Completely unrelated to writing...
Sorry I missed my Monday blog. I was fasting. I had to have some routine bloodwork done today. It was "fasting" bloodwork, meaning I couldn't eat or drink for eight hours prior. (Don't want to trip you up by using highly medical terms.)
Now, I usually fast every night. I rarely (if ever) get up to eat in the middle of the night. So fasting was not a problem. But what followed the fast was the problem: morning.
Mornings and me don't mix. I have to start my mornings an hour before I actually get up. My son, God bless him, makes coffee for me and brings it in before he leaves for school. I sip it. I hit snooze and hope my coffee cup isn't in the way. I do that four or five times. Eventually, I get up (sooner if I spill the coffee), and I hit the carpet... well, shuffling somewhat quickly. I don't think I could do mornings at a faster pace if someone was thrashing my behind.
Shower, put my eyes in, send my little guy to get dressed, do the hair, help the princess to get dressed, go down to the dungeon in search of my own clean clothes (in the perpetual laundry pile), send the little guy to redress since he never gets it right the first time, do a load of laundry while I'm still down there, come up, put my face on, find socks for the princess, find shoes for the princess, gather my work stuff, pour more coffee to take with, ...eventually we all get out the door. Not when I'm "fasting". Then I'm actually slowing. It took me three times as long to do everything today.
Plus, when you're fasting, time slows. Sitting and waiting for the lab lady to call my name took hours. It was at least ten minutes. I was hungry, uncaffeinated, and tired. When the lab *itch called "Pat" three times, I didn't answer. I almost punched her when she said,"Pat-ti?" in a terribly-annoyed-because-nobody-answered-her voice. My name's not PAT! I thought better of the punch before I actually got to the little lab room with her. She had needles. It wouldn't be a fair fight, especially since she still had to jab one of them into a vein. Besides, I was too slow to fight. I was fasting.
My fasting day started slow. Of course my body knew that the 24 ounce WaWa coffee at 10 AM is not the usual kid-made coffee, sipped from the tall periwinkle mug while still cozy and supine in my bed. No, coffee that's drunk while standing up just isn't the same. There's no time for it to diffuse into my system and help me to gain momentum before getting up. It's just boom, there in my stomach, taking its good ol' time and kicking in way too slowly. The whole day dragged by.
My conclusion of the day's events: you can't ever speed up the slowing that happens after fasting. Why did I ever decide to do this on a Tuesday?
-PLB
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
Persnickety Serendipity
There's a work in my head that is screaming to get out. It is applying force to every convolution and curve of gray matter that I have. Buzzing like a small but very determined gnat. Very VERY determined.
My writing friends know of this work. All of them have read it at some juncture, and some (pity them) have even heard it aloud. It is the story that compelled me to write in the first place... the story that has to come out.
When I applied to grad school, I included it since I had only a few other things. (I included them too.) When I was accepted, I exhaled slowly, a sigh of contentment, and put that manuscript right up on the shelf. It stayed there until I discovered I had to submit something for workshop. So I dusted it off and sent it in. Then back on the shelf with it.
Could it stay on the shelf? Nooooo. Despite the numerous other things I sent my advisor, she wanted to see this piece. So, another layer of dust was brushed off, and off it went. It tormented both of us all semester, but of course, when it came time for a scholarship submission, well, it was all I had ready. Off it went again, prologue and all.
The semester ended, and my advisor and I rested. The ms was back on the shelf and I was not dredging it out for the rest of my studies! I had to do something else. I wrote a piece specifically for my workshop simply so I did not HAVE to submit the first.
Well, guess what. Lady Luck spun the wheel, and my story won a scholarship! I was honored. I was thrilled. I was shocked. I was pleased to put that award on my shelf next to the manuscript. I would work on it again, someday, since someone liked it.
A new semester, a new advisor, a new focus. Except... except that little annoying gnat which buzzed around me, taunting me with thoughts like, "I could use this technique for that old story..." and "This would work for that old story..." I didn't solve any problems of my new manuscript but I had a lot to add to my old manuscript.
Serendipity. Funny how she works. Funny how cranky she gets when we don't notice her messages. Funny how she beats us over the head with her messages until they get through our (ok, my) thick skull. Persnickety, ain't she?
