Almost 3 am.
Not completely unusual to be up at this hour. I’m a writer. I’m either up at this time because it’s night owl time or I’m really ridiculously unhinged. Which may not be out of the realm of possibility. Let me grab my antacids before weaving this tangled ball of uncrocheted blanket into the chronicle of the last eight months. I like the word folktale much better, but, I have no fucking cute little deer and birds to clean my house and fold the laundry. Though I am short enough to fit through a Hobbit door. So, I guess the folktale profile isn’t a total loss. The weavings of morning dew gossamer to do something big and grand began with a podcast. Joyful Journaling by a beautiful soul-tender and friend named Becca Rae Eagle. The podcast has undergone a re-birth and now christened as “The Sacred Penning Podcast”. Whether you believe in God, Gaia, the Universe, Buddha, or any other higher power, dreams are planted like seeds in our hearts. Sometimes, they take root and grow from dark places exponentially fast. Others like to chill, rest for a bit. Sometimes, they start growing and the world around them is overwhelming, so they go into hibernation. But they’re still there. If Dandelions can push their way up through sidewalk cracks, the seedling dreams that God/Universe gave us, will eventually awaken and break through cracked cement. God/Universe cares about our dreams. And through a series of what felt like tragic events meant to break me,my marriage, and my family, that dream shattered the sidewalk. So, please watch your step on this section of sidewalk, it’s still under contstruction. But…I. Freaking. Did. It! At 40 years old (August 2023) I took my first steps on Elmira College Campus as a student! I sat in my husband’s office, the first day of class, shivering like I was seven years old, and just got out of the pool, being 50 degrees, because when you’re young, and love to swim, that 50 degree water means nothing. You don’t care that the cover has only been off two days and hasn’t had time to acclimate to summer weather. You jump in. And you swim until your blue in the face, and look like one of the “California Raisins”. (Google it kids.) I wrote my application essay in two hours. Because I didn’t think I was good enough to go back to school. I filled out most of the application, and I truly felt filling out the application was harder than giving birth. So much had changed since the first time I filled out a college application in 2000/2001. I’ve quit a lot of things in my life. Track in tenth grade. Several jobs. Almost quit my life. Don’t ask me who encouraged me the most to finish the application. My husband, my kids, my bestest wifey, my other best friends, God, the Universe, all of the above? I had several phone calls, and was asked to submit a personal essay. Two hours later, I’m enrolled in college. 20 years. Surreal doesn’t even begin to describe all the sensations and thoughts that coursed through me like a kid sticking a butter knife in an electrical outlet. (I think I may have done that once, but too young to remember, but—that would explain a LOT!) I carried myself to class like a stereotypical nerdy girl. Backpack, binder, old school notebook, head kept down and up at the same time—don’t make eye contact with anyone, but take in the wonder and beauty that surrounds you. I shook uncontrollably in his office while waiting to head to the first day of class, drafting a blog post, because it was the only thing I could do to keep my hands busy and my mind from barfing all over his office. That blog post never saw the light of day. That sucks. It really had a good start, but now is lost to the whims of time. I wrote how odd and difficult it was to have orientation with these baby powder fresh (no offense, I was one once too) students, that were six and seven foot tall, already had their cliques and lovers. They moved with finesse and laughter—part joyful, and part mocking of the grey haired lady who had yet to invest in new technology (ie Ipad). Who let her in? I was old enough to teach college classes. But I hadn’t made it across that bridge yet. So I sat in a sea of students who were business majors, fashion majors (Tommy Hilfiger anyone?—and yes! I got to meet him!) nursing majors,etc. The only English-Lit major in a crowd of people who could actually do math. I struggled with a lot my first year back to college after a 20 year hiatus. I don’t like to say if I could go back and do it differently, would I? Because then I wouldn’t have the people in my life that I do. But the biggest struggle of all—I learned that making college friends is easier fresh out of high school than being a 40 year old married mom. I’m freaking proud of that status. But it would have been nice to make at least one collegiate friend. This first year back to college I have: *lived at Barnes and Noble *Streamlined Starbucks for two weeks straight once *Had an ER trip for a Kidney stone *Had one breakdown over part of an assignment *Had only that one breakdown—HUGE progress for me in my life *increased my therapy sessions *ate a lot more processed foods than I would have liked to have *One nasty Sinus infection with a double ear infection (Novemberish) *Became Barnes and Nobels and Amazon’s top buyer (Well, probably. Or at least my credit card that is still smoking thinks so. Is there some sort of award or plaque for that?) *Developed a stronger relationship with my daughter *Watched my son grow taller than me *Wished that they made paper pots and pans, more than once, so that the kitchen didn’t look like a science experiment gone terribly wrong. Thank you technology gods for dishwashers. *Had my first bi-polar medication increase in ten years! (Two fold—yeah, it sucks, but also, ten years is a long time to not need a medication change!) *Was a bit cocky *Got knocked down off that high horse (Just because you are older doesn’t mean you know more than the emerging adults—especially about literature) *learned that most literature classes now are literature and media classes *Felt like a failure at Christmas time, believing that I didn’t do enough for the kids *My annual Christmas depression *Cried, literally cried over not being able to have a real, big, fat, fluffy tree. Cried a lot over this actually. It may seem silly, but the tree is my favorite part of Christmas. *learned to set boundaries (It’s still a work in progress) *discovered I LOVE hockey, and the Elmira College Women’s Hockey KILLS it!!! *Injured my shoulder the first day of spring break *Learning to play the insurance game and jumping through hoops to get a medication back *Gained a lot more self-confidence (still working on this one—many years of low self-esteem to erase) *Journaled when I could, and didn’t feel guilty about missing a few days because I was shoulder deep in assignments *Passed around several walk-in doctors telling me I was nuttier than a fruitcake and to take OTC cough syrup *ER trip where I finally got the care I needed—diagnosed with Pertussis aka Whooping Cough (I had it ten years ago as well.) *Had the confidence to walk into a car delearship, talk shop, and test drive a truck without feeling one ounce of anxiety, because my husband, Dad, or father-in-law weren’t there to do the talk shop! I even walked in with my head up, not looking down at the ground! (No, that truck isn’t mine…YET. ) *Read books and authors I had never read before, or didn’t like before and found new appreciation for them *Listened to new music *Busted my ass, studying and learning *Walked away with a 98 in both classes! *Ate a Walmart unicorn ice-cream cake to celebrate because the wait time at the Cheesecake Factory in Syracuse was over an hour long This blog post isn’t to cry about making friends. Or the loss of really good cheesecake. It’s supposed to be me learning about me. Reflecting on the last year. But perhaps, can give a sliver of wisdom to those who may need a drop of relatableness in their life. Or hope—I know that’s a hard one for a lot of people in my life right now, and I can understand why. This is a safe place. I will hold space for you and with you.
