Aimee

State of the Wibbly Wobbly

I know I haven't posted here as often as I should have.  I've been posting my writing stuff over at brandyhuntebooks.wordpress.com, what little there has been.  Freesia goes back to school on Monday, so I've been going back on my cocktail so I can actually get around to accomplishing something aside from watching television under the air conditioner.

For those who may not know what I mean about cocktail, it is a mix of supplements and vitamins that make my life livable.  I've only been back on it full time for a few days and already the difference in the pain in my knees and ankles is staggering.  Still having problems with my back and my depression, but those are old companions.  The biggest difference I'm noticing as we go out to meet teachers and reconnect to the bus driver and so on is I seem to be having a major flare up of agoraphobia.

I haven't talked to Chris about it yet, but I'm going to have to.  I thought I was over this.  I had a brief, very light bout of it between moving into my first place on my own and living several days without having to go outside before graduate school started.  But I almost didn't go to my mother's birthday party because I knew there were going to be people I had never known there.  That and the fact that they live in the top townhouse of a duplex sort of thing -- lots of stairs + asthma + holding my breath when I'm in pain = almost not making it all the way up.  Which became a whole thing in and of itself.

But I made myself go, so it is very light agoraphobia.  And I know I'm lucky I don't have a bigger problem with it.  But it worries me, and the more I worry the harder it is to concentrate, because I get more anxious.  So the more anxious I am the harder it is to write.  Somewhere in all this, I've stopped taking all of my supplements because I was feeling good, and I missed a day, then a week, then a month, and now I'm trying to get back in the habit.

And now that I'm getting back in the habit, I feel so much better.  My emotions are more even, what pain I have is manageable.

I just don't understand why I keep forgetting how bad it gets when I start forgetting.
Bed and a Sandwich

So we went to the lake!

I can't tell you how long it has been since I've been to a lake, let alone how long it has been since I've been swimming.  It must at least have been since before Freesia was born.  We were in the water for just over an hour.  Everytime I think that, I geek out a little bit.  I swam, walked, carried my daughter on my back and knelt in the water for an hour.  I can't think of the last time the pain in my knees and my back let me do anything like that without having to sit down.

It was easily the most exercise I've experienced in such a short time in over five years.  My feet were so tired when I got out of the lake that both cramped up in knots on the way back to the car a couple of times.  I have a pretty bad sunburn, but it was worth it.
Aimee

Aimee has come and gone

So, Aimee has come and gone.  And I miss her very much.  She was like a bright ray of sunshiny goodness.  I wish she and Alex had been here  the same time, but we would have been bursting at the seams.


That is all.
Aimee

And Alexandra is gone ....

My very good friend Alex has just spent four days in my house.  She has been gone less than an hour, and I miss her already.  I think we had a nice time, despite some health problems she had while she was here.  It was nice to meet her husband, Carl and get to know him as well.

I miss her a lot.  <sigh>
Aimee

Writer's Block: Apocalypse now?

Apocalypse now?
It's the beginning of the end, according to Harold Camping. How will you spend what could be your last day on Earth?
Reply 1052

I'll be spending Saturday just like I do every Saturday.  Trying to wrangle my family from one location to another while getting the shopping and cleaning done.  That would be the best way I could think of, after all, why would you be afraid of something that is going to happen no matter what you do.
Aimee

Critque has me spinning

I love getting critiques.  Believe it or not, I really like getting feed back especially if it constructive.  Even if it seems like they read something completely different from what I wrote, I usually get something out of it, like "Next time make sense so everyone understands the point."

I got a critque today I don't understand.  I don't get how it fits into constructive criticism, and I just don't know what to do.  I don't want to be whiny, but I also want to point out that this person may need feed back on actually using the system.

If it were something fixable, I would understand, but this is like about the entire genre of story.  If I understand correctly, he critiqued a zombie short story even though he doesn't like them?  Why mention it?  It isn't something I can fix.


