I should be asleep…

I was laying in bed messing around on my phone and came across the app for this site and I realized it has been quite awhile since I last wrote – so I thought I would write a little something. I’m not sure how this will end up or what I’ll talk about.

But something…

I want to say that I haven’t been writing because my life has been busy and hectic and I honestly didn’t have any time to write. But that would be a lie. I wish I could tell you that I have had my nose deep in writing and that I am near completion of the book I’ve been writing since 2012 (Frost is the title, don’t forget – one day.) But that would be a lie. If only I could tell you that I have this wonderful new job and I have been wanting to work hard and be helpful to everyone around. But that would be a lie.

Truth is – I have writers block so bad that I can’t unscramble my thoughts. Boyfriend && I have decided to buy a house (thoughts are glued to that so bad that I have actually forgotten to pay bills.) I don’t work any more or less than I have in the past eight years. So basically, my lack of writing is pure laziness on my part.

So, with that in mind, I opened the laptop today to at least write a small something or another.

I have been thinking about starting a YouTube channel. I have actually been thinking about that since 2015, but I chicken out. No, I wouldn’t say chicken out – it’s more about how I would come across to people whether they are in my life or complete strangers. I could never come up with a topic – YouTube channels have ‘topics’. Most of them are gaming, make-up, or tutorials. So I broke it down – I am not a gamer. I can not even do my own make up, let alone try to teach people to do it and I have no talent to explain how to do something to strangers. So that’s where I was at until earlier this year. Well, a few months ago, to be exact.

I find myself just messing around on Facebook a lot, not really doing anything, just looking. One night while Boyfriend played PUBg, I was watching videos on there and came across Mukbang’s. (Before you think, oh no, not another one)… I do not plan on starting a Mukbang channel. But what I did realize is that my love of food could be a channel – but for cooking. So that’s there – I don’t know if I’ll ever actually do it – I’m not sure if I have the face for videos.

It’ll probably never happen – It is probably a very stupid idea.

>subject change<

On the buying of house, that you’re probably wondering why I’m not talking about more – it’s… still in work of progress. I’ll talk about that more at a later date, but it’ll happen.

>subject change<

“Frost”.. isn’t any closer to be finished, but it’s there – always on my mind. Stalking my mind like a crazy man wanting a date. I have faith that one day I’ll finish it. I was hoping it would be by the end of this year (yes, I know, the year isn’t even half over… oh wait, this is the sixth month – so it’s half way over. But yes, I know I still have six months before the year is over; I’m just basically getting prepared for the inevitable.)

So yeah, that’s where I’m at – not on top, not on bottom. Just somewhere floating around in the middle. But it’s after two in the morning and I should be sleeping… Hopefully I can write more and stuff and other stuff and more stuff and less stuff and crooked stuff and side ways stuff and stuff filled with more stuff covered in stuff.

Until that stuff happens…


I don’t measure.

I have been wanting to make a cookbook. (Not published cookbook – but one for me. Something that I can keep all my foods in order with.)

Recently Boyfriend &&& I bought a notebook so I can finally make that cookbook. I took it out tonight to start writing in a few recipes I could think of right off hand. But as I was writing in it I realized something…

I don’t know measurements.

Why? The answer is simple. I don’t measure. I add things in by taste and sight. I have been like that since I began cooking. Every cookbook I have ever read has always had measurements (not that I follow them) and not just a bunch of ingredients and ramblings about how to make it.

But here I am. A big cookbook loser! I’m kind of faking it but there are things I use in recipes that I don’t measure that if you tell someone, “Just pour until you think it’s enough”, they’d think you were crazy. But that’s where I’m at.

Olive oil. For an example – I never measure it. Not because I don’t know how, but because I use sight and taste. I’ve always figured that’s just as good. Is it, isn’t it? It’s worked for me, anyway.

Seasonings. Pepper, salt, paprika, etc… No measuring.

Liquids… sometimes, okay, most of the time. I just pour. Taste. Taste. Season. Taste. Taste.

Meh. I think I’ll just write what I want to write and just deal with it. (I just laughed to myself.) It’s not as if someone else will ever see it. I have no one to pass it down to, so it’ll just decay when I’m gone. So I guess it technically doesn’t matter.

Then why am I complaining? Am I complaining?

I have the munchies.

Lately, I have been doing well with overcoming my “munchie” dilemma. However, tonight, as I sit here fiddling on the laptop watching The Boyfriend play PUBg I can’t get passed the urge to munch on something. Now you’re probably thinking, go get something. While I applaud the thought, I stopped buying “munchie food” and bringing it into the house. Mostly, because if it’s not here, I don’t usually want it. Tonight, though, I really want a bag of chips.

