20 Random Facts…

…about me.

I’m a few days behind on beginning this but I figure late is better than never.  On the list I found of 30 Day Writing, number one said 20 Random Facts About Me.  So I figured I’d do that.  Some that read this may actually already know these facts but I have to start somewhere.

Fact Number One:  I would give everything up to be a writer full time & make a living out of it.
Fact Number Two: If I were under the age of eighteen I would be  considered an orphan.
Fact Number Three: It irritates me more than anything when people take their parents for granted.
Fact Number Four: I’m the youngest out of my siblings (& no matter what people say, it’s not always a good thing.)
Fact Number Five: I’d rather watch television shows than movies.
Fact Number Six: My favorite colors are red & green.
Fact Number Seven: I only crave one thing to eat, every day, Chinese food.
Fact Number Eight: I would take snow all year long & be excited about it.
Fact Number Nine: I have an irrational fear of all of my teeth falling out.
Fact Number Ten: I have fallen in love twice in my lifetime – with the same man.
Fact Number Eleven: I spend too much time on Facebook.
Fact Number Twelve: I’m obsessed with Johnny Depp.
Fact Number Thirteen: I enjoying cooking & when I am I’m probably the happiest.
Fact Number Fourteen: I love to laugh.
Fact Number Fifteen: I’m way too stressed for my age.
Fact Number Sixteen: If I could be on any TV show I’d want to be on SNL.
Fact Number Seventeen: This has taken me two hours & I’m still not done.
Fact Number Eighteen: I’m a misplaced Texan. :)
Fact Number Nineteen: My pet peeves are weird.
Fact Number Twenty: I like playing board games.

After two episodes of Once Upon A Time & half an episode of SNL, I finally finished this.  This was a lot harder than I figured it would be.

 

Writing Daily…

Authors write.  It’s what they do.
Daily.  It’s how they roll.
I’m not an author.  Haven’t finished a book completely. (Almost.)
I don’t write daily.  I can’t always seem to focus.

Does that make me less of a writer?  I ponder that a lot.  So I figured instead of pondering on that topic anymore I’m going to make a decision to write something everyday.  It may just be a quick entry to say hello to the world but it will be something nonetheless.  I just figure if I’m going to eventually be a published author then I must start on that dream now.  &&& since no one will hire me to write full time I might as well just enjoy the blog while I can.

Plus, you never know – this blog may become something bigger.  Doubt it.  But hey!  I can dream.  So I messed around on Pinterest until I found a couple “30 Day Writing Challenges” and picked a couple to choose from.  Figured I can pick two and choose my favorites and then write.  I figured that would be my best route.

Not a resolution.

Two years ago I had decided I was ready to finally pull off weight.  I changed my diet, began exercising, and sleeping normally.  I was pumped!  After four months I had pulled off 40 pounds – I was beyond excited.  I had no intentions of ever stopping until I reached my goal and was able to continue eating like I was without a calorie counter.  Yes!  I’m a calorie counter.

The fifth month rolled around and I began having pains in my feet so bad that when I stopped moving I was unable to stand back on them.  When I woke up after sleeping I fell over and found myself crawling through my house – a lot.  I finally scheduled an appointment with a foot doctor I don’t know the actual name and after some x-rays he figured out that I had plantar fasciitis.  After giving me a shot my feet felt a million times better.

I never really got back into the groove the feet issues took and, well, it’s been two years and I have put back on the weight I lost plus more.  I figured everything would be okay since I haven’t really had any health problems associated with my weight.  Why worry when there isn’t a reason to worry?

In 2014, I decided it was time to finally go to a doctor for a check up – I began feeling weird.  Extremely tired, pains in weird places, etc.  I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and my A1C (number that determines whether you have diabetes) was a little higher than he wanted (they want it less than a 7.0 & mine was a 6.7.)  There is when we started the struggle with finding the medicine that would help and not cause me any issues.  The first set of blood pressure pills made me cough which he said was not a good thing.  Okay, that’s fine, so we moved on to another kind – which is what I still take.  The A1C pill hasn’t changed since I began taking the medicine.

Lately, however, when I take my A1C pill I start feeling… weird.  My head will go light making me dizzy at times, I get extremely tired (there are times where I just want to close my eyes and rest), and my stomach gets very sick to itself.  I haven’t taken it in a few days which is probably causing me more issues than anything.

After a lot of thought I decided that I would get back to making myself healthy.  Exercising and eating right is the plan.  I halfway started yesterday when I got a membership at a gym and started going.  Twice so far.  It may not seem like much, but it’s a big change for someone who is usually found in bed watching television unless they HAVE to get up and do something.

The last couple of years my attitude and health has changed a lot.  I remember being able to walk through Wal-Mart for hours without any trouble, and now I have issues.

Yesterday I started out well.  Ate less than my allotted calories and spent an hour at the gym.  Hooray!  Today, however, I had a harder time. Nothing to destroy anything – I still have work to do.  (Mostly, grocery shopping.  When all you have in your house is macaroni and cheese, & potatoes, you have to buy some things.)  Today was just one of those days where you stand there and think if I shove anymore food in my mouth I’m going to slap myself.  It wasn’t a lot but I know for a fact I ran over my allotted calorie intake for today but I am not going to let it get me down.

