Silence is Golden

And duct tape is silver.................

I couldn't figure out why for the last two weeks or so my muse has been reluctant to play, to say the least. I have written and erased so many lines, my backspace button is getting shiny and worn through. I finally realized it was.....

Mommy, can I have a Popsicle?
Mommy, can we go to (fill in store name here) so I can see if they have something I will bug you to buy me?
Hey mom, check out this cool thing....

And then when I've had enough, I say--'I'm going downstairs to write, you need me, come get me.' hoping I'll have some peace to think in.
And then I'll sit there for an hour waiting for someone to come and interrupt. When I give in an come upstairs, everyone is crashed in front of the tv, usually the stupidest thing on satellite blaring at full volume. Then I get irritated and turn it off, trying to put some good old fashioned summertime back in summer. 'Go outside, do SOMETHING!' I say.
Then the voices start.
'Mommy, what do tapeworms think?'
'Can I have ice cream?'
'What is your Visa password?'
'Can I order this cool thing off this dubious internet site?'

I love my kids.
Really. Truly. But sometimes I wish we lived in Mayberry and not in the sticks. Then they could go bother Mr. Greenjeans once in a while, and roll hoops down Main Street with the Rascals. Then maybe I might get some writing done. After I bake the pie, that is......

Indepen-dance

Independence can be a very personal thing. One person's slavery is another person's freedom in possession. Believe it or not, all people like to be owned. It's a very safe way to live. The only difference between anyone is the point where you draw that personal line in the sand and say "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that..." (thank you Meatball!) That line is where you dance, proclaiming your independence from ________. Fill in the blank with whatever "that" you won't do. Me? I've railed against all kinds of things in my misbegotten youth: The Man, conventional thinking, western medicine, you name it. In the last year, I have focused on one simple thing to fill in that blank.
Fear.
I have declared my independence from fear.
I've heard the advise that you should do one thing a day that scares you. While not quite going to that level, I've come pretty damn close. I've done things and had things done to me in the last year that I was so afraid of I couldn't even think about them without having a panic attack. I won't bore you with the stupidly mundane, but i will give the short list:
Dentist-haven't been for twenty years. Had my first cleaning and partial root canal this week. Didn't pass out even once.
Airsoft-Joined a group of uber-testosteroned young men and shot at each other, sometimes drawing blood, twice a month for a year. Even joined a team and played at an invitational.
People-I'm awkward. Raised by wolves. Can't have a conversation without inserting foot deeply in mouth. I've talked to more people and made more contacts this last year than ever before. Didn't get my house TP'd once.
Just Did It-Started and am on my way to finishing my first book. Learned how the mower works. Shaved my dog. Many many things I would have put off indefinitely, I did. Without thinking it to death. FBI still not taking away my birthday.

I know that all of this is just the beginning, and I'm both tired and glad. May the good times roll, and the force be with me.
And you.

Send lawyers,guns and money

Today, I was a fugitive from the law.
The law was unaware of it at the time, but it still involved sneaking around town using back roads and using my best evasion tactics.
It was nerve wracking and invigorating at the same time. Ok, maybe I was feeling a bit paranoid, but my expired inspection sticker seemed to be twice it's size and blazing neon yellow, screaming out to any police in a five square mile radius to "Bust her! Ticket the infidel!!"
And to top it off, I couldn't find an inspection station that wasn't packed to the rafters with the same shifty eyed on the run people as I had become.
I guess I have to start making better to-do lists....

Fear and Loathing in Northern Virginia

I don't get it.
Really, I don't.
I've lived here for longer than any other place I have ever lived for my entire life, and I still don't get NorVa.
Maybe it's my Long Island birth, or my Midwest upbringing. Possibly it's my lack of hometown, giving me a jaundiced eye on a place that seems to harbor an unusually (to me) high number of generational residents. Ah, let's not forget the untoward aversion to McMansions.
Or maybe it's the question.
The one that I've been bombarded with from the first time I had a conversation that went farther than 'how are you-fine-have a nice day'.

"So, what do you do?"

Now, you have to see this from where I was coming from at the time. We moved here right after 'Navy Days', ten years of ships, boats, and dockyards. Men were sailors, women (except for the odd clerk) were moms. That's just how we rolled. So the question of careers leaned more towards the ascent through the ranks for the husband, and had nothing to do with mothers leaving home to have a career. Oh, there were women who worked, but mostly that was just to make ends meet, and mostly involved the Commissary or the Exchange. Career? Hah, try moving to a different state every eighteen months and see how that works for you.
So when I was questioned about my occupation, I answered the same way I do on my taxes. Homemaker, or some variation on it, not thinking about the social suicide I just brought down on my head. The immediate dismissal that I invariably received startled me. I had people turn their backs on me, walk away, or turn to the person next to me and start a conversation in the middle of my response.