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Making big decisions isn’t always easy, especially returning to college after a twenty-year hiatus; it certainly has taught me a lot about life—sometimes not enough—other times making me wonder why I made the decision to go back at all. I have learned more about myself—and the world of books and education—in the last few months since I have returned to finish my degree. I have grown and been stretched in my own abilities; finding strength in places within myself that I didn’t know existed. I enrolled in an English 2700 class studying Dark Academia literature, media and politics. I could write and entire blog post about the life lessons I have learned since returning to college in middle age, but this particular post is a tribute to several novels, short stories, and poems that I have read and analyzed beyond the classroom, that implements some of the knowledge that I have garnered this semester. My goal is to list several books that are not only Dark Academia, but also embrace Gothic Dark Academia, or Gothic Academia as it has been shortened to over the last couple of years. Grab your favorite beverage—hot chocolate, tea, coffee, soda—and prepare to add some of these titles to your To Be Read list. Dark Academia is actually a term that has no concrete definition. It’s nebulous like galaxies. To some, it is a lifestyle of aesthetics—tweed blazers, vintage cardigans, worn leather satchels full of marked up books of poetry or art; a culture devoted to the life of Higher Education, arts and literature, and depending on what sub-culture, or sub-genre, the preoccupation with death. Dark Academia is an umbrella term for many sub-genres in the Dark Academia world. Each sub-culture has its own unique identifiers, and some do overlap. Gothic Academia piqued my interest the most. Dark, sinister, brooding settings such as crumbling castle/mansions/cemeteries or creepy forests in the middle of the night, but also dark and sinister people, that explores the macabre side of humanity. “The gothic is defined by the grotesque…but its ability to scare the reader…to force an audience to face its deepest fantasies and fears. It…is a successful genre because the reader enjoys exploring the relationship between ‘self’ and ‘other’, and revels in exploring the monstrous elements of the human condition” states Jane Mitchell in Reclaiming the Monster: Abjection and Subversion in the Marital Gothic Novel (Mitchell 68-69). Many of those fears that Gothic Academia encompasses are things like the occult—which can include, but not limited to tarot, seances, magic, alchemy, fortune telling, witchcraft—arcane knowledge/secret or lost texts, re-animation, or life/death boundaries. During the research process, I came across more than once, the idea that Gothic narratives are a space through which to explore non-mainstream narratives such as class, LGBTQ, the unknown through the aforementioned occult, and the feelings associated with the unknown, such as what happens after death. Essentially, it is a sub-genre that welcomes anyone who is curious. In class this year, with the literature, media, and politics explored, I kept being drawn into the Gothic Academia, not just for the curiosity of exploring different narratives, but desiring to examine the idea of female characterization in those literary, and media works. I have analyzed multiple texts—novels, poetry, and short stories—to surmise if this was even possible. Below is a list of books that I read in the Gothic tradition; some set in Victorian era, some contemporary, all worth adding to any To Be Read bookshelf. I have cited the book blurbs and bullet pointed why I believe they fall into the Gothic Academia sub-genre. Belladonna by Adalyn Grace Orphaned as a baby, nineteen-year-old Signa has been raised by a string of guardians, each one more interested in her wealth than her well-being—and each has met an untimely end. Her remaining relatives are the elusive Hawthornes, an eccentric family living at Thorn Grove, an estate both glittering and gloomy. Its patriarch mourns his late wife through wild parties, while his son grapples for control of the family’s waning reputation, and his daughter suffers from a mysterious illness. But when their mother’s restless spirit appears claiming she was poisoned, Signa realizes that the family she depends on could be in grave danger and enlists the help of a surly stable boy to hunt down the killer. However, Signa’s best chance of uncovering the murderer is an alliance with Death himself, a fascinating, dangerous shadow who has never been far from her side. Though he’s made her life a living hell, Death shows Signa that their growing connection may be more powerful—and more irresistible—than she ever dared imagine. Back cover descriptive copy.Belladonna, Adalyn Grace, Little, Brown and Company, 2022 Gothic Elements: ⦁ Victorian ⦁ Cursed by Death—can see the reaper and other apparitions. ⦁ Societal aspects: - Women must remain chaste - Women/girls were not suitors until the girl’s debut - Feel it’s their duty to marry wealthy - Women must follow etiquette books ⦁ Fears: - Abandonment -If they aren’t married before 20, they feel that they will be spinsters -Being shuffled around from one family to another just to get inheritance money ⦁ Being perceived as a witch because a woman/girl were different “You think I don’t know what you’re up to, demon-child?” (Grace 7) The Cloisters by Katy Hays When Ann Stilwell arrives in New York City, she expects to spend her summer working at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Instead, she finds herself assigned to The Cloisters, a Gothic museum and garden renowned for its collection of medieval art and its enigmatic researchers: Patrick Roland, and the charismatic curator specializing in the history of tarot; Rachel Mondray, Patrick’s brilliant curatorial associate; and Leo Bitburg, the gardener charged with cultivating the museum’s poisonous plants. Eager to escape her troubled past in rural Washington, Ann is happy to indulge the researchers’ more outlandish theories, only to find that their fascination with ancient divination runs deeper than academic obsession. Patrick is determined to prove that medieval tarot holds the key to accurately telling the future. When Ann discovers a breakthrough in the form of a cryptic deck of fifteenth-century tarot cards, she finds herself at the center of a dangerous game of power, seduction, and ambition. As their circle reaches its breaking point, Ann must decide if the tarot cards can teach her not only about the past but also her future. Inside cover descriptive copy. The Cloisters, Katy Hays, Atria Books of Simon & Schuster, Inc., 2022. Gothic Elements: ⦁ Haunted by father’s death ⦁ Haunted by mother’s grief, hoarding co-dependency - Agoraphobia - Tyrannical In the article “Gothic Mirrors and Feminine Identity”, Claire Kahane states, “…the spectral presence of a dead-undead mother, archaic and all encompassing, a ghost signifying the problematics of the female identity which the heroine must confront” (Kahane 47-48) - Fear that she will be pulled back into the rural life she left behind - Fear that she will let her mother pull her back in - Fear that she will never get over the abandonment of her father dying ⦁ Gothic Museum - Gothic architecture/artifacts - Occult Tarot - Fear that it might make her confront her past/future - Fear that it might actually predict her past/future Drug use (Working with poisonous plants that in medieval times weren’t classified as drugs, but medicinal, and most that will cause death.) Envelope Poems by Emily Dickinson Although a prolific poet, Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) published fewer than a dozen of her eighteen hundred poems. She preferred not to, and among the thousands of makeshift and fragile manuscripts of Dickinson’s later writings we find her “envelope poems.” Intensely alive and charged with a special poignancy—addressed to no one and everyone at once—the selection of Dickinson’s envelope poems and fragments gathered here remind us of the contingency, transience, vulnerability, and hope embodied in all our messsages. Backcover descriptive copy.Envelope Poems, Emily Dickinson, Christine Burgin and New Directions, 2016. Gothic Elements: ⦁ Social Norms - Women weren’t allowed to be anything but housewives. - Were not allowed to be educated. - Women often faced their fears: Physical, sexual assault Not allowed to have self-expression