Living in the Land of "I Don't Wanna"

 I'm currently at war with myself.

The "you should be..." committee is fighting with the "I don't wanna" committee. There really aren't any negotiations happening, either. The two are at a stalemate.

For years, I listened to the "you should" committee, and did all the things. Blogging. Freelance writing. Nonfiction and fiction writing. I was always doing something because I thought that's what I should be doing. 

Health reasons, my divorce, burnout, and a myriad of other reasons forced me to reconsider the "you should" committee. Last year, I blocked out the "you should" committee altogether for about a month or so, and gave the "I don't wanna" committee full rein. I didn't want to blog or work on the novel or read or do anything "productive." I just wanted to be. 

And the love for writing came back. By not forcing myself to work on the novel, I gave myself some distance and a lot of grace. 

I'm having the same problem right now. This time of year is hard (as I've written about before here) and so I give myself a lot of grace. Though I worked on the novel over the weekend, I didn't do as much as I wanted to, and I have the urge to do something else creative.

So yesterday I made a decision. 

I love doing mixed media. This is a piece I did five years ago that I just love. 

But I haven't indulged in this hobby for a few years because I need room to spread out and be messy. I don't have a table or a dedicated space in which to do this. I also hate having a constant mess in my living room. However, I decided my need to be creative overrides the whole mess situation, and I ordered a folding table yesterday. I plan to put it in my little sitting area and get to work!

I can't wait to go through all my crafting stuff and see what I can come up with. I've found that when I'm struggling with my writing, doing something else creative will usually unblock whatever issue it is I'm having.

The great part is this is not bowing to the "you should" committee...instead, another committee has joined: the "I want to" committee! And this is the best committee of all!

Living in the Present

During my therapy appointment last week, I talked about my incessant need to escape whatever circumstance I currently find myself in. As a kid, I couldn't wait to escape the family farm in western Nebraska and the nearby small town where I went to school. I wanted adventures! I wanted to go and see the world! So after I graduated high school, off I went to college, and found opportunities to travel. After college graduation, I even tried to go to graduate school in Ireland and looked for a career in tourism so I could travel the world. And then I ended up meeting the man who would be my husband (now ex) and well, my wanderlust had to take a backseat as I raised my children. I still found time to travel. 18 years later, after the divorce, I took even more trips. 

And last year, feeling the need to escape once more, I packed up everything I owned and moved to Virginia. Finally, I thought, I could just settle and enjoy my new life. Easy, right? 

Hardly.

I still dream of escaping, of achieving my lifelong goal of living in the UK, a place I love so very much. But I also love where I live now. So why can't I just be content?

This is incredibly frustrating for me. I've made this huge life change, and I'm already thinking of the next move. Why can't I just settle for awhile, put down some roots, make new friends, become a part of this community, and enjoy where I live? There is so much to see and do here, and so much I want to explore not just in Virginia, but the entire east coast. 

 While my therapist gave me some good ideas on how to deal with this, it was my partner who cracked it open for me. He told me that I spend a lot of time in the past with my focus on history, and a lot of time in the future always thinking about my next move. 

"Why don't you live in the present for awhile?" he suggested.

Goodness. He was absolutely right. 

While I am not letting go of my dream to move to the UK some day (or at least live there part-time), I'm also going to focus much more on the present. On Saturday, I went down to Colonial Williamsburg to write. As I sat outside in the Merchant's Square, I loved being around all these people - tourists and locals alike - and knowing that this is my home now, and I can come here whenever I want!  And tonight, I went on a nature walk on my local trail, and managed to snap some gorgeous pictures of the autumn foliage and wildlife. 

Living in the present will take some work. I love to be at home and cocoon myself from the world. Therefore, I feel like I'm constantly at war with myself because yes, I love to go out and explore, but it also takes an effort to do so. I'm always glad when I do, however! (Sometimes I hate my brain).

Like so many other things in life, I need balance. I just wish I could be consistent with it!

On Writing

I've started my ninth novel. It's been slow-going, and that's because I'm writing the first draft with my head and not my heart...which is totally backwards. I need to just tell the inner editor to shut up and let me get the words on the page! Part of my problem is that I want this novel to be a different tone/voice than my other novels. I don't know if it's possible, though, as I feel hamstrung. Not good. But I'll figure it out!

Contentment

 It is Sunday evening. 

