Do Dreams Come True?

I wonder how many people actually say their dreams did, in fact, come true. I have a dream. Other than finishing the book that I really need to finish but I’m too lazy to actually do it… I want to own && operate a food truck.

I have two loves in my life. Writing, of course, && cooking, which I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned a few times. I also do believe I said my dream job would be a food writer. Combine the best of both worlds. Travel all over the globe while trying different foods, cooked by different people and just write about it.

But I’m trying not to span too far into the atmosphere. But as I sit here and write this I find myself wondering is wanting to own, run && operate a food truck too far out the scope of reality for me? I get it. It takes money && a lot of it. I can save; I know how to do that. But lets say I did save the money, would I actually ever get to the point where I can do it before I die?

I think that’s half of my issue. A part of me is scared that I won’t see the part of my life where most people do find && achieve their dreams. Sometimes, it takes people into their 40’s & 50’s to actually get it. So I wonder – do I have that long to keep hoping that maybe I can get what I truly desire out of life.

Lately I haven’t felt well. I mean, I don’t feel like I’m knocking at deaths door, I just haven’t felt well. I have been sluggish, and still depressed. Angry, and annoyed. My medicine makes it where I don’t have an appetite so I’m not hungry half of the time. They’ve put me on insulin which I’m pretty sure is half of the depression. I thought I was moving forward, day by day, but I feel sometimes that them putting me on insulin is back tracking. But in reality, I’m pretty sure it’s not.

So that’s me. I’m scared, worried, and freaking out that I don’t have time to do what I want with my life. I want to leave a mark on the world. I want people in the future when I’m no longer here talking about something I achieved. Something I did. Something that makes people remember me. Will it be in the food world, writing world, or both worlds?

Do I think I’m going to write the next literary masterpiece? No, I don’t.
Do I think I’m going to open a food truck that eventually turns into a million dollar business that has restaurants in different countries? No, I do not.
I am realistic.
But at the same time, I don’t feel like I’m achieving anything && I know part of that is because I’m not trying to achieve anything.

I was talking about my food truck dream at work the other night && someone said it’ll never happen while the others either didn’t say anything or said food trucks make bank && if I apply myself I can achieve it. But… where do I apply myself at? I told Boyfriend that I’m working on it && my first step is that I ordered a credit card reader that goes into your phones charging port. It’s something silly and small, but at the same time I feel like I’m heading into the right direction.

What I need is a million people to give me one dollar. That’s it. Spare one dollar for me. If anyone is interested please let me know && I’ll set up the account. In the mean time, I’ll either keep thinking about my dreams, dreaming about my dreams, or trying to crawl out of this round of depression.

Either way, I seem to be doing something, right?

Drifting Off.

Today I sat in a closet && cried while talking to a cat who just had babies.

We call her Momma Bean.

When I got of work today I had so many plans. I was going to come home and play on my new computer. So I did. I walked in, changed, && sat down in front of it. I turned it on && pulled up the internet && stared at the screen. I didn’t know what to do. I locked the computer && wandered into my bedroom pulling out my Switch, thinking maybe a little bit of Animal Crossing would help. Instead I went to the closet, I actually just wanted to check on Mama Bean, && noticed her water bowl was empty so I filled it up. Once I took it back I just sat down in the closet && loved on her for a couple minutes. Then the water works started.

I wish I could say why I cried. I wish I could say why I feel horrible. I wish I had the words inside of me that explained why I feel like I do most of the time – but I don’t. I never have. I have suffered from depression, undiagnosed, since I was 15 && possibly before. It just got worse once I buried my mother. Then I lost my father before I was even 30. Then I buried my grandfather (mom’s dad). That was my people. Those three. They wanted the best for me && before I was 32.

Before fifteen I think I felt a little out of it – lost, but don’t most teenagers feel like that? I’m not saying my life was perfect before my mom died, but I feel like a part of me died with her. I have been lost for so many years that trying to find my way has taken me a lot longer than I want to admit. I can’t remember a time that my mind was solid.

I THINK part of it is these last few months. I literally almost died in January and every time I talk to a doctor about it I always hear the same thing, “I’m surprised you didn’t have a heart attack,” or “I’m surprised you’re not dead.”

Death.

