Imagine that.

It's been about a week since I posted, and guess what?

IT IS SNOWING.

I'm going back to bed.

Not "ill" as such...

I am so positively SICK of snow.

And cold.

I'm moving to Paradise Island in the Bahamas. I swear I am.

Yes! Yes, the snow is pretty. And yes! It is peaceful when it snows, because of the sound-muffling quality of it.

I don't care anymore. I want it to be spring, with sunshine and crocus and daffodils and all that.

NOW!

Things are picking up.

Ever since I have started to begin each day with, "I am happy and grateful because..." my life, in all aspects, has taken a turn for the better.

I am not kidding.


I recommend this for everyone. Fill in after the 'because' with anything that you want out of your life. Say it as if it has already happened. That's the only way to make affirmations work.

And boy, do they work.

I am happy and grateful that my affirmations work!

I am either high on drugs...

...or a writer.


I just went to bed. All the way. Under the covers. Pillow just right. Snuggly.

And I got up to come to my blog because I had used a word incorrectly and needed to change it so I don't look like the world's most profound idiot on the internet.

Then, of course, after I had changed that, I had to delete a word.


This. THIS, is what it's like to be a writer. For those who don't know.

I'm going to bed "for the reals" now. I am. I don't care about typos anymore.

Any.


More.


p.s. after I wrote this post, I came back to edit it. I am seriously going to bed now.

Ambrosia--Nectar of My God

Scandalous headline, no?


Aaaanywaaaay.....

I went to the University of Iowa for my first degree. I was an English Education major. As an English major, I had the pleasure to take Fiction Writing class, as I think it is a requirement. I don't remember anything about it being required, except being terrified, so it must have been required, otherwise I wouldn't have done it.

You see, I am not a fiction writer. I knew this when I was 20, and I still know it. I write nonfiction. It's what I do best. But for some reason, I took Fiction Writing class.

I do remember my instructor's name: Charlie D'Ambrosio. I thought he should go by "Carlos" personally, but whatever. Charlie was a good instructor. He was not a professor, but a Master's Degree student who was going through the University's world-renowned Writer's Workshop. I was introduced to this Workshop format in this class. For those who do not know what that means:

• Everybody was required to turn in two pieces of fiction per semester.
  
• The day the writing is due, the student turns it in to the instructor's mailbox.
• The next day, all students in the class are required to pick up one copy of all the fiction pieces submitted.
• All students then take these writings home, read them, and comment on them. RIGHT ON THE PAPER.
• The next class, everyone shows up, talks about the fiction RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF THE AUTHOR AND EVERYTHING, and then all the students give that piece of writing back to the author.
  

The author then leaves class and goes straight to The Deadwood. Or perhaps George's. I prefer George's. Or maybe Tuck's. The author would then sit there and read through all of these comments, and weep into her/his drink of choice. Sometimes, this would last for hours.

Brutal? Yes. Necessary? Perhaps. It did NOTHING to help me get over my fear of fiction writing, of course. It only enhanced my loathing for fiction, and I was terrified when it was my turn, because I DO NOT WRITE FICTION.

So I'm reading the pieces for "my" week, and this one guy has turned in 40 pages! The requirement was "a minimum of 5 pages." I, of course, chose to turn in the minimum. But this dude decided to ruin our lives with 40 pages of some slick, fast-moving story about a guy and a woman, and I remember it felt like a romance novel, only I thought it was bad. I couldn't put my finger on why, though, because it was so slick and fast-moving. However, it was somewhat polished, and I could tell that this guy really got off on writing fiction. I made my comments and moved on.

The day came when it was "my" turn in class. Rather, it was my turn to sit through the agony of having my fiction picked apart, not unlike a bunch of birds picking at the carrion that is my carcass, only I'm ALIVE AND SITTING RIGHT HERE, PEOPLE. I CAN FEEL THAT! Luckily, 40-Pager was up before me, and we all talked about it. "Slick." "Fast-moving." "I liked the sex." Etc.

Then came mine. "Slick," was not mentioned.

However. Carlos D'Ambrosio, the man I have never ceased to love from the bottom of my heart, saved fiction for me. After both pieces were discussed (I remember now...each week we had to read two pieces), he took over and asked the class, "What's in here?" pointing to the 40-pager. "What's in this? What does it mean? Where is it going?"

We couldn't answer, really. Turns out, Slick was writing fluff. That's why I can't remember the story--there wasn't one.

And C.D'A. didn't leave it at that. He, on his own, without provocation from the students or anything, picked up MY piece and said, "It's unpolished. It needs mechcanical work. Get over it, people. THERE IS SOMETHING HERE. There is a story here. You can see it for yourselves. You can't deny it." And nobody did.

I almost cried, I loved him so much. I wish I knew where he was right now.*

That said, I have gotten over my fear of fiction, and write the occasional story. Short story. Mostly erotica. Seems that's the kind of fiction I might be good at.

