The same patch of fireweed, and normal weeds, and baby trees. Not especially different from last week.
The same patch of fireweed, and normal weeds, and baby trees. Not especially different from last week.
A patch of fireweed (among other things) in my front yard.
The purple blooms are the first sign that winter is coming. Soon, the leaves will start to rust from top to bottom. It’s started already in a few spots.
And when there’s no green left, you know snow is just days away.
Next weekend is my twenty year high school reunion. According to the internet, a family fun center in town has been reserved all day for the event.
Yeah, I’m not going to that.
I hated high school.
Starting in eighth grade, each year of school was worse for me than the one before. By my senior year, I had zero close friends.
Our senior class trip was to the theme park Lagoon, outside Salt Lake City. I spent most of that day wandering around the park by myself, trying to look like I was rushing to meet someone so that no one would notice the miserable teenage girl trying not to cry.
That’s how I spent my daily lunch break, too.
And this was my own fault.
I was the girl who completely abandoned her friends when she had a boyfriend. (And the boyfriend usually didn’t go to the same school (because he was usually out of school).)
I was the girl who held a grudge and refused to talk to or even be friendly with someone after I decided they had wronged me.
I was the girl who always said no to party invitations and extracurricular activities due to my anxiety.
To be fair, I did have a part time job so I wasn’t always available. And we did live out in the country so I missed a lot things just because of proximity.
And like every high school there were bullies and cliques. But honestly those problems were the worst for me in elementary.
I still went to football games and the odd dance. I went to the senior formal with three of my girlfriends because none of us had been asked to go. And I went to the all night party after graduation, but like Lagoon, I spent most of that party trying not to look as miserable and lonely as I felt.
What I’m trying to say is, my experience was not the worst experience in the world. But it’s not one I treasure or reminisce about.
I hope everyone I went to school with is happy in their life, and I wouldn’t presume that any of them are the same today as they were twenty years ago. I’m sure not!
There just isn’t any reason for me to go to a reunion. Those are just some people that I used to slightly know. Used to be corralled into a room with. Used to hide from and avoid.
A few years ago, Jason and I burned all of our yearbooks. Talk about cathartic! I’ve never regretted it. High school is something I survived, and I’m glad I survived it. But I have no interest in reliving it.
I watched reruns of Lost all night.
It’s sort of research for one of my writing projects, but really I just had an icky day at work and I have to do a sleep study tomorrow so I was mostly just goofing off.
I was ready to meh my hundred day challenge for the day, but Jason told me I was not too tired to post a blog.
And here it issszzzzzzzzzzzz
This is the third day of my one hundred day challenge.
The challenge is supposed to be “post a blog or write for an hour every day,” but already it’s turning into a “blog every damn day” challenge because I can’t seem to set aside an entire hour in a day to work on a writing project but I can squeeze out fifteen minutes for a blog post.
And that’s why I wanted to do this challenge–to make writing a priority.
Jokes on me!
No, no, no. Just the third day, I can still do this.
I bought Scrivener not too long ago and I’m scared of it. I’ve been watching tips ‘n tricks videos on YouTube and am slowly going through the tutorial. But I’m still scared of it.
Or I’m just making excuses.
Tomorrow will tell.
(Using the book The Playful Way to Serious Writing [Amazon affiliate link], I set a timer for ten minutes and wrote a short story relating to the phrase “change diapers.” Edited a smidgen after the fact.)
Tara slowly adjusted her position in the seat. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
She checked the rearview mirror, set the suburban’s cruise control and carefully unbuckled her seat belt. A peak into the backseat reassured her that Brad was still asleep.
Tara slipped her hand under the skirt’s waistband and tugged at the straps. The thin cotton ripped open easily enough. She grimaced as a pungent odor tickled her nose, but this was no time to be squeamish. She planted her feet on the floor and raised her hips.
Holding the wheel with one hand, Tara slowly pulled the soiled diaper down until it cleared the hem of her skirt. She coughed against the stench, then lowered her window, and tossed her burden out. Grabbing a fresh diaper from the pile in passenger seat, she stole a glance into the back.
By some miracle, Brad was still asleep.
Unfortunately, flashing blue lights were coming up behind her and fast. Tara shoved the new diaper between her butt and the seat, sat down, and stomped her foot on the accelerator causing the suburban to roar in protest.
“What is that smell?” Brad said, his voice muffled with sleep.
“I think I hit a skunk,” she replied, her eyes trained on the rearview mirror.
Brad took in his surroundings and sat up straight. “Where are we? What am I doing here? Where’s Jessica?!”