It’s a frightening thought. The thought that at 33 I was a step away from death. I didn’t do it on purpose. I didn’t want to do it. I still don’t.

I can’t focus my brain right now. I…

…will write again later.

Beat Myself Up!

(Originally wrote 5/21/2021 – finally was able to upload it.)

I have eater’s remorse. It’s kind of like buyer’s remorse (which sometimes I have that also), but instead it’s when I eat something. Food is something that has always given me comfort, whether I was happy/sad/mad/disgusted – I knew I had food and it wouldn’t let me down. The last few years I have been attempting to get over my struggle and fight with food and my bad eating habits, which probably isn’t as bad as a lot of people, for me, it’s bad. But all I’ve noticed is that it has turned even uglier because now when I eat I feel bad for hours afterwards && start trying to think of a way to get rid of it. (No, I don’t make myself puke.)

I told Boyfriend once, && it’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t feel it, that I feel bad after eating. Not “feel bad” like in a sick way, but like, I feel terrible because I ate it. I told him I wanted to be the type of person who can go into a convenience store and buy a corn dog, eat it with some good ol’ mustard, and not hate myself for three hours afterwards. But I can’t.

There is a store here in my town that has the best corn dogs. They are always crispy on the outside and juicy yummy on the inside. I would stop by there sometimes && grab a couple and go home. Then afterwards, I was trying to make sense in my head why I was so mad at myself for eating two corndogs when I barely eat them as it is.

Since all of these doctor appointments my eater’s remorse has gotten worse. Today for lunch at work, I wanted to treat my people so I told them if they wanted something from Taco Casa that I would pay for it. (They work really hard && sometimes you just need to show that you care && appreciate them.) So I took everyone’s orders && my manager went && picked it up. I paid. I decided that I would get something from there, nothing huge, not a lot, just something. I really like their nachos – well, okay, I like their chips && cheese which I add the crumbled meat and just dip my chips in it. It’s not even a large set of nachos.

I sat here && ate it. Got full && stopped, tossing whatever was left. Then I sat here && thought about what I had just eaten. Thinking to myself, ‘why did I eat that? Why didn’t I just eat what I brought?’ (A healthy choice frozen dinner with some veggies.) But now, it’s even worse, because I also ordered a tea because it sounded delicious. I mean, who doesn’t like a good glass of tea? That was also on my mind. I kept thinking I didn’t need to drink that especially since it wasn’t unsweet (which is what I wanted but that’s fine). Why did I eat it? Drink the tea?

Sometimes I feel if I eat certain things that I’m basically saying my life isn’t good enough to keep going && that I am wasting what I do have left. Then I start feeling like crap, this time I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest.

But I don’t feel like this with all food – last night for dinner I made salmon && creamy rice. I didn’t feel bad after eating that. I felt great! I wasn’t overly full && I didn’t feel horrible afterwards.

Before the hospital stay I ate how I wanted knowing that I can lose weight without changing a lot of what I eat. But now, I feel like everything I put in my mouth is a death sentence. Nothing is good, nothing should be consumed, when the logical part of my brain knows that isn’t right.

My relationship with food has always been complicated && now I feel like I should be breaking up with food all together. That it && me just can’t go on like this && I have no idea how to fix my issue.

&& yes, I do have buyer’s remorse. The only two things in my life I do not regret buying was my first car when I was 18 && my house when I was 31ish. Well, I say I don’t have it with the house. I didn’t. Until this year when I found out everything in my is trying to shut down && stop working that in 30 years (the note length) I may not even be here to finish paying for it.

This may not be completely about food && more about possibly not being here for as long as I had planned. I feel like I need to start doing everything that I wanted to in life so I can be remembered as the girl who did it all. I want to finish my book, open a restaurant, help people – be known for something. If I died tomorrow – what would people remember me as? The girl who showed up for work every day that didn’t help anyone anywhere. I don’t want this to define me but I’m in a spot where this is what it is. This is me. This is my life. I will be dead && no one will remember me. I will have left no mark whatsoever on anyone.

I always imagined great things for myself && that by now, I thought I would have already achieved most of it. The ONLY thing I have gotten was a house && found the love of my life.

