30 minutes

Whilst blog trolling today I came across a post about what it takes to ‘write’. Some things said are obvious, but just being obvious doesn’t make a thing easy.

I have come to accept that my dreams of being a writer are rather ridiculous. Rather deluded actually. I really don’t have the skills, or the imagination, or the patience. Or an interesting life or a unique point of view. All the things I think you need to write. My grammatical skills are definitely a problem as well.

But I continued to read the post and even went so far as to bookmark the blog. He seems to have a lot to say about writers and writing. And perhaps I’ll read more.

One point he made made a lot of sense. That writing every day is necessary and but NOT for a long period of time. It’s like exercising. You’re much more likely to keep working out 30-60 minutes a day for a week than a 5 hour stretch in a single day for the week.

Of course, mostly due to the fact that anyone reading this could care less, I am not explaining the point as well as I should. But, It’s in my head. Somewhere.

Yet, even though it makes sense, and I continue to have these delusions, The truth is though, I know I’ll never be dedicated enough to keep up any sort of discipline of daily writing. Unless I can stop second guessing myself all the time and I’d need 30-60 minutes of therapy a week to ever get that voice outta my head. I take that back. There’s no amount of therapy that would to the trick. Trust me; I’ve been down that road before.

The amount of time to spend writing each day, if one were to follow his suggestion, is 30 minutes a day. Seems about right. Usually if I do any writing tho, it takes a lot longer than a half hour to get the creative juices flowing. This can be bad as that leaves a lot of time for those voices to start wearing me down. Right now I know I’ve exceeded 30 minutes, but of course, it takes me 10 minutes alone just to upload the photos. Since I think I have to use every word in the English language to illustrate a point, 30 minutes seems impossibly short.

Then there is the issue of the guilt I feel if I’m doing anything I just want to do. Hence the lack of card making these days.

Enough about my delusional desires. Who cares anyway?

Last week was the first measurable snowstorm of the season. You know it’s the real thing when it sticks to the road. Traveling wasn’t hindered, but yiyiyi, my car is a mess from the slush and sand. This is the only picture I took of the day, and it is of the night. Why don’t kids feel the cold like us with our old bodies?

George Michael is the funniest kitty. He loves to lounge on the back of the couch, all stretched out. But, he’s kinda stupid cuz I can’t count the times he’s slid right off and hit the floor. Often he does NOT land on his feet. Doesn’t stop him from going right back to that spot. Bet he could stick to a daily writing regimen. (That makes total sense to me.)

I’m sure you’re dying to know that Sunday’s pinterest recipe was Chocolate Chip Pudding cookies. In this case used one box of instant vanilla pudding and one of cream cheese flavored. They weren’t anything special, but I consider any type of chocolate chip cookie as worth eating. Kevin, Wes, David, and myself snarfed at least 2 dozen as fast as they came out of the oven. I wish I’d remember that I prefer cold cookies the next day to burn your tongue hot. Silly me. As far as a review goes, like I said all chocolate chip cookies are good. David dubbed them “Amazing Delicious Cookie Buttons”-buttons coming from the fact that I said they were as small as a, you guessed it, button. That David is so clever.

And, finally, last night Wes started to not feel too great and actually fell asleep on the couch, something he rarely does. Kevin carried him to bed and when I went into Wes’ room this morning he did not remember how he got there. He told me he doesn’t remember the last time he felt so crappy. Apparently this sickness is affecting his memory.

Well, we’ll have to see what 30 minutes of nonsense I can come up with tomorrow. If I do it.



OH! The joys and miseries of Womanhood!

Well, that just scared away 1/2 my audience and the other 1/2 will probably slink out of here momentarily. (A total viewing audience of 4 makes that an easy assumption.)

Over the past few months, which really isn’t a long time yet feels like a decade, I’ve been feeling like crappity crap crap. Which is at least 3 x’s worse than your average feeling o’ crappiness. As this blog is supposedly a platform upon which to share my life and creative endeavors, (hardee har har), I can’t ignore the fact that just getting through the day is about all the creative endeavor I can muster. (Not to mention that my blog is a sham.)

As a reasonably intelligent person I am aware that my symptoms are ca-lassic for menopause. When it comes to the many injustices of our mortal existence, I believe that the hormones that make women women have to be among the cruelest of them all. Second only to the fact that all delicious food is bad for you. Really, why did God create chocolate and sugar? Yeah, I know, something to do with opposition in all things, but still…


That logic does not apply to Women. To say that it does makes me crazy; why would any part of being female have been created “evil”? Unfortunately, the history of the world makes it clear that women have long been, dare I say ALWAYS, considered inferior to men, and in that way we are considered deficient and therefore, dare I say, evil. And the worse part of it all is that Male and Female alike believe this!

That is a tangent I am choosing not to travel down today.

I did go the Lady Doc a few weeks ago, looking forward actually to discussing with her how blechy I’ve felt and thinking that she’d figure out what to do and lickety split, I’d feel like myself again. A new and improved version of myself. Yet not once did Lady Doc say the word Menopause, even though I am 50 years old and expressing many of the symptoms. Looking back I do not know why I didn’t bring up the M-word, but Lady Doc had the idea that it was my thyroid causing all the symptoms and then I thought that my thyroid hormones, (there’s that word again), were the culprit. When the nurse called me and told me I was in the normal range and I told her that I still felt like crap, she hemmed and hawed and I got nothing. Still no M-word, no discussion about what might be going on.

And I did nothing. Except to continue to live with night sweats, hot flashes, feeling angry yet apathetic, (talk about opposition), and a bunch of other cruelties. Everyday I’d have the intention to call the Dr., yet put it off thinking, based on past experience, that it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, after a while you get to accustomed to how you feel, and forget that something isn’t right. Kinda.

Yesterday I went a different kind of Dr. for different reasons and I mentioned my symptoms. We talked and she came to the same conclusion that I originally had, and that it was my glorious hormones messing with me. Well, I came home, (after a detour to the mall), ready to fight for myself and called the Dr.’s Office. Actually left a message for the nurse and she called me back. Guess what I got?

NOTHING. I felt dumb and defensive-like I’d done something wrong. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from apologizing! Oh, she’s gonna leave a message for the Dr., but I know I’m pretty sure I’ll never hear back. I’ll probably be reminded that my blood tests were NORMAL so shut up. Yeah. Tell that to my hormones.

This pisses me off. On top of feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck everyday, a hot sweaty chubby moody truck, I can’t get no respect. I am right, and they are wrong, and I’m gonna go Dr. shopping.

I am woman, Hear me rawr.


Enough with being serious!!

It’s picture time!!

Kitty Love

Smarty Kitty

Legend tells us that the final stage of womenopause is “Cat Lady”.