Renewed Ramblings from a Borderline Freak

Let's just dive right in.

When you write - whether it's a short story, a poem, a blog post, or an article, you're reaching inside yourself and showing a part of yourself to the world ... and that reflection that we stare in, when we edit or re-read or criticize, shows us ourselves. That's why we like to write, I think. I know that other people have venues that they use to creatively show themselves to the world. Actors act. Painters paint. Musicians play. Singers sing. I'm a writer - not a very dedicated one, true, but I am a writer - and I used to write.

When I write, I see myself. I reveal aspects of myself to the reader. My mood, my voice, my thoughts, my opinions about the world and life and other people and the state of modern morality - out it comes. It's like lancing a wound, popping a zit, removing a splinter, having a good dump. Something disgusting comes out and it's a relief. "Aaaah," the writer says; "that felt so good!" Then we make the mistake of turning around and looking in the toilet, or examining the pus and blood or splinter. That's when we make a face and wish we didn't have to do this.

 "Oh my god," we groan. "THAT was inside ME??"

Don't get me wrong. Not every little repulsive thing about a writer comes out in every little thing the writer writes. Wouldn't that be awkward, to show that kind of crap in a note to your kid's school teacher? Or a report at work? Or a performance review? A half-decent writer knows enough to not poke the needle down too far, squeeze too hard, push and grunt too enthusiastically. You can't go about expressing your deepest and most secret thoughts about rape or racism or meal worms all the time. You make other people uncomfortable, make them not want to be around you, make them dislike you for not being like them, for deviating, for practicing emotional and intellectual strip-teases for an unappreciative public.

I have an incredible respect for writers who throw their work out in public for open criticism and study. TV writers (Dan Harmon comes to mind), opinionated comic strip artists (like Bill Watterson), stand-up comics (Greg Proops), avant-garde novelists (Cormac McCarthy) pop their zits, dig out their splinters, take their intellectual and creative dumps in public, and let's face it, everyone's a critic. Quite honestly, I'm not sure which kind of critic can hurt the most - the intellectual, worldly, practiced dilettante with pronounced opinions, or the knuckle-dragging, Honey Boo Boo-watching Luddite who blindly follows one political party and has never had an original thought in his or her life. The Harmons and the Proopses and the McCarthys keep squeezing and digging and pushing out art, alternately blowing kisses to the world or giving it the finger, while the Wattersons decide Enough Is Enough and bow out, igniting their catharses in private.

And what happens to those artists - writers, painters, actors, whatever - that don't squeeze and lance and push and evacuate? Well, we fill up with infected puss and feces. We become toxic waste dumps of frustrated emotion. It spins and snowballs and burgeons and swells, until our battered souls can't keep from cracking. It leaks out - people wonder what's wrong. It manifests as such strange and dark things. Binge-drinking. Cutting. Hearing voices. Anti-socialism. Nail biting. Recurring nightmares. Depression. Anorgasmia. And the more packed with garbage we get, the more parts of us splinter off and ooze psychoses, the less we want to tackle the build-up. Lancing ourselves would produce a tsunami of malodorous, greasy, bile-laced offal, and we would not just be exposing that shameful detritus to the world .... we would have to face it too. We'd have to turn around and look at the mess we made, the stinking, disgusting offspring of our souls. We would have to face up to the fact that, not only was this crap inside of us in the first place, we allowed it to swell and grow and metastasize until our souls become unrecognizable.

 The images we make of ourselves for others to admire are just that: Images. They're put up to hide the crap in us. The more crap we collect, though, the image becomes more and more fragile. The illusion becomes harder to maintain. We spin out of control and at times feel we're falling; we have to hide in stairwells or bathroom stalls until the panic subsides. We lose the lifeline that keeps soul moored to body. We spend more and more time away from ourselves, and away from people who make us be ourselves. We keep promising ourselves that we'll pull ourselves together, start writing again, balance our check books, do our personal filing, confront our spouses with our issues, but we keep putting it off because it will just reinforce to us how broken and chaotic we've become. We would rather drink a six-pack in our pajamas alone at home and watch videos on YouTube. It's easier than admitting failure to ourselves, our families, our coworkers, our friends.

 How do writers break this cycle? I don't know. I guess I'll just have to keep writing to find out. And when I go back and re-read this, I will be looking at the bloody splinter, the pus, the feces I've just pushed out. Disgusting ... but it is what I am.