I know what you’re thinking – if my dream is to finish the book && open a restaurant – then what’s stopping me? The book – I hate reading it to edit it because I hate my writing. Always have (story for another day unless I’ve already wrote about it). I am trying to finish editing the book so I can get the junk out of it that I know exists within the walls of it, but I can’t seem to read enough of it to finish the editing process. I know – I could just let someone read it && edit it for me. Problem! I don’t want anyone to read it right now because of the junk inside of it. I know it can be better than it is && before I offer to let people read it I want to fix it. But to fix it, I have to read it. To read it I have to get over my insecurities that I have about my writing.

Restaurant? I found a building I want. It’s in the perfect location in the town I life in. In fact, it’s on the end of my road – I could walk there. I know with a little tender love && care, a little bit of renovation, that it could be the greatest little restaurant anyone has seen in my town, population of 483 in 2018. Sounds great, right? A little too great, of course. The building is 178,000$ && unfortunately, I do not have 178,000$ to drop on a building that I would need more money to renovate (it wasn’t a restaurant to start with.) Actually, I do believe it started out as a bank then it was turned into the water department, which just recently moved down the street to a building they built just for it. Now it’s empty. It even still has the window when it was a bank that I could turn into a drive thru. Yes! I have given it THAT much thought.

I think I’m rambling now.

The other night I got sick. Wednesday night. After I got done filling my trash can, I laid there alone && wondered if this is a new symptom. Is this something new telling me that I’m slowly deteriorating and that soon there will be no more of me? It’s a scary thought when you’re only 33 years old that tomorrow my heart could just stop working. I mean, it’s barely working as it is.

I am pretty sure my depression is sparked back up && last time it nearly drove me crazy. But last time I didn’t have Boyfriend. I have him now. Hopefully he has enough mental stamina for the both of us. But even in that sense, that’s a lot of worry to put on a man that could still decide to leave.

I think what bothers me is that I don’t feel bad. I don’t feel like…. I should feel… for someone that has heart && kidney issues. I feel like… I should feel worse. Don’t get me wrong, I do have my days. But on those days do I feel bad because of my heart && kidneys or do I just feel bad? Like Wednesday – people puke. People eat stuff that doesn’t agree with their stomach && the puke. Maybe I just got sick. Boyfriend said he didn’t feel good either. He can’t get sick because of MY heart && kidney issues.

I’m trying..

I bought a jump rope.

It’s something small and insignificant. But I did. I bought a jump rope approximately 3 weeks ago. I was excited. When I was younger, I enjoyed jumping rope – I didn’t very often because one: I didn’t have one at home, two: because when I would at school people would make ::fat:: jokes. You know the ones: screaming earthquake when I landed, or stating when I jumped my fat moved.

So I just eventually stopped jumping rope.

I’ve been trying to find small things I can purchase that can help me lose weight && remembering how much I enjoyed jumping rope, I figured, why not? So I found one on Amazon && bought it. A couple days pass && I receive it in the mail. I’m excited! I open it && Boyfriend && I start messing with it.

I got it on a Thursday evening.

By Saturday morning it was as if my body saw the jump rope && thought ‘nope, not this time’. Because I woke up that morning with a pain in my left food so bad I wanted to cry. I’m talking worse than gallstones && kidney stones. When I first stood up I nearly fell, having to grab the bed for stability. I was unable to wear my work shoes && instead having to wear the shoes I use for walking – which isn’t in dress code. (We are supposed to wear black where my exercise shoes are grey).

I figured the pain would stop, because it eventually has to, right? That weekend at work was horrible. I could barely walk, couldn’t keep my shoe on and I wanted to cry. Saturday night into Sunday morning I cried. All night – until I eventually fell asleep. It hurt so bad I couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how I laid my foot it hurt. The fan blowing across it hurt.

I figured it was gout – nothing else made sense.

Everything said untreated gout systems last about 14 days. Okay – that’s wonderful in a nonwonderful way. I wait 14 days. My foot, big toe to be exact, still hurt. I make a doctors appointment telling her my thoughts and where, why, what hurt. She does blood work && x-ray’s – coming to the conclusion that she doesn’t think it’s gout. She said my acid levels aren’t high enough and there’s nothing on the x-ray. Okay, that’s fine – so what’s wrong with my foot?

