage everyone out there to use their products most efficiently as they work their way through life and NaNoWriMo2023.
I realized I was dyslexic before college where I was “tested” by a friend in education. I’m so dyslexic that when I taught English, would warn my students that the more nervous or anxious I got infront of the class, the more I would mispell on the board and that pointing those mispelled words out was cool because they could help me proofread. I mean, they were just sitting there, It was the least they could do.
What this uniintentionally did was let everyone off the hook from perfection. Should a teacher write mispelled words on the board? Absolutely not. Should a teacher worry so much about the spellings of words that she doesn’t teach? Absolutely not.
We live in an age where the mystic of “being a good speller means I’m smart” has been dispelled mostly to the younger generation. Why be impressed with being abel to memorize when the entire world has been at your fingertips your entire life.
Reading the sample above, I doubt anyone would question my desire to go into English education; however, this is exactly the reason.
I’m a writer. I have always been a writer. Me not being able to spell the words I write did not and has not stopped that need and that desire to write out the stories in my head. I’m super lucky to have the technology I do becuase without it, I’d not be able to be understood by many.
I made over 200 dollars this month with my smut writting. I’m not kicking ass or anything, but I am proud to be making what I consider a significant amount of money.
I’m going to be prepping to participate in NaNoWriMo2023–a scheme to get my novel on paper in 30 days. I’m excited, but nervous. Writing outside the smut arena is dauntng.
But hell, I’m a writer. I have to try.
I was startled once when my pscyhiatrist told me how “performative” I was and that it was probably from my upbringing.
I’m reminded of that a lot in my day to day life because in part it is spent performing for everyone around me. But, why?
My shrink said it was because I have to perform to please my mother and father. I think that’s a fair assumption, but to be even more fair about it they pressed that adgenda as the improved version of what their parents did to them. In my youth, if I felt a strong emotion that was negative. Well, then “I shouldn’t feel that way because…REASON and LOGIC.” There was never really a “well, feelings are just there and trying to change them only makes them more complicated and icky.”
That lead me to the performance of who I am. Most of extravertedness is just an act to “integrate.” I enjoy it and am good at it to a certain point, but I’m at a place in my life now when it doesn’t serve me like it used to.
I quit a job after one day and I’m not proud of that.
I am proud that I’m not concerned with performing to please people at the cost of my body and mind.
I took a job as a canvasser for a GREAT cause (paid sick leave). I honestly thought that with my walking everyday I would be perfect for this roll. Unfortunately, I misjudged my ability. After four hours (our of six), my knee was aching with that “bone’s be tappin’” kind of pain. What sucks is that I could honestly do three to hours at a time—Like, no worries, but the level of physical pain/stress after that wasn’t worth it. Not even for 25 an hour.
I hate it because I think I’m good at canvassing. I don’t mind approaching people for a good cause and talking to them is easy. The walking. It’s the walking I can’t do anymore and if I think about it too much I feel like I’m becoming half a person.
Daddy is upset because I can’t see a doctor to adjust my brace or anything for another month and a half. He thinks it’s too long for me to be in pain becuase we’re hoping that with the re-evaluation they will just help me tighten up the brace I have or give me a new one.
The UnLoader brace works so well for me in my day to day life. I was telling daddy that I thought when I was down on the farm I had a good level of activity. I didn’t want to climb stairs anymore, but walking was okay and mostly good. If I can get back to that level after this setback (whatever I did to it by staying on it too long last night), I should be good for another few years.
Still, it felt good to get a job and get out of the house. I don’t want to let one disappointment strand me on the island of “I dan’t do anything because of my leg.”
I’ve discovered something about myself and my “book” writing. Please note: I say book but these are steamy/spicy chapters of characters that continue. I’ve got one book out there at almost 50k, but it’s a bundle of my shorter chapters that string together one story.
With that said, I’m super proud of myself for pulling the trigger on my writing and starting to earn money from my sales. Right now, I’m about able to keep up with my car payment every month (I can keep up with it, but I’ve stockpiled some money from previous months. This summer was kind of lean with two 150 dollar totals. That’s about half what I usually make.
August saw an uptick in sales and now, in September, stuff is flying off the shelves.