It has been a while, hasn't it? Here it is, 2013, and my life has changed in ways I never imagined. I am the mother of a college student. With a straight A average, thankyouverymuch. I am a homeowner. First-time on my own. I'm so far in debt it's swimming round my eyes, but this house is MINE. I'm a first-time dog owner. We have the most adorable little Corgi puppy named Roxie. Rigby's dead. Pippin might as well be. I've gained 20 pounds. Life ... is very strange. I've gone through four jobs, and though my current one is my favorite, I desperately need something closer to home. Why is it that, just when I start getting comfortable, things change? On the other hand, I am a VERY different person now than I was right after the divorce. I'm more comfortable being single - kind of prefer it, really. I guess I'm pretty content right now. And considering what my life's been like the past ten years, I'll take that.

Definitely, definitely not a stellar week.

Monday, the Munchkin gets a migraine. Wednesday, I go home early from school with a stomach bug. And this morning, just when I'm feeling better, the Munchkin's home from school with a cold!

On the other hand, I've finally gotten my spa pedi (love having cute toes!) and got my monkey-like eyebrows "dealt with." I'm seriously contemplating dyeing my hair. Whaddaya think of a coppery red?

OK, off to check my hacking, coughing, sneezing, snorking kid. *sigh*

All righty!

Rigby has been officially "released" from the vet's. You would not believe how well his leg has healed! He went from a swollen, pussy (that's an adjective meaning "filled with pus," not an amusing and old-fashioned euphemism for a feline), stripped and skinless bit of quivering flesh - just muscle, ligament, tendon and bone - to the skin growing all the way over the leg, and his fur is growing back! And Dr. Hutch didn't even charge me for the last visit - said I'd paid him enough money; go home and enjoy my repaired bunny. I tell ya, the people at For Pet's Sake have been wonderful, full stop. I've never been to a vet's office I've liked more. It's a shame they don't see cats - I'd take Lard Butt and Dumb Butt there for their checkups!

I'm a little bummed ... I didn't even hit on him. And my flirting skills obviously need work. Oh, well ... I'm still very new at this. Maybe I'll bring in cookies. Or something.

Isn't it discouraging to realize that the insecurities we bore in our high school years follow us into our forties? You'd think I'd be over that by now ...

And speaking of insecurities, I get weighed today. *gulp* Let's see if the month of working out and the two weeks of eating rabbit food has had any effect. I don't feel as though I look any different, and I don't notice much loosening in my clothes; but then, they were so tight ... I really let myself go. Shame on me. Bad, bad Oropher. I shall have to be punished. (As though realizing you've turned into a larda$$ who can't wear any of her nice clothes isn't punishment enough!)

I just checked the Ashland Farm site, and so far they haven't canceled the show, so the Munchkin and I are going to proceed as planned. She's all packed, and I need to iron her show shirt and pack for myself. So, on the fire for today:

1. Balance checkbook
2. Pay bills
3. Iron Munchkin's show shirt
4. Pack
5. Work out and get weighed *shudder*
6. Clean kitchen and vacuum, if time permits

I think that's about enough. Don't you?

All right, I'm going to read the comics and then get started. I like having Fridays off. I'm really going to miss that when I'm gainfully employed! (The paychecks will probably console me, though.)

OH OH OH, I made Mr. C. laugh - he's my Anatomy and Physiology professor; he's a big, intimidating former football coach, very knowledgeable and "street." He was teaching us about the bones of the skull, including processes, fontanelles, sutures, etc; and he got to the foramen (which is where all the blood vessels and nerves pass through), and he pointed on the overhead to the big hole at the base of the skull. "This is the foramen magnum. Now, what do you all think when you hear the term 'magnum'?" Fearlessly, I piped up, "Tom Selleck!" He laughed, and said, "I guess I need to just remind myself that this class is full of ladies."

And you know what, neither Dee nor Tori knew who Tom Selleck was?!

In honor of His Royal Manliness, I shall post his picture. Because I can. So there.



Okay. Let's get this party started! (And as an aside, if this is my definition of a good time, I really need to get out more.)

Good weekend! Busy, but good.

Busy week ahead, too ...

Today: Former SIL and Little Miss High Maintenance stopping by this morning to say good-bye before moving to Oregon; I've got all three kids, and I'm picking the Munchkin up from school so she can ride.

Tomorrow: Not sure how many kids I've got - at least Copper Top - and need to take the Munchkin to get her formal fitted so it's done by this weekend.

Wednesday: Twelve o'clock interview, babysitting(however that'll work out!), riding in the evening.

Thursday: Kiraz and I are going up to test-ride Chantilly in Bethlehem (Georgia, not Pennsylvania or Israel).

Friday: Three kids, hopefully rejoicing because I've gotten the Parish Administrator job.