She is on the case of an infection in my toe. She gave me antibiotics and I took them saying that she wanted to see me after I finished. The pain hadn’t stopped, so she done another blood test && x-ray’s. This time around she saw the ‘infection’ in my toe, my acids still weren’t high enough && my white blood cells were still high. I’m on my second round of antibiotics and my foot still hurts.

I am on day 18.

I’m frustrated beyond anything I thought could be possible. I have been trying to lose some weight by walking daily and since my foot has started I haven’t been able to. If I walk on my foot too long or wear a shoe, by the end of the night, I’m in so much pain that I just want to cry.

The only upside for all of this – I haven’t put on a lot of weight. I lost some and only put back on 4 pounds of what I took off. I’m staying steady. So it’s basically saying that I don’t eat horribly, but at the same time, I don’t eat too well. But I’m glad I haven’t put on too much weight since the foot started hurting.

Merry Christmas!

I really do love Christmas. I love the lights, songs, movies, attitudes, and stores. Yeah, really, I love going to the store during Christmas time – maybe not anywhere close to the 25th (I had to go buy groceries today – the 23rd). But I love watching people smile, and shop – I even like watching people frown while shopping because it makes me wonder what has popped their holiday bubble. Are they having trouble shopping for the seven year old nephew that they haven’t seen in three years? Did their spouse ask for something that they really cannot afford, but they really want to see the smile on their face Christmas morning so they buy it anyway and hope for the best? Or are they deliberating whether or not they want to propose to their significant other on Christmas, or wait until a chiller day?

I remember growing up and walking around our small town looking at all of the Christmas lights. It was one of the things I looked forward to. As I’ve gotten older I’ve realized people don’t decorate much anymore. I understand that prices have gone up, and it can be a pain to put them up, just to have to take them down a couple months later. But during – everyone has to admit how beautiful they are. I also understand that a lot of people stop decorating the outside once their children move out. But what does that say for the people who have no children that like to decorate outside – like me? But before you ask, no, I didn’t decorate outside. But my reason is simple. I bought a house this year, and with the house came two large pot bellied pigs, who will eat any and everything they can find. I refuse to decorate my yard to get upset when they are destroyed. So I just didn’t.

A lot of people… no… everyone is always telling me how they hate the music and cringe every time they hear it on the radio. I used to sing it at work, for the fun of it, during July. Christmas in July! It’s a thing – not at my job – but somewhere. I’m always told the same thing: I have to wait until AFTER Thanksgiving before I can start in on Christmas music. So every year, I wait. The day after Thanksgiving, you better believe I’m listening to Jingle Bells and Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer.

Movies – I don’t wait. I’m watching Christmas movies throughout the year. It’s my secret addiction, but DUDE! When Christmas time rolls around they quadruple the movies and I’m set for a month. I ALMOST purchased the Hallmark channel app. I didn’t, but almost. I may still do it – who knows, maybe their movies will stay on there after Christmas and into July &&& I can feed my addiction.

Attitudes change a lot during the holiday season. I don’t know if it’s because it’s the holiday season, or if it’s because it’s cooler outside. All I know is people seem happier. Except the Grinches, bah hum bug-er’s, and people who just can’t find reasons to smile. (You know the ones. You smile at them and they give you a look like you’re about to steal their wallet. You say good morning to them and they grind their teeth like you just told them to go to hell. Those people! Nothing you can do will make them smile, be jolly, or even happy – So I have given up. No cracker crumbs on my Gucci jacket just because you’re a miserable old coot. Wait. Does Gucci make jackets?)

Christmas is my season. My part of the year. My comfort zone. I’m the MVP and I’m not passing the award. However, even with that in mind, the most Christmassy people can be in a bah hum bug bubble and right now – that’s where I reside. It’s normally called a funk, but that word is gross, so I passed on it. I have been trying all month to get out of this mood, I just haven’t been able to. However, for the family and the boyfriend I will put on my cheery smile, cook dinner, and watch them open their gifts.

I supposed that is better than canceling Christmas all together, taking the gifts back to the store, and burning my Christmas tree to the ground.

On that note, I want to wish everyone a wonderful Christmas and a prosperous New Year. I may or may not write again before then so that needs to be said. Don’t forget to eat, rub, dance with, polish, hug, or scream to your good luck charm. (Black Eyed Peas Here) Enjoy your days and your families. Enjoy the laughter, and love. Enjoy life and I’ll be back.

