Officially the ninth day of January and I’m just now getting around to writing something this year for this website/blog/brain dump I’ve been keeping. Not very impressive. Of course, All The Stuff that has been going on behind the scenes around here would make for an interesting novel.
For those of you fancying yourself writers: should you be abandoned by The Muse and need help, I have a shit-pile o’ideas. Hit me up and I’ll pitch a few your way.
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I’m disappointed in myself.
I saw an opportunity to write for one of my favorite websites (The Fox is Black…I’m not going to link to it) and I talked myself out of applying. It wasn’t a full time gig - in fact, I doubt it would pay much at all really, but it would have had me writing every day on different topics I like or am at least curious about. I went through the whole “I don’t have a body of work to present them” and “what I do have is just a bunch of random crap” and “anything that was marginally interesting on this blog was taken down long ago during a fit of anxiety.”
Oh, and the site has a cultural bent and there isn’t much for culture on the Northern Tundra. There was some back and forth that sounded a lot like that SNL skit: I’m good enough; I’m smart enough; and gosh darn it, people like me. But the terrible angels of my personality won out and I stayed quiet.
And despite my initial disappointment in myself, I’m actually ok with it. Because instead of writing for someone else…I’ll just do that stuff here.
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The home front has been alternating between haven and hell - and I use the word haven instead of heaven because, damn, people, there is no such thing as heaven on earth. Unless you live in a tropical climate, are immune to all human disease and earthly disaster, are independently wealthy and have servants to take care of your every need, one must first die to enter heaven, should the prophecies be true. Haven I have, occasionally. Heaven, not so much.
Haven… in that the heat in my house works, I have comfortable clothes, my dog likes to sleep on my cold feet and occasionally I feel up to human contact via email, text or cell phone call.
Hell… in that it is cold outside complete with snow, wind and windchill factors; people besides me live in this house who require clean clothes, food to eat (that isn’t just peanut butter toast for breakfast, lunch and dinner), and intelligible conversations; and sometimes I have to deal with both the weather and people (in person) on the same day and occasionally even at the same time.
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For Christmas this year, The Boy gave me an iPad for which I was extremely disappointed. Not that he gave me an iPad. I love the thing. So. Much. I have everything synched up to it - email, websites, games, my Nook, drawing apps…oh my god, I love that thing. It is just so pretty! I was and still am disappointed in The Boy for giving me a gift.
You see, we don’t exchange gifts. If he wants something, he goes and gets it. If I want something, I spend six months researching it, comparing all the makes and models and price points and features, talking myself in to buying it and then I change my mind when I get to the store or to the point of “purchase now” when shopping online. I’ve not purchased anything for myself in I don’t know how long (with the exception of a sweater to wear for an important ‘must be dressed appropriately’ teaching gig for work when all I had remembered to pack was a college sweatshirt). Of course, I’m not counting things like shampoo and toothpaste.
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I have a headache, the kind that travels down the back and twitches the nerves and gnaws on muscles. Time for more pain meds and a nap before bedtime. “At least it isn’t a migraine…” she says using her best Eeyore impression.
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Oh. And Happy New Year: 2013
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1 comment:
Gifts from Terry scare me and make me feel inadequate. A long time ago he said he gives them to me because he wants to, not because it's expected. Maybe he gave you the iPad because he wanted to and he knew you'd love it. But I understand what you're saying and I'd feel better if Terry gave me a hug and cooked dinner instead of that pile of stuff, at least I'd feel less guilty anyway.
I tried writing for an online magazine for a while. The editor said she love the stuff I sent but all the other writers were young and hip and wrote about current events and politics while I wrote about the challenges of having teenage miscreants and it felt intimidating since I didn't know squat about current events or politics. So I quit, even though it was paying.
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