Whoa.
Hello.
Welcome to NorVa.

I don't care what you do. I'm not impressed. I couldn't give a flying flaming rats rear about your earning potential, college degree, or security clearance.What I do care about is 'Who are you?' How do you live your life? Are you a racist, atheist, sadist, devout Hindu? Do you hide your dreams, or share them with your cat? What is your favorite book and why? Is that your natural hair color? Did you ever have an abortion? Do you remember your dreams? How do you feel about pudding?

I would not do it differently if given a choice. I'm not sappy or sentimental for the most part about my kids. I'm too much of a realist for much romanticizing.It's not all about 'the children, think of the children'. I knew before my first was born that someone would have to raise her, and considering that I made her, I wanted it to be me. I give it my all, even though the kids would rather be given less time and more money with the age they are at now.
So I've come up with a coping mechanism. Every time someone asks me nowadays 'so, what do you do?', I turn around and walk away. I'm a big one for preventative maintenance.

I still don't get this place, though.

Benchmarks

Ever reached a goal and realized that it wasn't a goal at all? That it was but a benchmark, a place you put a tag into to remember the spot by, and keep going? I thought I had a goal to reach, and it has turned out to be a benchmark. Writing my first novel-length story, I knew I had to have a minimum of 50,000 words to be considered an adult sized book, and not a young adult . Well, I set that goal, thinking it would be a struggle to reach. That 50,000 is an awfully big number, said I. You're going to have to stretch some things, said I.

Nope.

I made that goal yesterday, and blew right past it.


The ending is forming in my head, but it is still in it's infancy on paper. Ok, word processor. Yet there are still things I know I need to go back and fill in, holes that I left in plots, emotions that still need fleshed out. Twice my original estimate is sounding about right, if I continue the way I have been. By no means will it have an unwieldy heft, like something akin to Tolkien, but I don't think I'm looking at a thin book here. More muscular, if you will, without going that creepy extra mile to bodybuilder covered in veins look.

Oh, and I have to thank Joe, who gave me some interesting conversation this morning-dreams are a magnificent thing. The houses you built in your sleep fascinate me.

Atlas sneezed

Cursed is the person who is adaptive, intelligent, observant, and engages their work ethic daily. I would like to say that the work on the bathroom is done and looks fabulous. Not far from it, but still not done. Several things managed to rear their ugly heads the moment I decided to concentrate on other things than writing, and mostly derailed my good intentions. Such as the innocent call to the electric company that resulted in the replacement of the entire breaker panel/hot feed into the house. Then the husband going out of town for a week and the yard growing a foot the day he left (I swear I could hear it growing!!) Mow, mow, and mow again...Oh, and don't let me forget the four pieces of wood furniture I got in a moment of insanity, unfinished of course. Self sabatoge, who me??
And what have we learned from this, boys and girls? No matter the intent, don't let anything talk you into abandoning a dream to take care of "just one or two small things". Those one or two will turn into a great sucking void that will take all of your time and energy until you have nothing left for yourself. I have had to force myself to realize I'm only one person, and can't do it all myself, not in a tight time frame. I have gone to the extent of walking around saying "I'm just one person, I'm just one person" to myself as I'm trying to take care of an entire weeks worth of contractor work in one morning, on top of cleaning up and planning dinner. .*sigh* Still getting used to the concept, bear with me.
I'm back to writing now, making room for it every day. Regardless of the progression on the rehab of the house, I make myself attend to my writing every single day. I can fix up a house, but if I let my dreams fall apart again, I don't know if I can put them back together anymore.

Taking a Break

I have done what I do best-get impatient. The bathroom/livingroom has taken too long to rebuild in my estimation, so I have taken matters into my own hands. Off has gone the computer and writing time, up have been taken drywall tools, joint compound, and primer. It's going well, but I am missing writing more than I thought I would. It gives me incentive to finish this and some other projects so that I can get back to what I think I could be good at. If I can get the house under control, then it actually will make the writing more enjoyable, so I can sit and write and not look up and see stud walls and dangling wires. Not my first choice for decor!