Thanksgiving 2019: A Success!

This year seemed to be the same thing all around with most people “we didn’t have a lot of people and everything was pretty chill”. I am basically on that boat. We ended up having Thanksgiving a few days late (I had to work Thanksgiving) and I wanted to do a day everyone was off but that never seems to work out for me. So Tuesday, December 3rd it was.

Most years I find holidays annoying (yes, I seriously just said that). I have my reasons but if I put it here, someone reads it, now I have complications on my hands. Let’s just say that this year was enjoyable. Boyfriend & I started making dinner around ten in the morning – we put on the turkey, ham, && duck. Yes, I said duck; I wanted to try something new this year and I figured I’d give duck a shot. Basically, I gave it a shot && probably will never give it a shot again. Unless I go somewhere fancy and give it one cooked by professionals. Mine felt like tofu… it was weird.

Our day was so chill that I was basically finished with dinner by two o’clock && still had to wait for the Brother to show up. So, instead of fretting, and worrying, and freaking out, and flipping my girly wits! I took a nap in my chair as Boyfriend played on the xBox in the living room. I feel that’s what terrorizes people on holidays – the freaking out. I decided not to.

Naps are better.

By around six when the Brother showed up (this is the time he was supposed to arrive, he wasn’t late) dinner was ready and everyone could enjoy the labor of my cooking. We sat and ate, talked, and watched television. It was nice. Lots of laughter and food.

Now I just have to get ready for Christmas dinner in a few weeks – now to decide what I will cook for that day. Maybe something different? Christmas Spaghetti?

Hap..i..ness

She sat in her chair, surrounded by cats, as she watched Him play PubG on Xbox One, listening to sizzles come from the kitchen. It’s late, nearly ten o’clock at night, &&& she still hasn’t made dinner. Not on purpose, of course, she overslept and then had to go grocery shopping for dinners and Thanksgiving. It took longer than expected, but what did she expect? It is two days until Thanksgiving.

She didn’t plan for this && couldn’t find shoepeg corn.

Her mind ran rampant thinking about things – stressing && obsessing – not silently, either. Of course she isn’t quiet, she’s a female, with thoughts, things to do, buy && give to people. It’s okay that she worries, freaks out and falls apart because in the end she finds herself just in time to make the ultimate come back.

Holidays are still hard for her. A part of her believes that’s half her holiday blues. Yes! Even someone like her, who loves Christmas as much as she does, gets the holiday blues. This year seems worse than last and last year she buried a pet.

She dreams of happiness around this time but seems to find loneliness and despair. Not just her – but everyone: strangers, friends, co-workers, family. Her heart aches for people so much she finds herself stashed away.

She stashes herself away afraid of feeling empty musical notes or reading Christmas cards that are full of lies. You’re not happy – stop faking it – but who wants to read that?

Merry Christmas from The Grinches!
Our new year plan is to divorce because Mr. Grinch has been cheating with is 5’2″, 125 pounds, blonde co-worker who smells like fruit loops. Little Timmy pees himself when he’s nervous and Mya is seventeen, full of attitude, dresses like a hooker, && is about to flunk out of high school – oh! &&& they both want to live with their father, who coincidentally isn’t actually their dad, but they don’t know this. Their dad? Was a 47 year old drummer in a parody rock band. He’s dead now.

No one wants that to ring in the holidays. But that’s how everyone feels. Dark, hopeless &&& scared – but she’s here. (Imagine that she just tossed her arms in the air, smiled and is now Superhero standing in her underwear.)

Hope. That’s all anyone can hold out for. 2019 is almost over and everyone can look into the future.

2020 is fast approaching. She will clink her glass, smooch her boyfriend with dreams of fairy tales, new beginnings and finish the dream.

Dreams. She has decided it’s time to stop, put food down, and do what she needs to do to accomplish her aspirations in life. Everyone gets one life and no one can live it for you. It’s something you have to face with the “I CAN” attitude mixed in with the “I WILL” mental state.

Does this scare her?

Of course, but at the same time she knows it needs to come off the back burner and be treated liked a loved one. Nothing good will happen if you don’t jump in head first, naked, into a lake of piranhas. Don’t fear the rocks of the unknown. You’re going to hit them, she has accepted this and is purchasing a bunch of Excedrin, bandages, and antibiotic ointment.