Conformity Forcibly married/forced to have children ⦁ Dickinson often used metaphors to describe how awful and detrimental these things were to women ⦁ Used metaphors, such as night/setting sun/heading west to mean death The Spirit Bares its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White Mors vincit omnia. Death conquers all. London, 1883. The Veil between the living and dead has thinned. Violet-eyed mediums commune with spirits under the watchful eye of the Royal Speaker Society, and sixteen-year-old trans, autistic Silas Bell would rather rip out his violet eyes than become an obedient Speaker wife. After a failed attempt to escape an arranged marriage, Silas is diagnosed with Veil sickness—a mysterious disease sending violet-eyed women into madness—and shipped away to Braxton’s Finishing School and Sanitorium. When the ghosts of missing students start begging Silas for help, he decides to reach into Braxton’s innards and expose its guts to the world—so long as the school doesn’t break him first. Back cover descriptive copy. The Spirit Bares Its Teeth, Andrew Joseph White, Peachtree Teen, 2023. Gothic Elements: ⦁ Victorian Gothic - 1883 London * Psychological fears - Transphobia - Fear of individualism - Violet eyed women (could also be classified in fantasy) - Boarding schools/sanitorium - Betrayal - Vivisections (dissections on live people) - Living in monotony ⦁ Physical - Cruelty Glass in shoes Murder Rape In These Hallowed Halls: A Dark Academia Anthology edited by Marie O’Regan and Paul Kane ⦁ The Hare and The Hound by Kelly Andrew ENROLLMENT BEGINS NOW A beguiling, sinister collection of 12 dark academia short stories from masters of the genre, including Olivie Blake, M.L. Rio, Susie Yang and more! In these stories, dear student, retribution visits a lothario lecturer; the sinister truth is revealed about a missing professor; a forsaken lover uses a séance for revenge; an obsession blooms about a possible illicit affair; two graduates exhume the secrets of a reclusive scholar; horrors are uncovered in an obscure academic department; five hopeful initiates must complete a murderous task and much more! Inside cover descriptive copy. In These Hallowed Halls: A Dark Academia Anthology, edited by Marie O’Regan & Paul Kane, Titan Books, 2023 Gothic Elements: ⦁ Outcasted women/women that are outliers ⦁ Occult - Fortune teller - Women that look like sorceresses and ghosts ⦁ Woman who has a distinct case of Heterochromia that leaves the main character unsettled ⦁ Insanity Greatest Works of Edgar Allan Poe Fingerprint! Class!cs Reprint 2023 This edition was found on Amazon. In no way am I gathering sales for them or earning commissions. I grabbed this copy because it truly encompasses the Dark Academia, and Gothic Academia theme in its style. Gothic Elements: ⦁ Victorian ⦁ Victorian gender ideals - Women were not allowed opinions, must be housewives, must marry, etc. - When women faced death, they were expected to face it daintily, and not cry out in pain/grief, because it was what men/society expected of women—to be graceful at all times. ⦁ According to Emily Baccam’s thoughts on her personal scholarly journal blog, titled A Woman of a Few (Million) Words with a post titled “The Portrayal of Women in the Works of Edgar Allan Poe”, that, in paraphrasing, Poe had a complex relationship with women, but it also seems that he was a bit ahead of his time, because women weren’t allowed to have choices during that time period, so Poe thought he would entertain the idea that when the women in his work came back as apparitions/vampires/other creatures of the night, it was to give them a choice. That they could choose to come back as such (Baccam). Looking at his work from a different angle, I can’t help but agree with this perspective of hers. ⦁ Themes - Madness Women were often driven to madness by repeated assaults, emotional turmoil, monotony of everyday life, postpartum depression, or even mental health issues that there wasn’t information/research about - Grief - Decay - Reanimation - Afterlife - Female vampires - Burying alive ⦁ Physical Description - Poe often used both the physical description of a woman alive and that of the woman after she was dead and coming back as some sort of afterlife creature. My research project started out in a thousand different directions. I wanted to examine them all. To learn and make the women of the past proud by saying I have accomplished something women could only dream about in centuries before me. I came to the conclusion that I knew I wanted to focus on female identity and my love of Gothic Academia and how could they, or how did they fit together, if they did. Leaning into my reading and personal writing bias of being more character focused vs plot based, I wondered about the possibility that the female identity, not just in character descriptions, but how they communicated, how they lived; could any of this drive the gothic story or poetry to make our hearts beat a little bit faster? To make our minds race around the track of anxiety, asking ourselves if we locked the door for the night, jolting us from our beds, or reading chair a second or third time. Some of the works I analyzed were, admittedly more difficult to draw a conclusion that female characterization could push a gothic story forward. We are used to seeing Gothic Academia use setting in old, crumbling mansions/castles, ruins of cemeteries, secret tunnels, and dark forests with tree branches that grab at you like an arthritic old crone to drive the narrative forward. But if one looks deeper, one can see that it isn’t always setting that has to take our minds to the dark recesses. It can be how a character looks, acts, their moods, even their feelings. If we can experience her fears, they become our own. Works Cited
Andrew Joseph White. The Spirit Bares Its Teeth. Holiday House, 5 Sept. 2023. Baccam, Emily. “Portrayals of Women in the Works of Edgar Allan Poe.” A Woman of a Few (Million) Words, 2 Aug. 2017, emilymwhitley.wordpress.com/2017/08/02/portrayals-of-women-in-the-works-of-edgar-allan-poe/. Cossar, Elena. “The Role of Women in Victorian England I Oxford Open Learning.” Oxford Open Learning, 1 Feb. 2021, www.ool.co.uk/blog/the-role-of-women-in-victorian-england/. Accessed 7 Nov. 2023. Dickinson, Emily. Envelope Poems. Edited by Jen Bervin and Marta Werner. Amazon, First Edition ed., New York, New Directions, 4 Oct. 2016, www.amazon.com/Envelope-Poems-Emily-Dickinson/dp/0811225828 /ref=sr_1_1?crid=1QF390ZFBBU57&keywords=envelope+poems+emily+dickinson&qid=1701900484&s=books& sprefix=Envelope+poems%2Cstripbooks%2C122&sr=1-1. Accessed 6 Dec. 2023. Grace, Adalyn. Belladonna. Hachette UK, 30 Aug. 2022. Harris, Robert. “Elements of the Gothic Novel.” Virtualsalt.com, 22 2019, www.virtualsalt.com/gothic.htm. Accessed 7 Nov. 2023. Hays, Katy. The Cloisters. Simon and Schuster, 11 July 2023. Invaluable. “Top 10 Elements of Gothic Literature.” Invaluable, 2 Nov. 2018, www.invaluable.com/blog/elements-of- gothic-literature/. Kahane, Claire . “Gothic Mirrors and Feminine Identity.” The Centennial Review, vol. 24, no. 1, 1980, pp. 43–64, https://jstor.org/stable/23740372. Accessed 7 Nov. 2023. Landau, Samantha. Haunted Homes and Uncanny Spaces: The Gothic in the Poetry of Emily Dickinson. 2015. Ledoux, Ellen. “Was There Ever a “Female Gothic”?” Palgrave Communications, vol. 3, no. 1, 1 June 2017, www.nature.com/articles/palcomms201742, https://doi.org/10.1057/palcomms.2017.42. Lisa. “Gothic Literature: A Definition and List of Gothic Fiction Elements.” Owlcation, Owlcation, 11 June 2012, owlcation.com/humanities/The-Gothic-Novel-What-is-Gothic-Literature. Accessed 12 Nov. 2023. Mitchell, Jane. “Reclaiming the Monster: Abjection and Subversion in the Marital Gothic Novel.” Studies in Arts and Humanities, vol. 4, no. 1, 14 June 2018, pp. 53–72, www.sahjournal.com/article/id/6066/, https://doi.org/10.18193 /sah.v4i1.125. Accessed 18 Nov. 2019. Poe, Edgar Allan. Greatest Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Amazon, First Edition ed., Fingerprint! Publishing, 1 June 2018, www.amazon.com/Greatest-Works-Edgar-Allan-Deluxe/dp/938777970X. Accessed 6 Dec. 2023. Rio, M L, et al. In These Hallowed Halls: A Dark Academia Anthology. Titan Books (US, CA), 12 Sept. 2023. Saar, Lezley. Madwoman in the Attic: The Female Gothic in 19th Century Literature, 8 Sept. 2012. Photo Credit:@ Tarren Young Sand Run Falls, Arnot, PA (one of the smaller (mini) falls) Spacious (Adj): Vast or ample, roomy.