I'm sitting on my balcony, enjoying the cool 69 degree weather, and listening to vintage autumn music while I research all sorts of historical tidbits for my new novel. 

A hummingbird just buzzed by, hovering briefly over my bird feeders (I'm sorry, hummingbird! I don't have a feeder for you! I need to remedy that), bringing with it pure joy for me. 

In this moment, I am utterly content. 

I'm not thinking about tomorrow and the day job.

I'm not thinking about my health (which has been difficult the last month).

I'm not thinking about the mess this country finds itself in (or more accurately, voted itself into).

Instead, I'm just enjoying this life.  

With the weather cooled off and the 'Ber months officially here, this is my time to shine. I feel fully and completely me during this season. I've already decorated for autumn, and have candles glowing around my cozy apartment with gold and orange and red leaves draped over bookcases and along tables. I am hoping that my health will cooperate and I'll be able to venture down to Colonial Williamsburg sometime soon. I'd planned to do that today, but my health derailed me, as it so often does.

The cozy "den" I created in my apartment.

I found this saying on Pinterest and boy, does it ever describe me. Autumn really is the best month for me because of everything this quote says:

The research for my novel continues to go well, and today I made some awesome discoveries that I can incorporate into my story. I love it when that happens! I'm so excited about this novel...and I'm taking my sweet time with it. Last night, as I lay in bed, trying to fall asleep, the opening lines came to me, and I had to turn on the light and write it all down in my notebook because typing it on my Notes app on my phone was taking far too long. 

This is what I've wanted for so long, to be so fully immersed in my novel's world that my brain is constantly at work making connections, generating new ideas, and expanding my inner world. I'm trying to delve more deeply into the writing craft, as well, and turning to Emma Darwin's amazing blog, The Itch of Writing. I wish I understood the craft of writing as well as she does, but in all fairness, she does have a master's degree in creative writing!

I wish all days could be like this, but ah, life, it is not made to be that way. We have struggles and hardships, times when we cry and rage and despair. But we also have times like this, moments of utter and complete contentment. 

Those are the moments I live for. 

Challenging Perspectives

Yesterday, my daughter and I went to Historic Jamestowne, where she works. I'd not had a chance to tour the place since our move here in December, and when she finally had a Saturday off, we decided to go.

The weather blessed us with a beautiful day - sun, a cool breeze, and temps hovering around 80 degrees. We walked around the site, marveling at the monuments commemorating the first English settlement in America (1607), the reconstructed buildings, the original foundations, and the plethora of artifacts recovered through dedicated, passionate archaeologists. 

But I enjoyed listening to the historical interpreters the most. One, a Native American of the Algonquin tribe, educated us on why the colonists chose this particular part of America to settle, of how they saw his people as "savages," of how his people tried to be welcoming of these boastful and yes, bigoted white people. 

And as I listened to him share how his people used and honored the land, how they saw men and women as equal in their society, and how they only wanted to share this land, I became angry at my education.

I was not taught that Indigenous peoples were intelligent and incredible, more than capable of creating a rich, cultured society that needed absolutely no interference from holier-than-thou Europeans. That was not the narrative. Instead, I was taught that the Europeans were "civilizing" these people, seeing it as their duty to bring them to Christ (indeed, the charter for the Jamestown colony included an important goal - to convert the natives to Christianity and the Church of England), and educating them on the "right" ways to live. 

The damage colonizing has done to Indigenous peoples around the world just...sigh. I can't wrap my head around it.

But for me to have to view that history through a white-centric, patriarchal gaze for all of my educational years, and for much of my life through the continued white-gaze of books, television shows, documentaries, etc. - enrages me. I've been in a constant state of de-programming myself from this, and it's something I have to confront every time I find myself in a museum or watching a historical drama or reading a history book, or whatever. 

It boils down to this: white, European colonizers thought they were better than other people: better educated, better cultured, just better. And that idea hasn't gone anywhere. In fact, it is more prevalent than ever as we deal with anti-immigration sentiment in America and Europe. Right-wing idiots claim that Native Americans are not native to America because millions of years ago, their people crossed the Bering Straight. These people are so scared of no longer being the dominant race that they're twisting themselves into knots trying to justify their stances. White people are the most fragile, fearful people on the planet. The attack on the Smithsonian by the current presidential administration for showing "how bad slavery was" incenses me to my core. And again, we have people on the right claiming that it was actually a good thing that Africans were stolen from their lands and brought to America to be "civilized," to be beaten and abused and to endure horrific tortures, with no bodily autonomy, with no freedom to make their own decisions, rather than stay in "savage" Africa. People who try to reframe slavery as a "moral good" are delusional, trying to justify their racism and white supremacy. That's exactly what it is.