The journey will be long, tiresome, and lonely at times. Whether you’re looking into the serpent eyes of divorce, sickness, starting over, opening a business or buying a house – the end will be worth it when you can stand on your own two feet and tell the world you did it; that you made it out on the other side and you have the proof.

Dinner is about finished and she is famished. She will be back around the bend soon to talk about how her life is, and what she has been up to. But for tonight, she’ll leave you with a thought: How will you make 2020 the best year yet?

Happy Thanksgiving All!

Transformation.

This isn’t something I normally do – boast about a company or their product. But tonight as I pet a cat I wanted to tell y’all a story which happens to end with me boasting about a company.

Once upon a time in a small Oklahoma town, positioned on a small, dark quiet street lived a man and a woman. Both of them had a huge love for cats so much that when they purchased said house the old owners left two cats && they were fine with that.

Now they had four – a solid white cat, Milo, a black & white cat, Otis, a solid black cat, Mercury &&& a white mix with grey’s, Mia. This made the couple happy!

One day as the girl sat at work the guy sent her a text message with a picture of a cat. A sad, skinny cat she had never seen before. He continued, “it looks like we have a new cat. It doesn’t seem to want to leave and has been eating our cat food.” If the cat is hungry and homeless, I want it to eat and be loved! The cat, now named Reginald (I thought it was a boy but now I can’t find a name better even though I know she is a girl,) hasn’t left and is still here.

Basically they wanted to take care of Reginald – help it get meat on it’s bones, and be healthy, whether she stayed or left afterwards. They have been buying their cats Nutrish by Rachael Ray for years – ever since they first adopted cats. The guy wanted a food that wasn’t made out of crap, and things a person cannot pronounce, and the girl wanted to feed them something they’d enjoy as much as humans enjoy their food. She has been a huge fan of Rachael Ray since she can remember && she brought that up to the guy saying she really loves her dog, and made food that would give them nutrients that they need versus what big companies think they can live off of.

They agreed and began buying that. So when Reginald showed up they began giving her Nutrish. (The other cats LOVE it and refuse to eat anything but.) So why not try? Reginald, just like the other cats, showed great interest in the food and began eating. After a few months, she decided to come into the house still getting healthier every day.

Today, as I was loving on her I got this idea about how I would talk about it. I see a lot of people bash this brand of cat/dog food, but I see just as many talk high about it. For me && my cats! It’s LITERALLY the only food they will eat. (I tried once to feed them something different when I was unable to find Nutrish in my stores. They didn’t eat until we were able to locate it in another town.)

I wanted to share Reginald with the world. I wanted everyone to see the difference between day one when she showed up and today when I was petting her.

Before she was skin && bones, her color was dull and she moped around. Today! Her color is gorgeous, her fur is soft, and she is a little chubby. She is playful, and loves to run around with the other cats. Before she was skittish, even with other cats or people. She didn’t want to be around anyone and would only show up for food. Now! She lays in our bed, and plays with toys. She really loves the laser light we bought. Before she acted like she had no idea how to show love to humans and now! She loves getting loves and kitty kisses.

Nutrish by Rachael Ray basically saved that cats life. (Minus us, of course, for taking her in.) So this is me boasting about a cat/dog food screaming to the world that it’s a great brand! All of our cats have healthy coats, and are extremely soft. &&& I would like to mention ONE MORE TIME! My cats won’t eat anything else. (That’s not a exaggeration.)

Sleepless Nights & Cranberry Wishes…

I’m trying to get back into writing daily, even if it’s just in blog form. Not that writing daily in a blog makes a person less of a writer. That goes back to the last topic. A lot of people make a lot of money blogging (that’d be a wish come true for yours truly). Seriously, how awesome would it be to work from home && do nothing but blog. *wiggles eyebrows* Anyone hiring?

As wonderful as I could write this whole thing about my wish to be a work-from-home-blogger, today’s mind rumble isn’t that. It’s a simple question I have been asking on and off for years: how old is too old?