Prompt: Are you open to a more spacious life? (From Joyful Journaling on FB hosted by Becca Rae Eagle) Spaciousness is a new notebook with all its vast wonder of possibilities. Stories of characters who travel to far off places, or characters who find solace in simple nightly tea and a warm hearth and a cat on the lap year-round. Spaciousness is those two characters somehow having a chance meeting in a grocery store, bumping carts accidentally, eggs oozing all over the floor and bruised bananas. She apologizes for his broken eggs and offers to give him some from her free-range chickens. What happens next is a spacious, vast, anyone’s guess. Does the homebody travel more? Or does the traveler stay more towards home and explore the little things? The paper is wide open for them to experience a life together (friendship? Lovers? Enemies?) on the page. It’s exciting. It’s a new adventure. Spaciousness is dreaming. And I mean dreaming big as all the universes and galaxies put together. A dream as big as a tidal wave that never ends, yet the hope of that dream buoys you to safety. And boy, do I have dreams. Big, Big dreams. Dreams that fill the pages of my personal journals and notebooks. Dreams are starting to take shape again because my husband got me addicted to DnD dice and said I could use them creatively in my writing. Wasn’t a bookmark or coffee mug addiction—um, I mean collection—enough? Nope. I couldn’t write for a while. I had the words. They were stuck in the box. That was my problem. Thinking too much in the box when my personality has always been the black sheep (hmm…I think it’s time to come up with a new metaphor. This one is starting to feel tired and worn out, like an old man with rheumatism) to color outside the lines. I spent years trying not to accept this fate, but now I embrace it. And I embrace all the sets of DnD dice I have because now I have discovered, thank you Universe, “Roll-A-Prompt” books by Melissa Banczak &Lisa Mahoney. (So far there is seven in the series. I have three. There is almost certainly a different theme for everyone.) Who knew some books and dice would be a total game changer for me “write” (pun intended) now? Okay, yes, the books; but probably did not expect the dice to be a game (0hh, another pun) changer because the other sets I had were sighing from boredom in their little carry case. Spaciousness is daring to dream and visualize my future home, my future log cabin, in the Adirondacks. I need land with a small babbling brook (that is one cliché I will never get tired of) and lots of moss, and acreage. Want to know why I need the acreage? Some of it is to stay wild. A hint of mystery to the treasures living in that wildness. Maybe I’ll make a back porch friend with a bobcat who will trust me enough to show me her babies. Spaciousness is never, EVER wanting to own chickens because you grew up around them on your grandpa’s land, and everywhere you stepped was chicken poop and one nasty rooster. Learning how to run track and field pole vaulting before knowing what any of that was. Spaciousness has grown me into desiring a handful of chickens to lay eggs on my Adirondack homestead. My bestie once dubbed us the Young Homestead where we live because I had a garden and was freezing and canning for several years. I still can some, but having a garden is more difficult now with a bad knee and some other health related issues. BUT! That doesn’t stop me from believing in the spaciousness and the hope toward “The Young Homestead” in the Adirondacks. I need to have a milking goat and a pygmy goat. And yes, the pygmy goat and cat and a middle-aged Golden Retriever will all be allowed to sleep on the bed. I have no idea where hubby will sleep. At this point, for sleep, he’s on his own. And I will read bedtime stories to all my animals cuddled next to me and on my feet; and we will all fall asleep, reading the book I have in my hand, with a homemade quilt over us, and the book falls out of my hand, onto the floor, dog-earring and bending some pages. But I don’t mind. I don’t find it sacrilege to mark spots in my books. Because a well-loved book is spacious and always has more to teach. Photo by Jess Bailey Designs: https://www.pexels.com/photo/round-gold-colored-analog-watch-with-pink-leather-strap-on-pink-notebook-1162519/ Resurrect: to bring about zombies.
