When Life Gets In the Way

My brilliant plans all shot and it’s only 3 days into the New Year!

Okay, so it’s not all that dramatic.

Here’s the bad news: My hubby and I have done the math and we won’t be able to move back into our house this year. I could tell you and tell you, but I don’t think anyone would really get how absolutely depressed this makes me. (We’re talking I kept a straight face while we talked about it, then promptly busted out into tears two seconds later. And I’m not a huge crier…much.)

So we talked to Susie, my dear and giving mother, and she doesn’t mind if we stay at her place for another year so we can start saving enough to get the hell out. She also graciously said that we could give Owen her room since she stays over at her ‘man-friend’s house most of the time. Read: We see her once a week if we’re lucky.

In the spirit of the thing, my husband went a little crazy and decided we needed to start moving everything NOW this VERY SECOND. (He really wants to have a room separate from the baby, and with Owen in Susie’s old room, Bronwen goes into Owen’s old room in the musical dance of the rooms.)

The result is that the house has exploded. You see, when someone has had their room for fifteen years, they accumulate what I like to call stuff. Owen’s only been around for 7 years and has accumulated his own fair share of stuff. Shifting stuff from one area to another is not as easy as you would assume. And we decided to repaint the place while we were at it (May as well raise some property value while we’re at this, right? It’s the least we can do for Susie–which means we’re also retiling the bathroom floor and installing a new sink.)

Right now, the single clean room in the whole place is Owen’s room. What does this mean?

Well, it means Owen has a cool new space.

It also means that the only part of my computer I can find at the moment is my keyboard. I can’t even see the words as I’m typing them. Am I making sense? I don’t know. Basically it boils down to this: Time spent cleaning this disaster will eat into my writing goals for this month, which were extensive, even if I didn’t post them this go-round.

Can I get a hair-pulling AUGHHHHH!?

You people spend WAY too much time on Facebook

How do I know this?

Because I’ve been slowly sucked into the void that is Facebook. I pulled myself away before I planted anymore weird computer plants or joined more mafias or got bit by vampires or whatever else it is that the creators of this insane website have designed to eat my brain cells. And I do feel them dying, one by one.

Yet…

I’m scared to leave my profile alone for too very long because I was just gone for one day and have been notified that I have almost 30 ‘notifications’–namely, information regarding mafia/vampire/plant attacks from everyone that I’ve signed up with as a friend. And I don’t have that many friends! I have located a bunch of people from high school and my Barnes and Noble career that I have not approached with the pleading tone of “be my friend!” partly because I’m scared of what will happen.

I have novels to write, people!

But if you listen to this post, I know I’ll check my Facebook profile and be lonely if there’s nothing there.

Can’t win ’em all. Let the brain sucking commence.

Ali owes me money

but let me back up for a second.

At first, I did not intend to do Ali’s challenge. But, as I was looking through our garage for one thing, I found a ton of other stuff for my office. This ton of stuff included notebooks small and large, pens, pencils, and various other paraphanalia. Turns out I wound up working with office supplies. And it was fun.

However, in the midst of all this fun, I came up with a really cool way to revise FJR–a way that would allow me to see a rough version of the new order that I wanted to put stuff in. I would literally cut and paste. I have decided to cut the scenes into the new order and rearrange various paragraphs within those scenes. I will paste in the new stuff I write with them so that I have one version all together.

It should be messy. Yay! Like kindergarten.

But, in determining this, I also determined that I needed loose leaf paper (better to insert into a three-ring binder–of which I found, like, twenty in the garage), rubber cement, and file dividers to mark chapter breaks since my current chapter breaks will be moot. And that’s where Ali owes me money. See, if it wasn’t for her goofy idea I wouldn’t have thought of it. So I blame her.

Rhythm Interrupted

Apparently Ali has run out of reading material. Imagine! and she hits me with the refresh of shame….

Anyway, there’s a very good reason for not posting. Yes, I’ll blame the baby. But I’ll also blame everything that comes with a baby. Namely: relatives.

There are mother-in-laws, grandmothers, mothers, uncles, cousins, etc. Everyone wants to see the baby. Not that I blame them; my child is gorgeous. However, driving to and fro so that we can show off her beauteousness and entertaining people who don’t regularly live with us has thrown off the schedule. I’ve been watching far too many soap operas under duress, observing far too much of Dr Phil’s opinions, and basically feeling like I’m spinning my wheels and getting a whole lot of nowhere.

Which has thrown off my goals.
Which irritates me.
Which makes me sound bitchy when I don’t want to be.

I still plan on hitting the revisions of FJR this month…sometime. That was the main goal for this month after having the baby. (Who, I might add, is taking my typing very well, though it is probably jerking her head around in a most uncomfortable fashion.)

I Wanna Print Something!

I’ve been out of printer toner for about two months now, and that’s tragic enough. Today I purchased a two-pack of the toner necessary to get my printer up and running…then tore apart my husband’s stash of cables to find the correct ones to connect to the computer (nope, the printer has not been hooked up since we moved!) and now everything is set.

And lo! I have nothing to print.

Printer’s block. Who knew?

Unpacking Books

It just goes to show that people do not care about your stuff as much as you do.

I’ve been unpacking boxes upon boxes of books. Normally, this is not a burden for me because, in most cases, it’s like discovering the books I’ve meant to read for years all over again. Sometimes it’s like saying hello to new friends.

Now, due to my current ‘preggers’ condition, the packing of the books fell to well-meaning relatives. My mother, brother-in-law, sister-in-law, husband, and various nieces and nephews did the book-packing. Unfortunately, not a single soul of them knew my organization theory behind the books. First editions had their own place, Harry Potter had his (in theory, I’ve been reading those off and on throughout the year).

As I unpack now and put the books on the shelves in a haphazard manner that makes me want to cry (and I really do want to cry, it’s not an exaggeration) I find myself getting even more frustrated. It’s not only my own system that is out of whack, but Shane’s books are mixed in with mine as well. Instead of greeting old friends that I selected and found a place for, I am confronted with these weird strangers: yearbooks that don’t have my name in them, brochures to places I’ve never been, programs to shows I’ve never seen, and books that I wouldn’t pick up if left to my own devices are now mixed in with my old, sloppy favorites. To be honest, it’s like finding a stranger’s underwear in my own underwear drawer.

This is not Shane’s fault. It is no one’s fault. The group that packed did a ton more than I could have. However, I’m disoriented. Does that make sense? I’m used to Stephen King being here on this shelf–the Gunslinger series all together, the Series of Unfortunate Events all together, first editions there, mass market paperbacks here, and the non-fiction section right there. The map is all backward. And don’t misunderstand…I have probably upward of four hundred books total and I knew where every last one of them was supposed to go. Now I can’t even find them.

A New, Fruity Metaphor

Recently I chit-chatted about ‘refilling the well’ of creativity.

The only problem I have with that is that I don’t feel like a well. I feel more like a grape.

When I’m working on a big project, or a pretty steady stream of little projects, I begin like a grape–round and ripe and full of juice. As I type/scribble away the liquid slowly squeezes out. Eventually I reach the end. Drained and wrinkly, like a raisin. Physically I feel that way. Dried out. Less rounded.

Now that I’m not focused on the hugeness of a project I can feel the swelling begin. Soon I will be a nice, ripe grape again, ready to squeeze out new ideas, thoughts, and weird anecdotes. Makes me curious about how other folks feel when they’re ‘recharging their batteries’ or ‘filling the well’ or ‘gassing up the tank.’

If you were a physical object that needed to jumpstart (or whatever, you people know what I mean) what would you be? I’m totally a grape.