I’m super thankful for this journey. Two mornings ago, I was working in the basement and it occurred to me that what’ I’ve got that some don’t is the ability to act.
I personally think it’s an ability to feel little shame once Ive decided I shouldn’t. It got me thinking about the Trolley Dilemma of classic psychology fame.
I’ve always thought that the dilemma was to determine your underlining principles about the value of life (quality vs. quantity). However, I’ve recently discovered that It’s actually a test to see who will pull the lever for any result.
That means, to my great surprise, there’s a group of folks out there who will no pull the lever or make a choice and that’s their choice.
I once sat a kid down at Warwick and told them that one of the keys to life is to grab it before it grabs you. Before you allow it to start making choices for you, you have to go out and own your own choices. They may be wrong, but by goodness it’s better than having circumstances dictate things.
That’s kind of where I am with the writing. I’m not writing “what I want” yet; that’s okay. I’m learning about plotting, beats, cover creation, trends, marketing, and yes, dogmatic grind writing.
So, going back to the trolly. Am I a person who acts. I really hate sitting on the sidelines. Some of it is “main character’ syndrome. I’m aware of that. But some it if lies in this irresistible urge to DO something. Anything—while I have time left on earth.
I’m leaving the farm this week. It’s been quite the run, but I’m ready for a break back home. I’ll be returning sooner rather than later as fall is a big time on the farm and there are things needing planting here in South Mississippi.
Thanks for reading. Here’s come pics to keep ya happy!
Recently (about a hear ago), my husband was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. If you know anything about BPD, you know one of the things that makes it soooo hard to work within is that the victim at their core, often doesn’t want their disorder or dynamic to change.
I’ve often wondered about that. If it’s so horribly painful, maybe folks are so scarred by trauma, they are actually better off than where they were?
I wrote about the fence last week. This week the fence is what has caused a major rift between us. We had a big problem with the placement of a post near a tree that already had a footing (in cement) beneath it. While we were looking at it, I put forward some options, and he didn’t really seem happy so I told him, “we can do whatever you want to do with it.” And I meant it.
He said, “I have a plan.” And went out to look at the footing. I went out to the patio and all i heard when he spoke was “Well, that won’t work.”
Apparently, he then said, “I’ll have to use the auger.” I did not hear that.
Well, with me trying to continue to be the good and perfect wife who helps with construction projects, I started looking for ideas for him. I called daddy and when he didn’t answer, I posted to Reddit.
In his BPD brain, all that meant that I did not have confidence in him as a person to fix the problem with the fence.
I have a lot of confidence in my husband. In my head, I was bringing him ideas so that he could pick the ones he liked best and we could move from there. I do this a lot. I’m a very very good lieutenant trying to keep everyone informed of potential options.
He exploded on me in the car about this when I finally got tired of the silent treatment saying how I was controlling and taking over everything.
I had a very bad emotional reaction that culminated with me trying to figure out if I needed to get out of the car. It was so out of left field from EVERYTHING i thought was happening around me.
I had that reaction because he blamed me for a completely invented scenario in his head.
However, having a reason for a bad emotional reaction to his splitting is not an excuse. It is simply a response to being accused of something incredibly nefarious that I was innocent of and I could have totally handled that better.
I can choose better responses.
I can also educate myself to splitting and call it out when it happens in his head. I try to remember at times like that he is literally calling me something I’m not. Just like if he called me a giraffe. I do think he is capable. I was trying to help him like I have for this entire project.
Again. I have culpability. I reacted poorly.
When I asked why he waited an entire hour with us sitting in silence to mention anything, he said, “well, you always react like this so what choice do I have.”
So, all that was Sunday. Yesterday, I went about my day. Aurora and I cleaned, cooked dinner, and did laundry. He didn’t call. He texted twice (telling me he was thinking of me too and then to ask how my afternoon was).
When he got home, I thought we would be able to talk about it and hash it out.
He said he was tired of working on it and that I’m the only one in the relationship that isn’t happy this resolution.
So I told him that I thought that I could do a better job controlling my emotions when he is having an episode. He said that would be fine.
then, he went back to looking at his phone.