Saturday: Munchkin working in the AM, Kat's party in the evening.

Sunday: Hopefully taking the Munchkin up to test-ride Ace and Zoe.

I get tired just reviewing the list. Is it any wonder, [info]nieriel_raina, that I haven't finished Ch. 31 yet? And the work I did last night got erased when my computer decided to randomly re-start ... should've hit save button, should've hit save button, should've hit save button, should've hit save button, should've hit save button, should've hit save button, should've hit save button!

For Dragon*Con, I need:
* black-and-red tights
* a Cleopatra wig
I've already bought the cheap coffee maker, woot! [info]arymetore and [info]witchcat, are we going to Evening at Bree? 'Cause I need my big cooler to put our food in, and my gold overdress!

Okay, time for more coffee. Start your engines, everyone! And for those of you who missed watching the news, here's a treat to start your day:

Oooh. I'm too old for this.

We met up with ADF at Medieval Times last night - fourteen of us in all. (I felt sorriest for Red and Tony, the only men there - they wanted to go to Bass Pro Shops, but nooooo .... ) Seven teenaged girls, all of them very attractive and dressed to the nines, and seven very tired adults! They changed the "show" a little - the knight we had last year, the Yellow Knight, was the Green Knight (bad guy) this year, and is still every bit as good a rider as he was before! Our knight, the Black and White Knight, was very short, but a good fighter and a good rider. All the girls were ga-ga over the knights, and Mo spoke to some of the better riders and exchanged emails with them. One of them even promised to come to the October show ... we'll see!

The Munchkin, Barn Hobbit, and I were so wound up that we didn't get to bed 'til three! Nine a.m. came waaaaaaay too early this morning ... I made them waffles for breakfast, and Kiraz just picked up her charge. We'll be meeting the Usual Suspects at Jason's Deli for lunch today. For our Sunday lunches with the Little Miss and Nesterino, Jason's has the perfect pair of attributes:

1. It's got food they'll eat.
2. It's already noisy.

I'm still having Lunch Wars with Copper Top. I know it's a control issue with him; his mother spends three hours making him the center of attention every evening at the dinner table, and he wants the same from me. Well, he's not gonna get it. He doesn't want to eat? Fine, he can get down. He won't starve.

Slogging my way through Microsoft Office 2007 - hopefully I can get myself certified before I even start taking courses! Dad talked to one of his fellow profs, and he thinks I should go into Web Design. Any opinions? Yes/no/maybe? I'd like to start school as soon as possible, so I can move forward with some sort of career that doesn't involve diapers or screaming toddlers.

I got an email from GypsyLady. Our hats will ship Monday! Woots all round!

We had a message on the answering machine last night from a real estate agent, saying she'd be bringing someone by to see the house between 11 - 2 Saturday. So this morning I got the Munchkin to Kiraz's to bring up to the barn, and spent three hours mopping, vacuuming, and straightening up. Then I showered, changed, and went to do some errands, coming back around one. They had not been. I waited until around two, then decided they simply weren't coming, and ran off to Costco.

Well, guess what? They're here.

Anyway. Always like having a gay couple look at the house. Just so long as they BUY IT.

I bought two cute little mini-toppers from GypsyLadyHats on Etsy for Dragon*Con, on Kiraz's recommendation (Barn Hobbit is going as Goth Alice in Wonderland, and needed a Mad Hatter topper). I got a black and red one with an embroidered dragon, and the Munchkin got a true mini, gold lame with a black brim. I'm planning to wear mine with my black satin skirt, red corset, and shoulder-length black satin gloves. And Monday, I'll wear the cute little goth-girl dress with a red half-corset, red and black striped stockings, black mary janes, and the hat! (I'd post pictures, but the seller's already taken the photos of our merchandise down - how's that for service!) Now all I need is one of those super-gorgeous black leather collars I saw in the dealer's rooms last year - and someone to fork over the $180 for a really, really nice one.

I need a sugar daddy. Or a job.

Well, we're leaving in an hour or so to pick up Kiraz and Barn Hobbit, and then we're going to meet Mo, Tess, and a bunch of other ADF people at Medieval Times for Kate's going-away party. (I still can't believe she's moving away!) I figured, since Kiraz drove the Munchkin to and from Beaver Spring today, I'd do the driving - this way I'm the Designated Driver, and she's the Designated Drinker, which, after the week she's had, suits her just fine.

Let's see ... there was something else I was going to say ... oh well, lost it.

I hate being here when people look at the house ... I always want to apologize for it! What I really want to do is put my satin skirt and red corset on - I haven't put them on in tandem yet, and I want to see how they look together!