Crap

Weirdness

Yes, weirdness.  The night feels weird.  I think I heard coyotes earlier, and I definitely heard a siren a couple of hours ago.  My sleep schedule is all messed up again, so I'm sitting here watching hulu.com like it's my job all wired because I can't sleep.

I feel weird, like a penny in your mouth weird.  Checked all the doors and windows, and I usually don't go through that kind of trouble.  I just don't need to, ya know?

Weird.
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Ka is like the wind

Switcherooo

So I've decided that this blog has gotten bogged down in my writing minutiae.  This blog was supposed to be a place for me to deal with how weird I am and other life stuff.  Lately, it has gotten to be all about writing, but not in a good way, more in a housekeeping, file clerk way.

So I've decided that this livejournal is going to undergo a change.  Most of the writing posts will now be made at http://brandyhuntebooks.wordpress.com.  This livejournal, since it will be handling more sensitive information, will no longer go out to my twitter feed after this post.  The wordpress blog will, but not this one.  This one will only post to facebook.

Anyway, this should happen before the end of the month.
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Wandering

From the Land Rich and Cash Poor to Mr. Republican, Sir


There is a place on our farm that you can stand and see everything we have.

Cows, hay barn, trees, pastures, and fields of clover and wheat just rising up, and the stumps from the last go round with the loggers.
Right now, our hopes for the year rest with a bumper crop to set off a seed cleaning season in June, but the burn bans are already up.
Being land rich means waiting for rain and shine in the right order, the right way. This year might be like last year -- a lot of thumb twiddling.
Mr. Republican, sir, maybe you need to pay attention to those of us with a lot of land and very little cash. It might be a nice change.

We joke how with this many cattle on the farm, we can't go hungry, but that doesn't change the prices the feed lots give us and the difference we can see the supermarket charging.
There is seed to grind as well, wheat and rye to flour by the bag if we took the time, but then what would we plant next year?
Mr. Republican, sir, what happens if we eat all the seed corn? Without public seed, who do we turn to? Montanso and their chains of custody?

We have a lot of land by most standards, but that land is all we have. We scrimp and save to pay the tax, the loggers come in and log what they can, we sell what cows the feed lots will buy, and we clean our seed and other farmers' seed when the demand is there.
Everyday, we work to stay here. I write my stories, late into the night when the muse strikes, and when needed, my husband works seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day.
We could sell it all, every acre and cow, but then where do we go? Our lives dont't start at 5 o'clock when we clock out of job we've taken.
Our lives start with breakfast and get lived all day long and into the night.
Mr. Republican, sir, where would you expect us to go? Where could we live that way, anywhere else in this great country?

My daughter's greatest joy is to go feed the calves or the chickens, or check the wild pig traps, anything to follow behind her daddy, her papa, her granddaddy.
My husband drives me around to show what they are working on, my daughter riding in the back of Mule, this little cart we use to chase cows with. His pride is here in land owned by his grandfather.
We'll never be rich. We have the land, and it gives us everything we need when we can trust the government to stay out of our business.
We are not asking for a handout, Mr. Republican, sir. We are asking that you remember you eat filet mignon because there is a small army of people willing to put in the effort to bring it to your table.

What happens to you, Mr. Repubican, sir, when we are no longer content to watch you truck food out of our counties, our towns? When we can no longer afford to sell it because we need it for ourselves.


Crap

Just in general.

Crap in general is a strange phrase, and one that must eventually find a home in some book or short story I write.  That being said, I have very ambivalent feelings about Mother's Day.  It's nice to get something from my daughter, and I will do my best to remember to call my mother first thing tomorrow.

However, I just don't feel like I've really been doing the good mom thing.  Maybe not even the good enough mom thing.  I've never been good at bedtimes or mealtimes, and it just seems like lately that has been our family life.  Pour food down husband's and child's throat.  Make sure they bathe before bedtime.  Listen to Chris complain because he's up too late again.  Rinse, repeat, do again.  Yeah, I have no idea what to do about it either.

Sometimes, there aren't really good choices, and you have to do the best with what you have.  I just wish the best was better.  Just in general, ya know?
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