I am told and hear people say a lot, “you’re too old for that!” Or even just a simple, “I’m too told for that.” I catch myself often saying that, to be honest. Whether it’s about going out Friday && Saturday nights drinking until you can’t stand up or if it’s a conversation about someone who hasn’t changed since they were seventeen and I just figure I’m too old to deal with their crap.

In five days *shivers*, I will be thirty-two years old and it makes me think a lot. Not about life stuff, although, they do sometimes cross my path. But I get told I’m too old for certain things and I wonder if I am.

I still watch cartoons, SpongeBob being my favorite. I still color with crayons and I still play hopscotch. I still like wondering the streets to find Christmas lights and I play board games. All of which I have been told that I am too old for. Why?

What age do you wake up and think to yourself okay, I’m too old for things I enjoyed as a child, I must stop doing them? Is there such an age? I’ve asked people older than me, the ones who seem a little extra boring – they all have different answers. I guess, basically – I’m trying to figure out what age people are when they feel like an adult. Some say once they had their first child or their third. Some say when they moved out of their parents house and some say when they turned twenty-five.

I’m about to be thirty-two, remember? I don’t feel… I don’t feel like I should at my age. I feel the same as I did when I was sixteen versus twenty-seven versus today. I don’t feel like an adult. Sometimes, I still want to call someone older and ask for advice and see what they think.

Maybe the reason I feel like I do is because I didn’t move out of my parents house and I didn’t really “grow” up. My mother passed away when I was fifteen (she was forty) and my dad was gone when I was twenty-four (he was sixty-four). Then I chose to live with my brother and his family for a while until I finally just decided I needed to move out. By twenty-four, with no parents, shouldn’t I feel like I should be on my own?

Yeah. I never felt like that. I had no problems living with my brother I just figured I shouldn’t be. (Although, I do have a friend now who is in her 40’s and still living with her brother so it made me feel a little better.) Logically, no matter how much I thought living with my brother forever sounded, I knew neither him or I could have the lives we want. Because, seriously, if I had met a guy while living with my brother, did I really see that lasting? (I did try to date while living with The Brother and no, it didn’t end well – most thought he was frightening. He isn’t.)

I also wonder, do I feel like I do because I don’t have children. I hear that one a lot. “I didn’t feel like an adult until I had children.” I have nieces and nephews which gave me the thrill of children without actually having them and having the ability to send them home full of sugar and giggle when the mom && dad calls complaining because they won’t sleep. (Yes! I’m THAT aunt. *winks*) Me, personally, never thought of my life needing children. Even as a child, when most girls are thinking about the future, I never pictured children. I don’t think I need them to feel fulfilled – maybe to feel like an adult, but not fulfillment.

I do the adult things. I have a full-time job. I am buying a house. I pay bills. I buy groceries. I cook every night. I clean the house. I have animals. But at the end of the day when I’m just sitting around the house, or playing games, or talking to people – I don’t feel like I should be turning thirty-two in five days.

So my question: How old were you when you started feeling like an adult &&& did you give up your childish ways?

&&& I was like, “whatever bitches”…

Angel reruns, a banana popsicle and making tator tot casserole for dinner made my brain rumble. Actually, no, what made my brain a rumble would be me reading Gabriel’s Inferno again – for like the, 1,000th time. (So many times a friend asked if my book was still together: which it is, by the way.)

What makes a writer a writer?

I have been asking this question to myself a lot lately. Not because I doubt what and who I feel – but because – am I allowed to call myself a writer? Are you only considered a writer if you have published a book? If so, are actors who write autobiography’s writers? Are chefs who have twenty cook BOOKS, writers? But can you consider a person who is always thinking about writing, but doesn’t write daily; who stares at blank word documents and sighs because they words won’t flow out of her fingertips? Someone who can read book after book and get so many ideas for a novel, but cannot seem to get passed the first sentence to make anything happen? How about the girl who has actually written a novel, but can’t seem to finish editing out the crap parts without dousing it in gasoline and lighting it on fire?

Am I considered a writer or am I a wanna-be writer who dreams of it, but won’t let herself have it because she can’t center her brain enough to do it? But in the same sense, how can I consider myself a writer but not the girl next to me who writes poetry in her basement wearing all black with candles lit and Nightwish playing in the background? What makes me a writer and not her? Are we both considered writers?