Aaaaaanywaaaay, if you want an example of what the comments on your fiction might be like, go here. I almost peed** my pants when I read this, because THE COMMENTS ARE VERY CLOSE TO THOSE ON MY PAPER.


*Oregon, apparently

**from laughing

Check out those archives

I just realized that, come February, I've been blogging for 3 years.

Jeez. What a loudmouth.

I hate resolutions.

Therefore, I will not make any. Instead of publicly resolving anything, this year will probably be the one where I take action, instead.

Because I am a cynical bastard, I hate all of the "end of the year" crap. Even so, I am a hypocritical bastard this year, because I am looking at the shelves in the kitchen thinking, "Yeah, today is the best day to de-clutter all of this." Thinking that, because it's the first of the year, that it will set a good precedent.

Well, I'm going to de-clutter the shelves, and I'm going to feel good about it, and I'm not resolving anything.


Except maybe to drink a little more. In general.

Quasi-drunken phone conversations on New Year's Eve

"You can't make out with a St. Bernard. Well...you can, but it's just wrong."



HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I was tagged.

Or called out, however you want to look at it. Do people really learn stuff from these? *sigh*

Here goes:

ABCs of Me(me)

A- Available or taken? Available for what?

B- Best Friend? Izzy, I suppose. Sometimes my daughter. Myself. I often feel alone.

C- Cake or Pie? Pie. Pumpkin. That I made.

D- Drink of Choice? Coffee or water.

E- Essential Item? My lappy.

F- Favorite Color? Purple and green.

G- Gummi Bears or Worms? Bears.

H- Hometown? Currently? Denver, Colorado Recently? Denver, Colorado Originally? Amana, Iowa.

I- Indulgence? Time by myself at Lake Steam Baths. It's not expensive--the time away is my indulgence.

J- January or February? February--my birthday, my daughter's birthday (same day), my dad's birthday, Eric's birthday, Debbie's birthday.

K- Kids and names? Kira!

L- Life is incomplete without? My girl. My husband.

M- Marriage Date? October, 1996

N- Number of Siblings? 2--one sister and one brother

O- Oranges or apples? Clementine oranges

P- Phobias/Fears? Insects. Financial insolvency.

Q- Favorite Quote? "Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it." -- Goethe

R- Reason to Smile? My daughter's.

S- Season? Fall.

T- Tag three people! Must I? Fine--SueEllen, Esri, and some random blogger to be reavealed later, upon participation.

U- Unknown Fact About Me? I'm actually quite intelligent.

V- Vegetable you hate? Raw tomatoes.

W- Worst habit? Too much talk, not enough action.

X- X-Rays you've had? Teeth, lungs, ankle bones.

Y- Your favorite food? Roast chicken.

Z- Zodiac? Aquarius/Capricorn/Leo

End-of-Year Post

I am tired.

"The Year That Was" makes me want to barf. I am tired of the Top Ten Most Awesomest Stuff That Happened in 2006 articles in the paper/magazines/blogs. Sick of it!

I'm also sick of the snow. Perhaps I'm a bit touchy from the cabin fever. Strap yourselves in, folks.

Instead of recapping this past year, let's make my annual wish list, shall we? We shall. In the spirit of manifesting the life we want, we shall now proclaim the End-of-Year Post to be:

How My Life Is Now: A List of Affirmations

Those who practice affirmations should know that, to do them correctly, one must say them as if they are already true. Example:

I am a publishing magnate.

Okay. Here we go:

• I live in a lovely home, situated on one acre, in a lovely part of the world.
• I drive a stylish, safe, and useful vehicle.
• I wear lovely clothes.
• I am wealthy.
• I carry this handbag.
• I wear this jewelry.
• I wear this watch.

This is too much fun. I'll add to the list more, later.

The funniest of the Internets.

Viewer discretion advised. And also prepare yourself to laugh. Go pee first, then read it. Hilarious!

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it. I hope Santa brought you what you wanted.

I got:

• two extra days of vacation (no word yet on whether or not we'll have to "make them up"--probably will, but for now, I'll take two extra days when the kids were insanse)
• over 2 feet of snow
  
• my daughter, opening presents and saying "present" and "help me, mama" and "it's a toy!"
• nice dinners with my immediate family
• nice Christmas Eve with husband's family, including cousin J, who ran around like a maniac with my daughter, which is hilarious to watch
• time to myself to take a bath and read Entrepreneur magazine
• coffee every morning
• time playing in the snow with my kiddo--she's never had the opportunity to do so, so that was a hoot--we built a snowman, making the eyes, nose, and arms out of carrots for the neighborhood squirrels. Oh, and the snow "man" had boobs.
  
• time in the evenings watching "family" movies: Ice Age, Madagascar, March of the Penguins

Too, too many benefits to list. Got a couple of lovely gifts from my hubby, as well. But please note how many times the word "time" is listed above.

Bless you all.

SNOW DAY!

SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!
SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!SNOWDAY!


You think kids get excited about a day off? They've got nothing on the excitement that teachers feel.