I never want chips.

Why am I rambling about having the munchies? I told myself at the beginning of this year that I was going to post more on here. But I am failing at it miserably. I started off well – I was on a writing steam engine headed on a fast track. I guess I fell off and now I am laying in a pile of trash on the side of the road.

I think it’s because in the last couple of years I haven’t read much. I am told a lot “to write you need to read”. I’ve been in a huge reading slump, which is a sad slump to be in, but I am trying to fix that. While fiddling on Facebook the other day I downloaded fifteen books onto my Kindle and began reading them. I finished two books I had started earlier last year: “Twister Tales” by Steve Lenore &&& “On Writing” by Stephen King. Then I began reading the first three books of a 10 book series called “Brie’s Submission”, by Red Pheonix: the first three are “Teach Me”, “Love Me”, && “Catch Me”. I’ve already finished the first and I’m beginning the second. At first, I didn’t think I was going to like the story, it seemed…. silly. But I kept reading thinking I need to read more this year – so I can finally finish editing my book. So I kept going and the more I read, the more I actually liked it. Will I like it enough to make it through book ten? That will be a toss up.

The “Twister Tales” was written by a local meteorologist here and I found it very fascinating. I mean, come on! It was a book about tornadoes! Who doesn’t find those fascinating? I was hesitant when it came to reading the one by Stephen King – I didn’t want to purchase a book if I wasn’t going to be able to read it. When it comes to him, he’s a good writer, I know this – however, just like most books written by men, I get bored quickly. This one, though, everyone kept saying needs to be read if you’re a writer. So, I bought it and I’m really glad I did. Some of my major issues when it comes to writing he addressed and spoke about them in length. Afterward, I realized that I wasn’t writing wrong, I was just being told wrong. I marked that book up along with sticky notes, highlighters, and notes. I’m getting on the bandwagon, if you’re a writer, you NEED to read that book.

Now I feel as if I need to read one of his actual books.

***Also, while writing this I went to the store and got potato chips, cheese dip, a Slim Jim &&& a Sunkist. Munchie emergency averted!

Nightmare -vs- Bad Dream

I have been having horrible dreams off and on since I was fifteen. They always varied from not able to find my brother during bad times, to shooting my grandfather, to finding my mother pulling a butcher’s knife on me.

Yeah, I know that those kinds of dreams are usually triggered by something traumatic – mine was burying my mother. I buried her at fifteen and the dreams started.

However, they have been non-existent for a while now &&& I was hoping I was done with them. Today, a day I don’t work, I’m awake at 4 o’clock in the morning thanks to a bad dream. This one – was about possession.

It wasn’t really scary – I didn’t have my moment like the people in movies and television shows where I roll around in bed, sweating, moaning, and then JUMP really high breathing heavily trying to figure out what was happening. No. I am a quiet bad dreamer, if you will.

This morning the boyfriend was wandering around the room and so I just sat up, normally, and looked at him. Eventually grabbing paper and drawing what the “demon” looked like. My Boyfriend – LOVES scary movies – so I figured if I drew it for him he might tell me where I saw it, heard of it, or maybe just passed by it.

He looked and brought up Jeff the Killer – but his eyes were wrong. Plus, in all of my years, I have never heard of “Jeff the Killer”. It might be half because I am not an artist, in the least, but I think I did pretty well for someone who did not inherit any form of drawing gene from anyone in my family.

Dream Demon.

I don’t know, it may have just been random. I have yet to find anything important from my dreams. Except maybe the ones with The Brother – only thing I could think of, anytime I REALLY needed him, he wasn’t anywhere around. Now, you have to keep in mind I stopped having dreams about him when I was around seventeen. Him &&& I are as close as ever, so the dreams have stopped.

Most of them stopped – actually. Once The Boyfriend came into my life. I have had a couple in the past five years, but nothing that made me stop && think, what just happened? Until now, of course.

There is more to the demon dream, but as a writer, I just cannot bring myself to share it. Never know, one day you might wander through this world and come across a short story all about Mister Demon. That is, if I can connect to that side of my brain.

If I could go the rest of my life without having another nightmare/bad dream, it would be too soon.

Once in a dream…

When I was younger I had a dream. It seems silly to me now, but as a child, it’s what I aspired to. I dreamed about what it would be like to stand in front of a crowd, chanting my name, holding lighters up wanting more.

I wanted to be a rock star!

I didn’t want to do it for the money or even the fame. If I wanted that, my choice would have been to be an actor – I just wanted to sing – to be on a stage.