Yep, that pretty much sums it up! My blog has been dead now for, two(?) (at least two) perhaps more like three years. But, I like things in threes. I learned in art class a looooonnnnggg time ago, that threes are visually appealing in threes because it gives your eye a place to rest in an art piece. And what is life, but a giant canvas? Even if it is abstract and messy art. Even if it feels imperfect. Because it is imperfect. My life. My writing. My hair—that for damn sure isn’t perfect!—my husband, (though I’ve tried desperately for many years to mold him into perfection, and after almost 16 years of marriage, have realized THAT is a futile attempt!) My meatloaf I’m planning on making for dinner—I don’t like onions and peppers, so it comes out kind of bland. I do use spices; I just don’t like those veggies and especially in chunky format. But it doesn’t stop me from making it. It might be bland, but I try different spices. I try different binding agents. And I never follow the same recipe twice. It’s an experiment. It’s its own form of art. Just like my writing. I mean, we’re talking way out in the middle of nowhere, East Bum Freak, nowhere, IMperfect! It took me a colossal amount of time to accept my imperfectness in my writing, to own the fact that, just like VE Schwab said on her “The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue” book tour, “Ideas are flawless. Pent o paper makes it imperfect.” And that, folks, hit me hard. To paraphrase what she suggested in that quote, is that it is super, duper, roller coaster scary to write down the ideas and stories in our heads, because they are perfect in our little minds, and putting them on the page, makes them feel like little blobs of gooey cookie dough not fit for consumption because we forgot an ingredient. (Trust me, I know this metaphor too well. I have only ever ONCE had no bakes set up for me, all other times, runny like a toddler’s nose during cold and flu season.) Let me think…was it the pb missing? Or cocoa powder? Or my patience? Probably that last one. We want to do justice to our stories. Our art. Whatever it is we make or bake or paint or sew… But there is only one person who can do all of that the way you do, and that’s YOU! Do you really want someone else to write your story? Bake your new cake recipe? Sell your sewing pattern? They say there is nothing new under the sun. And that is true in a way. But even with all the bazillion ideas floating out there, there is only one YOU and the way YOU do those things! Flaws and all! It feels hard to accept the fact that we are imperfect beings. But learning to lean into that imperfectionism, hold it gently, but firmly like a newborn kitten, we actually learn more about the world, and more about ourselves, and it truly does bring about a boulder size amount of freedom. Here is an honest and vulnerable journal entry from a prompt from Rebecca Rae Eagle’s Podcast “The Joyful Journaling Podcast,” Season 3, episode title “This is How We Do it Darlin’” (Shameless plug, she is on iTunes podcasts, Spotify and I believe Buzzsprout, and we have a FB group under Joyful Journaling w/Becca Rae.) If I didn’t have to journal perfectly, I would___________. Such a loaded prompt. I usually don’t follow prompts on a regular basis, but Joyful Journaling with Becca Rae has certainly turned me onto some very interesting topics. This prompt came from her podcast on Wednesday, May 24th, 2023, Season 3, episode titled “This is How We Do it Darlin.’” I will, sadly, admit that even though I didn’t get a chance to listen to it on that Wednesday, I do get my chance to on Thursday, May 25, 2023. I used to believe the old adage, “A Day late and a dollar short,” but I’ve come around to believing more and more that things happen at just the right time. Even if I don’t understand why at the time. Though I am always, always, always curious to know the why. Like a three year old; just ask my husband. I’m sure there have been many times he has, as the teens say now, wanted to yeet* me out the window when I ask him why he feels that way. Or why he didn’t do something or did do something a certain way. *Also, side tangent, it’s been a ridiculous amount of time since I have blogged, and in case the last entry was waaaaaaaaay too long ago, I have teenagers now! And yes, they absolutely hate it when I use their language. They find it highly sus and cringe. **And yes, in case you’re wondering, I am hoping to resurrect the blog. It’s something that has been on my heart and mind for a few weeks now and it’s time to just do it. This is your PS side tangent approved paragraph. Now back to your (ir)regularly scheduled blog post. I noticed myself circling a lot of words during that podcast, that jumped out to me. Things that I have needed to do for a long time to blossom even better than I am right now. Surrender Control Hear Through Best Judgement Perfectionism Joy Each of these words have a different possibility not only in her podcast, (but don’t just take my word for it. Check it out here: https://www.buzzsprout.com/1977090/12900638 or https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/joyful-journaling-for-body-mind-spirit-health/id1670782687?i=1000614090974 ) But took on their own meaning for me as well. Let’s just say, learning to let go of judgement against myself has been a monumental task all my life. Taller than Burj Khalifa in Dubai. Also, forgiveness and gratitude for myself. Those are only slightly less tall…roughly the size of Shanghai Tower, currently third tallest building in the world. I’ve eaten judgement and control and perfectionism for years like they were extra sugar on a bowl of frosted flakes in the 1980’s. And only recently started giving them up. But it’s not something I have been able to do overnight, and I have had setbacks. But I am in the process of working THROUGH those setbacks, and the trials of pouring sugar over my summer strawberries to taste the simple Joy in them. Don’t believe me? Here’s a recent journal entry I’m going to share with you, that came out of the prompt: If I didn’t have to journal perfectly, I would __________ At first, I was thinking the word have was going to be the whole thing. If I didn’t have to journal, what would I do? I immediately almost went panic mode because if I didn’t write, what would I do? Yes, I scrapbook and art journal, but God~ gave me the gift of writing. I am not blessed with numbers, and they often confuse me. So what would I do if I didn’t write? I almost really don’t want to know the answer to that. I was not designed for the small-town factory, same thing day, day out life of where I grew up. Yes, I am grateful for my blue-collar upbringing and the food it put on the table. But standing on an assembly line, when I could be teaching from a novel or Shakespeare, or sitting in the woods by a waterfall, writing my own novels (definitely trying to avoid ticks) is the life I have always dreamed of. That will teach me to go into future tripping, panic mode before I hear the rest of the sentence. Although I’m still in shock over Ray’s job loss sometimes, (that’s a whole mess of a story for another time) so when I hear certain words or phrases, my brain and body tend to go into automatic panic mode. And to be honest, working through other issues right now, it may be a while before I get to any real healing on that subject and time period in my life. It’s funny though because for as many years as I’ve journaled on an off since I was younger, in my journal, I don’t think I ever felt a need for perfectionism. At least—well, maybe I’ll take that back. When it came to writing in my personal diaries when I was young and my school reports/research papers for English and Science, I was always that perfectionist. I was always super over organized in High School, even with math even though the numbers confused me, and I had one teacher who didn’t explain it at all. Just wrote the problems on the board, and said that’s how you get that, without telling us how. And then the teacher didn’t understand why I couldn’t get it. There were some other people in my life who also tried to help me, but were math and logical orientated and kept saying, “well, we get it, how come you don’t?” How in the world do I always end up on math and numbers lately in my journaling? What is God trying to show me? Teach me? Grow me in? And that’s just it. Numbers are usually about perfection. Only common core could find a way to make 2+2=fish. And make it even way more confusing for me. And add extra steps to the process. Go figure. Languages change. Writing rules and spelling changes. Science is ever evolving every day. But numbers. Numbers stay the same. And one thing I’ve learned to at least try to overcome is my perfectionism in writing. And the big thing that helped me overcome that and the whole editing/rewriting before its done was Nanowrimo; and it even took a few years of trying before I overcame that. Yes, I might fix a typo in my stories now and then, but I don’t go back and erase/delete things until the story is done. Mostly anyway. I might add something in or delete an extra word, but I’ve really tried to overcome needing to have the perfect words written down every time from the get-go. And am I imperfect about that as well? YUP! But I’m a lot better than I used to be. Because for a while, I couldn’t even look at a blank page or screen without freezing up. And that’s hard to admit because I’m usually good at beginnings. Decent somewhat at the endings, and sloggy in the middle sections. So, I guess it’s taken some time to get into the mindset of learning to surrender. I’m a writer. I may not have a lot of typos in a writing piece, but even my journals have misspelled words and wonky phrases. And I’m okay with that. And starting with cheap notebooks also helped. Why? When I went to Italy, (18, my senior year of HS) I got this gorgeous leatherbound journal from the homemade leather shop we went to. Almost a hundred dollars in American cash. I wanted desperately to fill it with my adventures from Italy. I wanted to fill it on the plane ride home. And the first time I had to cross out a word, my heart fell. I was crushed. Because we didn’t ever see the great artists of that time have scratch marks and scribble marks on their pages. Papyrus was expensive. If they didn’t mess up, why did I have to? Of course, we know that’s far from the truth today. The airplane wasn’t invented the right way the first time around and even Shakespeare and VE Schwab had to and have to edit after the fact. For such a small-town school that geared towards factory life than college life, they sure were hard on us about perfectionism. I loved my English teachers, but sometimes, if there was even one typo, you would get docked 10 or 20 points. If I could go back and find that journal now, I would use it. I wouldn’t be so terrified of making the scratches and crossed out words and stray pen marks. That’s what makes a journal so beautiful; a hundred years from now, when my grandkids find my journals, they will want to see an imperfect human (though my own kids can’t read my handwriting, so the chances of my grandkids being able to read it are slim to none.) Once I learned how to accept my mistakes in my own journal, that’s when I started to move on to more expensive ones. $5 and $10 ones. One of these days, I’m going to move into that real Italian leather made, $100 journal. I wanted to post this yesterday. But I’ve been sick since yesterday morning. Ugh. Mainly just body aches and some coughing from aspirating on some of that yucky stuff that comes up in your throat when you have acid reflux. And I don’t mean the acid, I mean the vomit type stuff that lurks up by surprise.