When I asked what he was planning to do to try to ensure this didn’t happen again, I was told “I’ve decided I should speak up sooner and tell you when I’m having a problem.”
That’s it. That’s what he’s going to do. Tell me sooner how controlling and horrible I am.
Not look at why he demonized me.
I guess that’s a starting place and I really can’t complain, but it makes me wanna cry and hide and not do anymore for myself or anyone else.
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It’s not surprise to anyone reading this that I’ve had difficulties in my marriage. I mean, shocker—being married to me is not easy. I am loud, brash, uncouth, and gregarious.
FD and I have had many many struggles mostly revolving around communication. We both come to ther relationship with preformed notions, and after 10 years or so, those come to the surface more frequently.
The difference this time is that we talked about things. Granted, it was him who brought it up about his expectations for the fence and his worry about finishing it. I got mad at him at first because I thought he was insinuated that I didn’t care about the fence like he did.
He wasn’t saying that, he was trying to establish expectations because I had been super excited about the Barbie movie and wanting to go hang out and do some whitewater.
Well, I think I did a better time hearing him on this one because we’ve made a lot of progress and he’s super happy with the project and the timeline.
I forget the benefits of what I can bring to a project. I may be loud and brash and uncouth, but I also am a reallly good logistic planner and have a knack for organizing a workflow. Not everyone has that and it’s quite the needed thing on a construction site.
So, hearing me and realizing how I was struggling, Doug has refused to let me trip subjects that are hard for me to talk about. For example, If I see something I think might be wrong, I say something, but if he has trouble understanding me, I give up really quickly and say, well, you must be right because I’m insecure about my ideas.
Doug has started refusing to continue the project until he understands my ideas and can alley any concerns.
Sometimes, he can’t because I’m seeing an actually problem that needs to be addressed in the build. Sometimes, I’m confused on the final specs, but honestly, it’s usually more me seeing a problem and Doug refusing to move until he sees what I see.
That has been incredibly positive. Now, don’t get me wrong. It feels super co-dependent. I think I’m the one that needs to make sure I don’t back down until I’m satisfied it was a perspective issue on my part.
I’m far too quick to say, oh, I’m wrong and then it works out I’m not actually wrong and if I fought for my idea we’d all be better off.
That’s been really interesting to learn about myself. I think it was Michael who said, “you’re the most secure insecure person I’ve ever met.”
I’m pretty sure what that translates to is, “you’re the most extroverted insecure person I’ve ever met.”
Oh, well. Another week. Hoping to see Barbie this weekend in the theatres and also hoping to get some physical rest!!
This is my Cat nut.
I found it while walking to the library in a snow storm in Virginia almost ten years ago. It looks as if it was shered on the back like some massive beast snapped in two in her gaping maw.
When I found it, it was a wonder to me. Wow. How much force did that take? Cool.
And then a thought struck me, if there was force like this in the world, then there was force enough in me to run a 5k.
Yeah, nuts. Truely, perfrectly insane.
That’s life with Santha. So started my running carreer that ended with the Black Squierll Triathalon.
I enjoyed the runner’s high, but my knees did not. Now that I’m 40 pounds lighter than I was in Virginia, I’m sad that my knees are gone. The doctor says they are only gone from running, so walking and hiking are my best options (well, and swimming and boating and water stuff).
Anyway, back to the Cat nut. For me, it was an inspiration and remider that all is possible in this world. Powerful forces lurk everywhere—even on the walk to the library.
This week, I am throwing it out.
I can have the memory without having the object. Metaphysically, I never “have” the object to begin with as all possessions are really just “rented” while we are here on the earth.
I credit this to Dorian. She had begun a “cleaning out” journey before she passed on to glory. I remember she even threw out her unicorn stuffed animal that sat on her bed for almost her entire life.
I cried when she told me she threw it out. It represented something, maybe an innocence, from our childhood…when we were both perfect, loved and protected children.
I still have all my dolls and could not bear to part with them yet (I tried for the garage sale; didn’t take). I want to be like Dorian and live completely in the present.
I’m not there yet.
Such Sadness. Ugh. Alright…here’s something that’s been making me super happy….