Tomorrow is another day.

Need The Pickle.

I’m not much of a gambler, not because I don’t want to win, but because after I spend the money I feel horrible for spending money that could have went for something else; anything else, more important.  This week I decided to swallow my pride and actually agree to “gamble” with money that was hard earned.  What happened and what I learned is as follows.

Wednesday, January 6, I was digging through some of my mother’s stuff that she had in her purse (the coupons that expired in 1997 made me laugh out loud) and in it was two lottery tickets that hadn’t be bought.  Basically what I think happened is that my mother went into a store, more than likely with my grandmother, and filled out two lottery tickets.  Walked around the store for a couple minutes & then decided to not buy them for the fact that she probably didn’t have the extra ten dollars to do so.  So instead, she shoved them into her purse which eventually fell to the bottom where she forgot they were and went on with her life.  But then, I could be wrong.

From that point on that’s all I heard about.  The Powerball is over 500 million.  All day – every time I turned around – I joked about it at one point saying “If I believed in signs I would totally buy me a lottery ticket.”  I was joking, of course, because I’m not a gambler.

By Thursday night the boyfriend & I decided to buy a ticket – nothing special just a couple numbers.  It wasn’t anything to get in a fuss over but I will say this much, I can’t speak for everyone that gambles or who has bought a lottery ticket in the past, but for a brief solid minute when I was handed my ticket I was calm.  Nothing bothered me and I felt free.  I felt as if there was nothing that would bother me again and all my problems were taken care of.  I felt a sense of being free.  Quickly many things ran through my mind that I could get or help with.  I pictured a house and a new car (need a bigger house & have had the same car for ten years), kitchen full of groceries, and new furniture.  I pictured the looks on family’s faces when I handed the more money than they could even count in their heads.  I pictured tipping a waitress 100$ just because it would make them smile.

For a single, sad, brief moment…

I slammed myself back into reality because logically I knew that I wouldn’t win & wouldn’t be a multibillionaire.  That’s common sense but we did play.  We bought us a ticket and spent 15$.  I waited two days until the numbers came out and nothing.  I didn’t match one number on five games.

It’s a saddening feeling when you realize that you’re not lucky enough to win something that could change you & everyone around you in an instant.  Now I sit here and I wonder whether I want another ticket, or two, to try for the 1.3 billion dollars that it’s up to.  The only thing I do know is what my grandfather once told me, “You will never win if you don’t play.”  It’s the truest thing anyone has ever said.  But I don’t know if I can afford to blow 15$ to 30$ again just so my numbers aren’t drawn.

Now I find myself wondering how other people feel.  Do they sit around and mope for hours afterwards because their numbers sucked and didn’t win anything?  Do they just toss the piece of paper into the trash and go about their day?  Did they, for a single brief moment, think this could change my mind & I hope I win?

The only thing I know for sure is that life goes on and I have dreams and such.  Will my dream make me a multibillionaire?  Probably not – I’m not Stephen King, E.L James, or some other author that has sold 10,000,000 books, made 5,000,000 movies and receive 100,000,000 dollars.  (That seems exaggerated.)

Meh…

On a totally new subject, I haven’t talked about it much lately because I haven’t done much on it (still editing) but the book is slowly coming together.  However I came to a stop – sort of.  Ever since I began writing this story I have decided that it was a sandwich.  Beginning is the bread, middle is the bologna, cheese, mayo, pickles, and the ending is bread.  For a while I have felt like something was missing that I couldn’t pin point not that I haven’t tried.  Tonight I finally realized what was missing.  Of course, though, I cannot go into great detail.  We’ll just say that now that I have figured it out, I can fix it.  Sadly, at the moment, I don’t have the answers && I’m pretty sure it’s going to add at least three chapters into the story.  This may be complicated…  But all I do know is if I want this book to be half way decent, I have to figure out this pickle.  Without the pickle I have a whole in the whole story.  I wouldn’t worry about it but I have mentioned some of it.  I could just take it out, but then I have to take out a lot more && I feel like this needs to be in it.

I just don’t know – I just know there is way too much to think about &&& not enough time to figure it out.  Okay, that’s a lie – I have all the time in the world unless I want to finish this book completely by the age of 30.  Yes, I gave myself a two year gap.  It’s not unreasonable to put a two year gap to finish a book that I’ve basically finished.  All I have to do is finish the edit process – figure out my pickle – edit again, read it completely through, throw it away because I hate it – dig it out of the trash because I worked too hard on it, flick off the nasties that the trash left on it, notice all of the pencil marks throughout it, edit again, and then print the finished project.  Then of course I’ll stare at it and explain to the boyfriend the 5,000,000 reasons why I should not try and attempt to publish this book – one of which being, this book sucks butt and no one is ever going to want to read it let alone buy it.  He will of course tell me that I’m wrong, because that’s his job.

But then again, I’m still in the early stages of this whole deal – so what do I know?