Sorry for being gross. But every time I get some random stuff in my lungs, I cough like I have COPD (oh, wait...I do) and need nebulizer treatments for several days. This time around, apparently I have body aches with it. It feels like that three letter F word we will not mention. I have been tackled today several times by a linebacker puppy whom I think bruised my kidney. No joke. Anyway, though it is hard for me to type with sore/achy limbs, I need to find a different position to sit for a while than just the bed or recliner. Today I want to dive into my review of “The Nightingale” by Kristin Hannah. I almost do not know where to start, and there probably will be spoilers. Fair warning. My copy of this book is/was 564 pages long. It was one that I decided to read for a book group that a friend of mine was starting. I have known this friend since I went to camp! Something like 25 years or so! It was the kind of friendship that even if we lost touch for a few years, we’d always end up finding each other. The type of friend who when email first came out and everyone thought it was great to email, we would still send letters to each other. Anyway, when she approached several people about it, I thought it would help me reach my goals of reading more this year. One book club based on theme, and one where everyone reads the same book. Considering I read 5(!) books in January (completely unheard in the dawn of ever for me) I thought I could handle this. And then realized I had one week to read the book before our evening meeting. Facepalm. And I’ll be honest. I read the first 60 pages and thought, okay, maybe the backstory will be over now. Then I read up to 200 pages and thought, okay, I need to either DNF it now or just show some grit and plow through it. 200 pages of backstory ought to be enough backstory. And it went on. The real story, in my opinion, could have started around page 300. And we finally started to get a smidge of action. But, it was still backstory heavy. Also, the whole book was extremely redundant. Disclaimer: I know this book takes place in WWII. I know the point of it was to tell the stories of women during the war. I respect that she wanted to find other stories of women from the war that were buried in the archives, so to speak. I respect the fact that she tried to give life to something incredible that could have been lost to history. Even if the story itself was fictionalized, the historical facts of prison camps were true. That’s one reason I love fiction, is taking the liberties to have the stories come to life. But I truly feel this story could have been better written by someone else. Yes, I get that during the War, everyday was standing in lines with rations cards. But, we knew this, and we did not need to be told every page, every paragraph. I felt, that as a writer, she was thinking her reader to be stupid enough to forget that that’s what daily life was like. In one scene, on page 219-220, she mentions people smoking five times. This would have been a huge NO-NO, in every writing class, workshop and group I’ve been in. Kristin Hannah has been publishing since the early 90’s. To me, it seems in that amount of time, a person should be able to grow as a writer. I am not trying to be judgemental, per se, because these are just my own opinions and people are allowed to read whatever and whoever they want. I personally feel like there was no growth in her writing at all even from the beginning of the book, and most (not all) will have grown in their writing even from the beginning of their book to the end. But, what do I know? Continuing on, there were many parts I found to be terribly cliche. And as much as I like a little bit of purple prose, in the rare moments she did write something descriptive, it definitely felt like it did NOT pertain to the story that much, if at all. Even with as much redundancy, and backstory, and not a lot of action, there were many times that had plot holes so big a tractor trailer could have been driven through them. YES, I am a writer. YES, I usually participate in NANOWRIMO. YES, I also have plot holes that submarines could dive through and still not reach the bottom of the Mariana Trench. BUT this is why I have a group of people who are willing to help me. If our writer’s group had helped with this novel, it could have been more succinct, and cut at least close to 250 pages out. And it would have been a stronger story. My husband and I have differing opinions on her writing in this. I feel like her editor didn’t do the job an editor should be doing. Writing that each character in that scene is smoking, when the character could have easily said, “Everyone in the room held a cigarette in their fingers.” Yes, I know everyone has their own writing style. But I am still scratching my head on this one. This smoking scene nearly made me throw the book across the room in anger because of that. Hubby thinks she has a (or several) ghostwriters. I disagree because even writer’s that I don’t like or read, most of them enjoy the feeling of bleeding onto the paper, and giving cpr to characters who are trying to flatline, and pulling our hair out in clumps on any given day while we sit in front of the keyboard. (Looks at shoulders and pulls loose hairs off my shirt…) I have no right to judge. But, as a reader, I am allowed to have an informed opinion. And I really did not like this book at all. Too much backstory, too much repeating, not enough action, too much, “and then, and then, and then,” little to no editing. As such, I will not pick up another book by this author. My overall rating for this book is a 2, and that is being generous because I do respect the reason why she wanted to write this book. Below are some pictures of my copy. Just because I did not like this book, I still highlighted and took notes and put sticky tabs in pages that I had wanted to discuss during the book meeting, should those things have been brought up. I’m 38 years old.