I feel like a fraud at times. I’m probably just overthinking things – like usual – but how can I be something if I won’t allow myself to be it? I feel like a fraud because I only think about doing something. I did it, once, but now I’m stuck and afraid. I’m afraid because what if my story that I wrote is as bad as I feel? I mean, it cannot be too good if I can’t bring myself to read it to edit it – can I? &&& I don’t want to ask someone else to edit it, right now, because I know how bad it is.

I bought a indie writers book – she self-published &&& one of the authors I enjoy reading was promoting it. So I bought it, why not? It was only 1$. As I was sitting at work reading it on my Kindle all I saw were errors. Spelling errors. Sentence errors. Run ons, and paragraphs that made no sense. I even read through a part that sounded like the character in the book was a pedophile. I eventually stopped reading it because it went on && on &&& on &&&& on about absolutely nothing. At one point I couldn’t figure out what was happening. That’s what I fear. &&& I know for a fact that a part of my story is exactly that. It’s rambles. It’s nothing. It’s pure crap.

When I started writing Frost, I read how long people think romance novels should be and I went with that. So instead of going for content I wrote for numbers. Page numbers. Word numbers. I was trying to reach 100,000 words without realizing just how much garble I had. So now, when I edit it, I’m trying to take out the garble and leave the story. The content. The thing that will bring readers back. But when I sit to edit the garble I get sad because of how much there really is.

I swear I have a chapter where one of the characters is making dinner. I wrote paragraph after paragraph him making dinner and their thoughts and their crap. It LITERALLY has no place in the story. No one cares that the character likes spaghetti or that they know how to make it. I could have simply wrote “before she arrived he busied himself in the kitchen, making the only dish he really knows: spaghetti.” But no, I wrote how he put the water in the pot and salted the water, and how he boiled the noodles to perfection and made the sauce and poured the wine and she watched. The other character just watched him do it without them ever saying a single word to each other. Instead I could have wrote “he pulled out her chair and poured a glass of wine, living in a small town he doesn’t know much about fine wines, but the lady at the store recommended this one. She took a drink and smiled, showing her affection for the wine choice. She has never been a fan, but knowing that he picked and offered it, today – she loves wine.” I went on to say how he made the plates, put down the spoon and fork, sat in front of her, and then went on to talk about how they ate it. HOW THEY ATE IT! When I could have said “he was no chef, but when it came to spaghetti, he felt it. He gently sat a plate down in front of her. ‘Do you want some cheese?’ Her nerves collided with her brain, but nodded and smiled. He smiled, thinking it was cute every time she blushed, and grated some parmesan on top. Not a lot, but enough to top it right off. She looked around the table at the spread and felt like a queen. It had been a long time since she was offered so much and was allowed to sit at the table and enjoy it with someone. He is going to spoil her, was the only thing she was thinking.”

But here I am. My story isn’t written like that. Maybe I should stop complaining. Complaining doesn’t get me anywhere or do anyone any good. It doesn’t get the story edited or completed. It doesn’t help me in publishing it or allowing someone to read it. What I NEED to do is just get back to it – open the story back up and finish it.

But how do I get passed my irritation I have with the story to actually finish it? I still love the idea, the concept, but a part of me doesn’t like the characters. That’s the problem – I think – I don’t like the characters I built &&& that’s something a writer must do. When I read interviews or listen to authors talk – the one thing they all say, “I love the characters and I loved watched them grow and build into something great!” I have changed and rearranged and renamed and rebuilt my characters so many times – that I am just fed up with them and all they are about. I keep thinking about things I have to have in my story and I keep screwing it all up. I don’t NEED a gay character. I don’t NEED a suicide attempt. I don’t NEED guys being animals. I don’t NEED girls being damsels. I don’t need half of what is in it, but I Have it, because a part of me thought it had to have everything in one. If I put everything into one story then I will have nothing left for my other twenty novels I want people to read.

&&&& who said I had to have 300 pages? If I don’t make it to 300 pages, that’s fine – that just means it’s a shorter book. But of course, I wanted words and length so I wrote and wrote until I had such and such amount of crap and garble that now I have to… you know.

&&& now I’m sorry for the rambling but I think I’m just mad at myself. In 2012, when I began this story, I really believed all of this. Now, the 2019 me is trying to fix the crap that 2012 me wrote. It’s aggravating…