To Read Or Not To Read…

I follow quite a few blogs on here that, when I followed, I figured I would read daily.  Just sit around and read, read, and read.  But ever since I started following them I realized that I have actually never read them.  Any of them.  I think I did when I first followed them.  I don’t want you to think that I just randomly follow people’s blogs without ever reading anything.  I did, at first and I liked what I read.  But since the day I followed them I haven’t read them.

What brought this on?

Well, I actually just followed a blog that I have never read anything from just because I’m a fan of them.  (A chef from The Food Network).  It just makes me wonder if anyone is actually reading what I write.  &&&& yes, I am kind of caring whether anyone does or not.  I could sit here and lie and say that I don’t care if anyone reads anything I write and I’m just doing this for myself.  But like I said – that would be a lie.

I started this blog for one reason – so people can read me.  That way people who don’t know me can read something daily (I don’t write daily, sadly) and get to know my writing style.  Why?  It’s what writers do.

I have read many things (and said many times on here) that I need a following if I ever wish to get published.  One day I hope to get published so I need a following.  Other than, of course, friends and family.  So basically, that’s why I still have this blog &&& twitter for that matter.  I tried making a Facebook for the writer side of me, but it wanted to be hooked to my personal one and it’s private which made everything private.  It doesn’t work quite like that.  So I deleted the writer side and kept twitter and this blog.

So now I try to write as much as I can.  I tend to forget to open this and will go days if not months without ever writing.  Then when I finally do write something I sit back and look at it and think it’s dumb.  So I end up deleting it and never writing another.  Yes, I have done that many times.

I cannot remember my point behind this. Heh.

Christmas Spirit

There is a commercial that plays where a family is welcoming people in and they are handing out gifts with a soft Christmas song playing in the background. There is laughter & many smiles.  Dad, mom, children, grand parents, uncles, aunts – everyone you can imagine. You can tell by watching it that you should feel something.  Anything.

Me?  Nothing.

I go through this feeling yearly and I can’t seem to fix it.  I have been searching for the Christmas Spirit that I remember as a child.  Growing up I remember my mother having it – or so it seemed.  Maybe she didn’t?  I cannot really ask now.  Maybe she faked it well.  Another issue I have?  I cannot even seem to fake the spirit.

Yes, I have things about Christmas I’ll always enjoy.  I love buying gifts and giving them out.  I love the lights, the cold, and the snow.  But it’s that tiny spark people get I cannot seem to find.

I wish I could.  I wish I could feel that something I felt as a child when my brother & I would wake up at six in the morning and sit in front of the Christmas tree.  That feeling I had as I watched my mother prepare dinner or the glee I felt as the days counted down.

I remember watching our local channel all night as “Santa Claus” made his way around the world.  It always made me smile to know that he’d be at my house soon.  I would always make sure, once he got around New York, that I would go to sleep so he’d show up.  After that my mother would hurriedly fill our stockings and leave out the Santa gifts.  Then in the morning we’d have unwrapped presents waiting for us and we’d know that we’d been good and Santa made it – even if we didn’t have a chimney. (My mom told us how he’d shrink and go under the door.  As I’ve gotten older I’ve realized that is pretty creepy.  But it’s still the story I’d pass down to the younger generation.)

Now it seems as if the older I get the less and less I enjoy.  (That actually may be half the reason I get so irritated with people when they tell me I should not like cartoons anymore because I am too old.  What should I be watching?  Soap operas?)

Now that I am dating a guy with children I feel like I should be feeling something – if not for me, at least for them.  I can only fake whatever it is I’m missing for so long.  Slowly the “it” I’m faking is fading.  Normally I would be sending out Christmas cards – but does anyone really care about them anymore?  No.  Because I send them to adults and it seems as if all adults feel the same way.  Sparkles and laughter in front of the children but behind doors it’s pure cynical and bad attitudes.

I always knew I didn’t want to become an adult, but I honestly didn’t think I would lose everything I felt that made me happy in doing so.

Now it makes me wonder how many more years will I have loving cartoons before I wake up one day & just not care.  How many more years will I enjoy coloring or putting puzzles together?  How many more years, since I am only twenty-eight years old, do I have before I become the shell of a person I was and become nothing?  How many years do I have before I become the adult I never wanted to become?

Needs to write more…

I wonder a lot if all writers go through blocks.  Not a writers block.  Just a block in general.

I have been finished with the story for nearly a year but yet I am only up to chapter four in corrections.  The first set of corrections.  I honestly feel as if I should be further along than what I am.  What makes it worse is that I haven’t been writing anything else, either.

Writers are supposed to write.
Writers are supposed to read.

I cannot seem to do either.

The last book I remember reading was the third book in the Gabriel trilogy by Sylvian Reynard.  I read that right after it came out.

I took up sewing in hopes that maybe it can clear out a hole in my head that I plugged up.  But all it has accomplished is now I have millions of tiny pillows in my bedroom that don’t have a purpose.  Anyone need pillows?

I pretty sure I am going to put away the sewing and get back to writing.  I walked through a book section in a store and all I could think, “one day my name will be on one of these books.”  When?  I’m not sure of that yet.  But I know one day.