Does the bullying ever end? I don’t deny the fact that I was the “Teacher’s Pet, Dork, Nerd. Fat.” The “Ugly Duckling” who never came out of the “Ugly” phase. I was called all of these. I cared more for my grades than attempting to have sex in high school. Okay, well, I also won’t deny that I cried a LOT waiting for my turn to have a special relationship. But even with the two boyfriends I had in school, my grades were more important to me than sex. But that is another blog post. Today, I want to talk about the fact that people are still cruel. Why? I will never understand it. I am a huge empath, and bullying makes me want to crawl into a hermit shell with five blankets over my head. And that’s hard for an extrovert like me. For anyone who may not understand what an empath is, they are a person who feels so many emotions, and emotions between emotions that their body automatically starts feeling and taking on the emotions of other people in the room. This is not their choice. It just happens automatically. So they don’t take to bullying very well. And if a person is like me, we don’t take well to short, clipped answers. Sadly, we know people don’t like to walk on eggshells or beat around the bush, but we need a gentle voice. We may not respond well to the short, clipped answers that people in a fast paced world use. We need a soft cushion to fall on. Not glass that sticks into our skin and never comes out. Yes. Tone is everything for us. Okay. Now that that stage is set, I got bullied for my OPINION over a book. A BOOK! This year, I wanted to read as many books as possible, and decided to join as many book clubs as I could. One of them was an online one. One of those that has like a bazillion members from around the world. Where you try to make friends. Try to come together and have civil conversation over books you like or dislike. Keyword: Civil. The first rule of the group (Facebook based) was NO BULLYING. Someone posted their opinion about Kristin Hannah’s book “The Great Alone.” She preceded it with something along the lines of how she knew she probably had an unpopular opinion, but...and said how she didn’t like it. It was too wordy. Too much backstory and not enough action. Everything I felt about The Nightingale. And, my very first comment I made in this book group was, “I felt the same way about The Nightingale.” 300 pages of backstory, and overly wordy and not enough action for me. Too much telling and not enough showing. I will not read anything by her again.” And then… I got lit into. Someone came at me tagging me and saying, “Tarren, judgmental much?” I replied back in a calm manner that I studied English and Creative Writing. All my high school and college professors taught us to look out for exactly this. To pepper backstory throughout. To show action, not tell it. I prefer to read a story, not be told a story. This is my OPINION, and last I knew, I was still allowed to have my own over what I read and don’t read.” I got tagged again, by the same person, with a seething tone of “Tarren, WHAT HAVE YOU WRITTEN?” Like, what the actual fuck? At that point, I was livid, but I was also in tears. I mean, I realize the internet is a place full of bullies down dark web alleys and people who troll just to tick other people off. On the other hand...can’t we all just stop being petty and stop the bullying? What it boils down to is that apparently, this is someone’s favorite author, or favorite book, and because I didn’t like it, they got their panties in a twist. I love Harry Potter books. I have fallen completely head over heels in love with V E Schwab (even more so than Harry Potter) and her book “The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue” was everything to me this year (from October 6, 2020 (release date) to now. I’m using the term year figuratively here. Quite possibly in metaphor, simile, ambiguity, hyperbole, Monopoly ™® vertically and horizontally as well) but I am not out there tearing people a new asshole just because they didn’t like it. Yes, I get excited when someone else DOES like it. But they are allowed NOT to like it. It’s no skin off my back if someone doesn’t like my favorite author. It’s 2021 people. Can we please just stop with the bullying? Enough already. It’s been long. Too long. I thought having a blog would help me keep my sanity this past year. I was wrong. Even a bit naive, perhaps. Maybe I even put too much pressure on myself. Nobody liked 2020. There was fear. And Loathing. And Depression. Despite my best efforts to avoid the Bi-polar Depression this year, it still hit me. Bigger than usual. It hit right after the spring when I was bored and ordered so.many.games, that my kids actually begged me to stop buying games. There are still a few we haven’t played yet. And Depression hit after my birthday in October and hung around through Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday. And though I would like to go deeper into this post about the effects of this year on mental health, I would like to just end the year on something positive. Fair warning: I haven’t written anything in a good long while, so please forgive any typos. Some of the positive things for our family this year: ~I got my truck paid off! That feeling is so awesome! ~We got a tent! I’ve been wanting one for several years and finally managed to get one this year. ~We got a puppy! We've been thinking about a puppy/dog on/off for the last two years. This year was the year it happened to work out for us! (Please send bandages! Apparently my meaty hands are tasty...) ~And I managed to set a reading goal, and not only did I met that goal, I read two over my goal! I’m a slow reader. I love all the details, symbolism, and metaphors, and soaking it up. My goal was 20 books, which doesn’t seem like a lot to many people, but I managed to read 22 books this year! My reading list for this past year: (Except for 1 and 2, these are in no particular order)
My goals for 2021 are: ~Read 25 books ~Write (I haven’t set an official goal yet, but I’m hoping to potentially get a Macbook and perhaps start with 500 words a day/5 days. If I get more than that, it will be icing on the cake. ~My focus word for the year is: GRIT. What are some of the books that you read? And what are some of the goals you have or a focus word for the year? 4/1/2020 Quarantine Log day...something. 5789 perhaps. I thought about posting this almost a week ago, but after posting my interviews, I like to keep things light. And yesterday? Last week? (today? Because I’m time traveling into the future to look back on today? Great, now I’ve gone and confused myself. Not like that’s hard. Insert Ray Steven’s song “I’m My Own Grandpa” kind of confusion) I’m not entirely sure what is holding me together at this point in the game. I feel like I’m holding on by a thread. Last week, I worked really well with the kids and their schooling. So far, the $60 of workbooks I bought off Amazon before we were in the no school zone, are beautiful and wonderful. I love the way the science workbook is set up. And the kids are not giving me too much of a hard time. Last week, hubby didn’t have a lot of work to do from home. Most of his IT work needs to be done from in the office, but he’s not labeled an essential worker, even though he is both software and hardware. This week, he’s been in a lot of meetings, and even though I can see him sitting at the table, I have to pretend he’s not there. That he’s a ghost. And I have to keep the kids quiet. And that’s harder this week because everything is all off schedule. Last week, I went with the flow. One day schooling would be done in the morning. The next in the afternoon. Or vice versa. I didn’t yell at anyone! Yay! My personal goal for this quarantine disaster for us extroverts, was to not lose my shit on anyone during this time frame. To quell my anger and frustration. I’ve been listening to a wonderful friend read beautiful messages in the morning. Well, she does them in the morning, I may not get to them until the afternoon. I bought a book by Pema Chodron, called Comfortable with Uncertainty. I’ve read two passages, as it just showed up three days ago, and I wanted to read the passages as a first thought kind of thing. Even if my waking time is not 5am, but rather 9 or 10. So I started the day after I received it. I read the passage today and I still wigged out on my husband. Actually, I fell apart, on the phone to my best friend about my husband. And she let me cry. She let me say some not nice things about my husband. Who just let it go in one ear and out the other because he knows that I’m working on not yelling and throwing laundry baskets across the room. (Another story for another time.) My