That’s half the reason I chose to be in band – the other half, because I love music. Being in band (I played clarinet) gave me the opportunity to be on a stage multiple times a year. But it wasn’t enough, so in middle school I signed up for the talent show. First year I sang a Britney Spears song, yes, seriously, I was in middle school in the early 2000’s. The second time I sang an ‘Nsync song. (It may be the other way around – I’ve slept a lot since then.)

I may have lost both years but it was by far the best moments of my life. (That’s sad, right?) I probably would have kept entering it but thanks to a group of guys and their screamo, they stopped holding it. They eventually started again, but it was after I dropped out. (That’s for another day.)

As I have gotten older the feeling has calmed however the feeling still appears. My job has an event center which of course has a large stage. Sometimes we’ll have classes and I’ll space out staring at the stage – daydreaming.

The feeling has exploded but not exactly for the stage. I may still get that fuzzy feeling for the stage, but now I get that feeling for the printed word.

I was told once, “If you’re meant to do something you’ll always be thinking about it. When you go to sleep, wake up, and in between.” When I was younger it was singing, performing; anything dealing with the stage – that I thought about all the time. As I’ve aged my thoughts have changed and it’s always thinking about writing.

When I’m not writing, I’m thinking about it. That’s, I think, why I get so frustrated when I get “writers block”. It’s also why I get so angry at myself when I think about ‘Frost’.

I know I question whether I’m supposed to be a writer or not a lot, but it’s not because I don’t want to, but rather – shouldn’t it be easier? Is it normal for someone to take over six years to write a book? I mean, technically, I ‘finished’ it back in 2015. Since then I Have been attempting to edit it – all I seem to do is change things. I basically rewrite it, become aggravated, stop writing for months just to pick it back up – starting over at chapter one, to begin rewriting it again. I swear I have rewrote ‘Frost’ at least thirty times.

I’m never happy with it. I even know that I’ll always be my biggest critic – so why do I do this to myself?

I have this plan! My plan! A great plan! Since I am my biggest critic, and I will probably never like my writing, I decided that after it’s finished – COMPLETELY – I would offer three people the chance to read it and tell me what they think. People I know won’t sugar coat it, or lie because they don’t want to hurt my feelings. I know it’ll be rough, most first books are – I am not going to be the next Jane Austen (I find her work hard to read). I just want to find my voice, my way – be the best Barbara Hightower I can. That’s all I can achieve. I can’t try to be another writer – just me. Because I know, if I am not, I’ll always be disappointed in myself and that’ll be a crappy life.

But first – I must finish ‘Frost’ – which I say a lot. For most, that’s a simple request, but for me – Queen of Procrastination – not so much.

I figured I would end this with a poem –

Silence! I scream loud!
A void, I feel deep, expands,
Forming frustration.

Until next time!
Peace. Love. && Fried Chicken.

PROOF! That I am in fact, editing Frost. Was able to get two chapters done yesterday.


I miss being able to write poetry. It’s something simple but I’ve lost grip of it.

Some of my saddest moments logged many poems (that I no longer have). It was a way to unclog my mind when I needed help but wouldn’t ask for it. I have tried recently to write a simple poem – maybe I’m not sad anymore. Depression isn’t as strong, hasn’t been for almost five years.

Shouldn’t I be able to write about happiness? Write about love? I should be able to write about anything, right? But when I sit to write a poem, all I get is blanks. Unless you ask for a Haiku. They may be silly but I can write them all day long.

Haiku is actually the type of poetry that got me into writing when I was in fifth grade. After I wrote my first one, it opened my eyes to the beauty of words. My love for words has grown into a passion.

Writing – my first love. My first soulmate.

As I have aged, so has my writing. Has it gotten better? I’d like to think so, but that’s for others to decide, not me. I hope, just with any writer, that mine has gotten better – I at least know for certain it’s gotten better since I wrote my first poem.

All jokes aside – it’s been twenty years. Gosh… twenty years. Never realize how old you are until you break down the years. For example: my mother was fifteen years younger than my father. Fifteen years doesn’t seem much – until it’s broken down. My mother was born in 1962 – in 1962 my father was fifteen. At 18, my father enlisted into the military and had his first son – my mother was three. This was in 1965. Everything seems hunky -dory until it’s broken down.

Twenty years… writing has been my longest relationship. My best friend. The one thing I can turn to when I needed something that I couldn’t get from another person. I just hope one day that I will have something to show for it.

Like… a novel – or three.

But here, my darlings, just for y’all… a haiku:

I’m great! I’m awesome!
One day I will be published.
For now, I will write.

It’s not ‘traditional’, but I’m not from Japan. >.<