Whiny and petulant

Do you know what it's like to hate your job, and not be able to quit? I suppose Drew Carey would tell me that I belong to an exclusive support network called "Everybody" and they meet at "The Bar."

But man, I tell you, it's tough. It's tough when, ever since I had a kid, I've wanted to stay home more than anything. I knew, somehow, that I was supposed to be home with her, supposed to be there for her every single minute.

But I can't. I have to go away to work every day.

And now? Now she has autism. And nobody knows why, of course. They say it isn't our fault. They say it's not environmental, not because of a lack of vitamins, not because of trauma. They say it's genetic. But if it's something she was born with, then who the hell else do you blame? She came out of my body. I birthed her. Therefore, I am to blame.

But it isn't that simple, is it? Disabilities aren't that simple. Placing blame isn't often helpful. Even "pinpointing a cause" isn't helpful, because it's in the past, and she is here, now, and I have to help her. But I have to go away to work every day. It's torn me up ever since the day I had to return to work, and it still tears me up. Tears me up worse, now, since her disability sounds so stinking severe.

It's put me in a bit of a tailspin.

It's also affected my holiday spirit, to be very frank. I'm not as excited about the holidays as I normally would be. I'm not depressed, just stressed out. The whole thing makes my stomach hurt if I think too much about it.

Her face is here, right in front of me, taped to my computer. At home, her face is my desktop picture.

I suppose she was born to me for a reason. But I've got to be done with the blaming pretty soon. It's tiresome.

And I've got to be self-employed, soon. Every day feels very, very desperate.

A funny.

Just for you.

Feeling snarky? Then watch this...

...because even though it's a bit glurgy, it's true.

Three trees!

This weekend holiday has gone by far too fast. However, it was full of family and friends, and for that I am grateful. I didn't do much of anything for business, which is rare.

It felt good.

Thursday we had a nice group at our house for the feasting. The next day I went shopping, which I don't normally do. I got a few great deals--800 thread count sheets, a new pre-lit tree, and a bunch of fleece fabric on sale. Friend Ann came over around 10am (yes, all that shopping was very early), and I helped her sew some blankets for her boys.

She then joined me for some afternoon shopping, during which time I purchased gifts for my DH. It was so nice to be out shopping with a friend--this is something I very rarely do. I am most often shopping alone, or with my 3-year-old.

Saturday was spent filling a soap order, shipping it, and then dropping off my sewing machine because it was injured. It didn't die, but it did curl up in a ball and refuse to move. So I took it in to be serviced, and can you imagine? They gave me a loaner sewing machine, so I could get my holiday projects done. I love that place.

I then went antique shopping with friends Esri and Joe, and we had lunch. Went home in the afternoon and was pleasantly surprised to learn that Friend Steve was on his way up to Denver, and did we want to get together with him and some friends? Of course! So I hosted the party, and Ann came over yet again, as did Carla and her brother, Jeff. We sat around and played games and had drinks, and went to bed far too late.

Then today it was time for holiday decorations. I dragged out all the boxes and went on my yearly treasure hunt. You see, each year on the day after Christmas, I go to the sales to buy ornaments and accoutrements for half price. Of course, I forget what I've purchased, so every time I decorate, it's a surprise. I love it. I opened up the new tree I purchased on Friday and of course, one-half of one string of lights didn't work on the pre-lit tree. I had to augment the lights--no big deal, as long as they all continue to work.

I Freecycled my old tree. It was claimed within 9 minutes and gone within one hour. I love Freecycle, and encourage everyone to try it. You'll be hooked.

So I decorated and decorated, and now our house is very festive. We have a few more lighted goodies out front, and lots of lights inside. I also cleaned the kitchen and did the dishes, did a load of laundry, put away 3 baskets of laundry, and cleaned the catbox.

Hmm. A relaxing vacation? Somewhat.

...Can't....Move.....

.......ate........too.............much.........

Getting ready

We weren't going to have a huge Thanksgiving at our house. It was just going to be us and Friend Jerry.

Well, Jerry can't come, and neither can his wife Maxine, because they both have to work. So Izzy invited Friend Pete, who can come.

Then CB decided to make up a story about how they made a scheduling mistake at work, and scheduled him when he's not supposed to be scheduled, and therefore can't have the Thanksgiving at his house that he was going to have for his RF and his F, which he had decided upon AFTER being invited to our party, and is now bringing his kids to our party. Along with a family friend, who is not C like CB is.

So! Instead of 4 people, we are having 8 adults and 3 kids.

Gotta get more cleanin' done.





CB = Crazy Brother

RF= Random Friend

F= Family

C=Crazy

Sunday, blessed Sunday

So THIS is what Sunday is supposed to be like. Shopping at Target at a leisurely pace, eating when I feel like it, instead of on a schedule, really enjoying my coffee, reading the paper, doing research, buying books on the internet....

Yeah. All that's missing is a nap. Maybe next weekend.