bestie asked what I needed in that moment. And I didn’t know. I.Did. Not. Know. I don’t feel like that’s okay, because I usually DO know what I need. I have to be okay with not knowing what I need. This is confusing shit. This is hard shit. I’ve been working on reading for myself when the kids are done with schooling. I’ll take a hot bath with a good book. I’ll shave my legs. Yes, for whatever reason, shaving my legs makes me feel better. It’s like all my worries are going down the drain with all those stupid little hairs. Insert Q life here Sorry for the disruption of the blog post, but even in the midst of Chaos, life still apparently happens. And by life, I mean Chaos. We’ve all been dealing with Allergy Season 2020 here. Everyone is afraid to cough or sneeze for fear of the new plague. Today is April 6, 2020, and by the time it gets posted it will probably be April 7th. Seriously, I’m the keeper of time and calendars in the house, and as my husband likes to put it to the kids, “Mommy is the glue that keeps the family together.” What if the glue isn’t sticky anymore? Last night we had hamburgers, potatoes, asparagus and mini frozen corn done on the grill. As soon as the temps hit around 50, that charcoal comes out, baby. But it’s not a damn steak. I need a freaking steak! And everywhere or every time the hubs goes shopping for meat, there are no steaks! And yes, though I could order one from a restaurant and have him bring it home, it’s just not the same, and it's gone cold by the time he gets home. We got a lovely gift card to The Steakhouse In Wellsboro, Pa for Christmas 2019. I stare at that thing daily and drool. I’m having mental breakdowns over a slab of meat. Okay, I should rephrase that for my vegetarian friends. I’m having breakdowns because what I need is Iron. And I hate Kale. So, I’ve been thinking about what I need during this time of trying not to rip the walls apart. I’ve put together my own Self-Care Checklist below, and feel free to use mine to help with your own self care, or use mine as a guideline to come up with your own. These are trying times, especially for extroverts, and we need to help people. Even if the people we are helping are ourselves by laying on a heating pad all day because you pulled a muscle in your back. And you end up dropping cans of cat food on the floor while trying to organize cookbooks, and cups and cereal while looking for one recipe, and you distinctly remember NOT putting it back in the box, along with all the other recipes floating around, so you get frustrated enough to pull out the recipe box, and find out you have three coleslaw recipes, five buffalo chicken wing dip recipes (no lie) and the last recipe you have before you is that damn recipe… Oh, and I haven’t written anything for Camp NANO for days, because, who knows why at this point. It’s probably all just excuses anyway, except for that muscle, which I’m pretty sure is strained from all the coughing. Yes, the muscle sits right near my ribs. And Yes, I was prepared for this, because after the sinus infection passed, the doctor told me I’d hit my allergies hard core this year. Welcome to the sinus belt. Forgive me while I go and bang my head against the wall. Anyway, for better or worse, here is my self care checklist, in no particular order. ⎸ Taken Vit. D? (With little Sunshine & Quarantine, this is essential. Ask your primary care physician first if you need it.) ⎸ Showered? Morning--to wake up Evening--wind down I vary the times I get my showers depending on what is going on. Be mindful of your skin and the weather though. You don’t want to dry out your skin too much, and where we live, we have hard water. Dry skin central if I were to shower two or three times a day. ⎸ Got dressed? ⎸ One household chore that makes you feel accomplished? ⎸ Eaten a proper meal? (This one is big for me as I often forget to eat without realizing it) ⎸ Read Devotional, Bible, Religious text or passage of self guidance book of choice ⎸ Meditate/Pray ⎸ Exercise/Yoga (This one I struggle with the most. I loathe exercise, and even when we are not under quarantine, I hate walking. I will hike, or ride a bike, but I hate walking, and I hate jogging even worse, and I have very little ligaments and cartilage in my left knee especially because of osteoarthritis. Exercise at home is also difficult for me as I don’t have the accountability. I would rather take swimming, or yoga or zumba in a class setting than at home.) ⎸ Journal ⎸ Read for @least 15-20 minutes or longer ⎸ Talk to a friend (A lot of people are doing video chats. With self confidence issues to begin with and not being great at eye contact, I don’t like video chats that much but I will talk on the phone.) ⎸ Do something creative Color Sew Scrapbook/art journal Write (Poetry, story, book review, snail mail letter) Beadwork Paint Bake ⎸ Hot Bubble Bath With a book Music Or some lit candles I’m learning, slowly, that it’s okay to not know what I need. It’s okay to know what I do need and speak it, instead of trying to deny the existence of the beast within. The more I try to ignore it, the bigger it gets. I’m currently reading a wonderful book by Pema Chödrön titled Comfortable with Uncertainty (Thank you Alethia for that--and you should totally check out her blog as well!) and I’m learning that it’s okay to befriend who we are. We don’t have to become our best selves yet to become our own friend. We fall in love with people who aren’t perfect, whether it’s romantic or friendship, so why should we think ourselves garbage and need to do and be better before we can be our own friend? And yes, I’m counting down the days until I get to use my gift certificate :) I will probably get a lot of flack from this, but: Though I appreciate the sentiment behind this message, there are some of us who are so socially wired, that we are literally clawing and ripping wallpaper in our homes right now because of being Q'd. Yes, I know we all have to do our part. I am trying to do that. The only time I was getting out was groceries and therapy, and now, even my therapy has to be done by teladoc! Seriously, some of us NEED that face to face with a therapist. That's why we have therapists. I know, it's for their safety too. I get that. Our family already played games together. We camped together. We cook together. I hate the thought of ordering groceries. It's so impersonal, plus, I like to pick my own oranges and apples and squash. I don't want someone else picking it out for me. Yes, I appreciate all the cashiers and people who work at the grocery stores. I always have. But if I'm on a budget and the difference is going to come down to a pound of bananas vs three quarters of a pound, I need to know that I'm the one figuring out my own budget in the grocery store. And I am grateful for the nurses and pharmacists that still go to work everyday. I'm a very social creature. I THRIVE emotionally on coffee houses and libraries and museums. I know when I need to take a break from society and recharge. It's usually about THREE days and then I have cabin fever. That's it, THREE days! My personal fear after all of this, is that so many people will have gotten curbside groceries, forgotten about libraries and forgotten how to be social in general, because Skype can only do so much. Yes, in times like these, it’s better than nothing. Us social beings are getting yelled at and spit at right now because we have very little tolerance for being able to stay home. But think about it this way, if the shoe were on the other foot, and the introverts extroverts, and had to run errands all week, every day all day and they weren’t used to that, I’m sure they would be extra grumbly too. Some of us are in our element right now. Some of us are not. For those of us who are not, please remember to be a little extra patient with us as we fight off panic like we are a tiger in a locked cage. And this just may be for shock value, or maybe because it’s 1:30 in the morning, I was born and raised in the 80’s and early 90’s. A time where if someone in the neighborhood got chicken pox, your parents sent you over to play with them, just to get them done and out of the way. Enter collective gasp of modern society. I know that can’t be done with what’s going on. Believe me. I have an autoimmune disorder (two of them, hypothyroid and pcos) and copd. So, in theory, I would be high risk, yes. But it doesn’t mean that I’m not going bananas over here. Please be patient while I yell and scream during my panic attacks. And I always thank my UPS driver no matter how many times a day he’s showing up right now… Also, I have some free boxes for anyone that needs them... |
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