Guess what my advisor and I are now working on. THE story. THE manuscript. THE award winning, dusty old poured-over book. I'm actually looking forward to it again--so I can solve its problems once and for all.
-PLB
My writing friends know of this work. All of them have read it at some juncture, and some (pity them) have even heard it aloud. It is the story that compelled me to write in the first place... the story that has to come out.
When I applied to grad school, I included it since I had only a few other things. (I included them too.) When I was accepted, I exhaled slowly, a sigh of contentment, and put that manuscript right up on the shelf. It stayed there until I discovered I had to submit something for workshop. So I dusted it off and sent it in. Then back on the shelf with it.
Could it stay on the shelf? Nooooo. Despite the numerous other things I sent my advisor, she wanted to see this piece. So, another layer of dust was brushed off, and off it went. It tormented both of us all semester, but of course, when it came time for a scholarship submission, well, it was all I had ready. Off it went again, prologue and all.
The semester ended, and my advisor and I rested. The ms was back on the shelf and I was not dredging it out for the rest of my studies! I had to do something else. I wrote a piece specifically for my workshop simply so I did not HAVE to submit the first.
Well, guess what. Lady Luck spun the wheel, and my story won a scholarship! I was honored. I was thrilled. I was shocked. I was pleased to put that award on my shelf next to the manuscript. I would work on it again, someday, since someone liked it.
A new semester, a new advisor, a new focus. Except... except that little annoying gnat which buzzed around me, taunting me with thoughts like, "I could use this technique for that old story..." and "This would work for that old story..." I didn't solve any problems of my new manuscript but I had a lot to add to my old manuscript.
Serendipity. Funny how she works. Funny how cranky she gets when we don't notice her messages. Funny how she beats us over the head with her messages until they get through our (ok, my) thick skull. Persnickety, ain't she?
Guess what my advisor and I are now working on. THE story. THE manuscript. THE award winning, dusty old poured-over book. I'm actually looking forward to it again--so I can solve its problems once and for all.
-PLB
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
UN-day
I'm two days late for my blog. That's because Monday was UN-day for me.
I want to know whose came up with the un-conscionable idea to change the time twice a year. It had to be some sort of un-funny joke. I know it! I think daylight savings time must have started with a conversation that went something like this:
"Bob," says one farmer to another, one dark morning, "I sure could use another hour of daylight."
"You know, Bill," says Bob, "You're right. Do you think anyone will notice if we set the clocks an hour ahead?"
"Good idea," says Bill. "Let's propose it to Congress."
Thus, the birth of DST and LOADS of confusion. Un-cool!
I know the time change happened on Sunday. But who checks the time on Sundays? On Monday UN-day, I was un-accustomed to my alarm ringing an hour earlier. Because of a new un-couth law by Congress that un-fairly moved the time change date, the office clocks were un-changed. That wreaked havoc on my un-bearably obnoxious internal clock that was screaming inside me, "Ha! I knew you were wrong!"
Thus, Monday UNday was un-settling for me. I was un-easy all day. Un-real. I was un-derstandbly late for everything. It was un-nerving.
In the Un-ness of UNday, I un-wound a bit in the evening after the highs of my weekend. My daughter's play at her junior high was a huge success on Thursday and Friday mornings, and Friday and Saturday nights. I was so proud of her and of all the kids in the show. I wasn't able to attend play practices like I did last year, but I did a lot of background work. Fundraisers, dress-making, emails to parents... lots of 'f-un' stuff. But I knew many kids from last year and I had fun with them. The whole cast was exceptional. The director has an artistic flare, and always manages to impress. It was un-believably fantastic, and un-precedented in school district history.
Now that Monday UNday is over, I've finally started to have a real week. My son's play is this weekend, and I'm looking forward to another dazzling weekend at the theatre. I have nothing to do but un-obtrusively sit and watch three performances. I'll be playing my un-mistakable, un-paralleled life-long role as "Proud Mama."
Un-derstated? Un-likely!
Un-til next week...