“Don’t worry, baby, everything is going to be fine,” Tara sang out, tears stinging her eyes. “It’s just you and me now!”
She could hear the sirens. In her mirror she saw at least three state troopers closing in behind them, and still more coming from the opposite direction.
“Stop the car, right now!” Brad roared, yanking at the rope tied around his ankles. “Let me out now, you psychotic bitch!”
“I love you!” Tara screamed as she yanked the wheel to the right.
Like I said, ten minutes to write a story.
And that’s what you get.
April 1 to June 30 is 100 days. There are lots of hundred day challenges floating around the internet, and they don’t necessarily start April 1. Most of them are about fitness goals.
I have fitness goals. But I’m stuck with this body until I die, so any fitness thing I decide to do needs to be more long term than a few months. I did a crash diet once, and it worked, and then the pounds came back, and they brought some friends with them. Dammit.
So instead I chose a writing goal. Every day from today through June 30, I will either post a blog or spend an hour writing. And if I were a gambler, I’d bet the lot that I don’t do it. I’m a tad flaky when it comes to self-imposed challenges.
Me: I want to write a book!
NaNoWriMo: Here’s a month long challenge to write 50k words, and here’s message boards and moderators and adorable merchandise to help you!
Me after day one: Yeah, I’m not doing that.
Me: I want to read nonstop for 24 hours!
Me at hour zero: Whatever, I think I’ll just watch YouTube crap all day.
It’s pretty frustrating to know about all of the things that I honestly want to do, knowing that life is short, and still knowing that I am the biggest obstacle to me achieving my own goals. I had a birthday recently. Forty is getting closer, but I still don’t think I’ve really started acting like an adult.
I want to write. So, I’m going to write. That’s how adult-ing works, yeah?
Awhile back I had the grand idea of posting a weekly update on this blog. I would post a snapshot of the view from my window at the same time every week, list the sunrise/sunset times, and briefly touch on the weather. Then I’d list my observations from the week before and write out my plans for the coming week.
I was thinking that because I live in Alaska, folks might enjoy seeing how quickly the seasons change and the sunlight shifts. And I thought it would be a roundabout way of getting me back into the habit of writing relatively regularly.
But like NaNoWriMo, because there was a deadline (Mondays) I don’t want to do it.
I don’t like surprises. I like to know what’s coming and plan ahead for as many scenarios as possible. So you would think I would appreciate a similar structure for my hobbies.
If it has to be done right now because I say so, it’s not happening. To the point of a toddler-like tantrum.
If it has to be done right now because someone else says so, okay. Heck I’ll even smile.
I don’t know what would happen if someone tried to pay me to write. I think it would be physically painful for me to write something that I didn’t enjoy writing, and so if I was being forced to write, I think my head might explode. Like that guy in Scanners.
The sunrise today was 10:57am and it set at 2:39pm. We’re just about to the solstice and then the days will start getting longer again. After enduring the summer of the midnight sun, I think I prefer the dark of winter. The daylight can get pretty intense after awhile.
The only real drawback to the darkness is that I basically can’t drive at all. My night vision is awful and it’s about an eight mile drive through the trees to get to town, no street lights to help, and moose love to wander onto the highway. Bad combination. Of course the roads have been icy for a couple months so I’m totally fine letting Jason drive always.
We’ve managed to do a bit more sight seeing here and there. The Santa Claus House is basically a huge gift shop with a huge fiberglass Santa out front and a live Santa inside you can take a picture with. By the way, North Pole is the name of the town, but it has nothing to do with the magnetic north pole.
I do hope to blog more. Maybe short stories, maybe life updates, who knows. One thing for sure, I’ll do it when I want to and not before.
the view from my office around 5pm today
Diary entry, just an update on life, things, whatnot.
This morning the sun came up at 8:57am and it set at 4:11pm. The high was in the low twenties while the low is in the single digits.
So NaNoWriMo started. I didn’t get the surge of creativity on November first like I’d hoped. I managed to write a few hundred words, and immediately got a monster headache.
Haven’t touched it since.
Like so many things, I like the idea of having written, but not so much the actual work of writing. I haven’t been able to have fun writing in a long time. I was hoping that NaNoWriMo and my crafty composition notebooks would at least make me want to write, but I honestly haven’t wanted to write in a long time.
Probably I picked the wrong story for NaNoWriMo. And probably I should have just tried typing instead of writing longhand. And I probably should have remembered the lesson from last year–if a thing is supposed to be fun, but there’s a time limit and/or daily goal, I’m not going to do it.
I know I could write 50k words in 30 days. But trying to write 50k in 30 days brings out my stubborn, toddler brain that only knows how to say NOPE.