-PLB
I want to know whose came up with the un-conscionable idea to change the time twice a year. It had to be some sort of un-funny joke. I know it! I think daylight savings time must have started with a conversation that went something like this:
"Bob," says one farmer to another, one dark morning, "I sure could use another hour of daylight."
"You know, Bill," says Bob, "You're right. Do you think anyone will notice if we set the clocks an hour ahead?"
"Good idea," says Bill. "Let's propose it to Congress."
Thus, the birth of DST and LOADS of confusion. Un-cool!
I know the time change happened on Sunday. But who checks the time on Sundays? On Monday UN-day, I was un-accustomed to my alarm ringing an hour earlier. Because of a new un-couth law by Congress that un-fairly moved the time change date, the office clocks were un-changed. That wreaked havoc on my un-bearably obnoxious internal clock that was screaming inside me, "Ha! I knew you were wrong!"
Thus, Monday UNday was un-settling for me. I was un-easy all day. Un-real. I was un-derstandbly late for everything. It was un-nerving.
In the Un-ness of UNday, I un-wound a bit in the evening after the highs of my weekend. My daughter's play at her junior high was a huge success on Thursday and Friday mornings, and Friday and Saturday nights. I was so proud of her and of all the kids in the show. I wasn't able to attend play practices like I did last year, but I did a lot of background work. Fundraisers, dress-making, emails to parents... lots of 'f-un' stuff. But I knew many kids from last year and I had fun with them. The whole cast was exceptional. The director has an artistic flare, and always manages to impress. It was un-believably fantastic, and un-precedented in school district history.
Now that Monday UNday is over, I've finally started to have a real week. My son's play is this weekend, and I'm looking forward to another dazzling weekend at the theatre. I have nothing to do but un-obtrusively sit and watch three performances. I'll be playing my un-mistakable, un-paralleled life-long role as "Proud Mama."
Un-derstated? Un-likely!
Un-til next week...
-PLB
Monday, March 5, 2007
I need a bigger plate
Some people say that they have too much on their plate, they can't handle everything that's going on in their life, they have too much stress... yada yada yada. Not me. I am a mother to four great kids, and a wife to a great husband. I work just about full time. (At least, my employer considers me full time.) I also go to school full time. (At least, my school considers me full time.) I help out with my kids' theatrical productions at school. I read a book every two days. I don't have too much to do--I just need a bigger plate. Inevitably, my gripe with life goes back to my last post: time. I am a "do-er". I spend my time doing things, not watching, waiting, or hoping. I can accomplish a lot if I set my mind to it and deprive myself of some sleep. But I don't mind that! I'd rather have more time for doing.
Besides, sleeping is over-rated unless it happens between 8 and 10 in the morning. Morning sleep is my favorite sleep... it is dream sleep, creative and fun sleep. In morning sleep, I can be in the cast of my daughter's school play or I can walk along the beach with a loved one who died long ago. If I had a bigger plate, I'd give myself an extra serving of morning sleep. Hmmm.... maybe when all the kids have gone off to college? Only fifteen more years to go!
Despite the fact that I have little free time, I am happy for it. My life is rich with my family, my friends, and my writing. So today, as I turn forty, I sit back and smile. No morning sleep for me today... I was busy cramming more onto my plate. Tonight, before I blew out the candles on the incredible gooey German chocolate and caramel cake that my husband made for me, I stared at those wax numbers melting away like years in front of me. Then I wished for a bigger plate.
-PLB
Besides, sleeping is over-rated unless it happens between 8 and 10 in the morning. Morning sleep is my favorite sleep... it is dream sleep, creative and fun sleep. In morning sleep, I can be in the cast of my daughter's school play or I can walk along the beach with a loved one who died long ago. If I had a bigger plate, I'd give myself an extra serving of morning sleep. Hmmm.... maybe when all the kids have gone off to college? Only fifteen more years to go!
Despite the fact that I have little free time, I am happy for it. My life is rich with my family, my friends, and my writing. So today, as I turn forty, I sit back and smile. No morning sleep for me today... I was busy cramming more onto my plate. Tonight, before I blew out the candles on the incredible gooey German chocolate and caramel cake that my husband made for me, I stared at those wax numbers melting away like years in front of me. Then I wished for a bigger plate.
-PLB
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