I blame the American education system for much of this, but also the American ideal itself. The idea of Manifest Destiny did untold harm on our society, shaping a narrative that said we deserved to take land away from the Indigenous because it was our glorious destiny to do so. 

What a load of crap.

That the right wants to resurrect and embrace this despicable heritage again says volumes about who they are, and none of it is good.

And this, THIS, is why the humanities is important. It's why we need places like Historic Jamestowne and the Smithsonian and other museums and historic sites to engage us in difficult conversations. (That many museums/sites have thankfully moved away from the white-centric perspective is a good thing, but many have a ways to go to incorporate Indigenous, Black, and women's perspectives, among others). It's why we need people passionate about telling the truth about history - like the historic interpreters at Jamestowe, historians, park rangers, and others. 

I wasn't expecting to have this reaction after my day yesterday, but I'm so glad I did. That is what history is for - to challenge us and educate us. We may not like what it tells us about our country and about ourselves, but we need to listen and learn. Unfortunately, our administrations sees this as "woke" (how can the truth be woke?!?) and is trying to destroy it at every turn.

We must now allow it. We must fight back. We must resist.

Feeling Discombobulated

This self-portrait by the French artist Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun has absolutely nothing to do with this post. I just love it. 

I know why I feel discombobulated.

It's a mixture of things. 

Crazy stress at work. The state of America and its fascist leaders (we really are in a Constitutional crisis). Trying to talk sense into my MAGA mother and the resulting fallout of angry words and long silences. My chronic illnesses refusing to give me even a single day of feeling decent. Not seeing my partner since last month even though he only lives 3 hours away. 

Normally, I'd go for a nature walk and take pictures of birds. That always has a way of lifting my spirits. But because I do not want to risk a flare, and thus miss out on work (which I literally cannot afford to do right now), I'm not pushing myself to do so. I take my dog out for a stroll around the park at least three times a day, but it's not the same. 

I've been able to write on the weekends, yes, but my weeknights have turned into more of a rest and recuperate from work. I usually sit on the couch and try to catch my breath. That is not how I want to live my life.

I don't know how to fix it, though. 

I need the income from a full-time job. I need the health insurance. 

And finding a new job in this economy and during a time when so many have lost their jobs? Not impossible, but not easy, either. 

I see women my age who have ditched the 9-5, moved abroad, and made it work. Many were able to do so because they have a partner to provide financial security, or came into an inheritance, or have money after a divorce. 

I don't have any of those things, and I can't just "wing it" and not worry where my next paycheck will come from. I need the safety and security of having a paycheck. I also do not have the health to do the hustle culture anymore. That part of my life is done. Still, I'm working a full-time job and a part-time job to make ends meet. Why? Because of health insurance. My daughter is still on my insurance and it costs a bundle. She'll be on it for one more year since she'll turn 26 next year, so I'll need to do both jobs at least until then.

What's the solution?

I don't know.

I have an idea for a podcast that I think would be awesome - but again, I don't have the time, energy, or health to do it right now.

I'm beyond frustrated.

I moved halfway across the country to start a new life. And I don't feel like I've really started it. Yes, I'm focusing on my health (I've lost some weight and hopefully, this will help with my high cholesterol, etc.), and am starting to do some things in the community. But that doesn't change the daily grind. I no longer have a work-life balance. 

When I withdrew from my PhD program due to my health, I promised myself that I would focus on my fiction writing. And I have - but it's only on the weekends. I want to be able to write a little bit at least every night, if possible. 

Sigh. 

I think it's time I have a check-in with my therapist.

The Peculiarities of Grief

 As we get older and we see the people who entertained us start to pass on, it's only natural to feel some sadness. Some deaths affect us more than others, and I think it's because of how that artist touched our lives. Art is powerful, and evokes considerable emotions within us. Art is a way for us to connect, to feel, to experience.

And so I was rather astonished that I took the passing of Val Kilmer as hard as I did. In the few weeks since his passing, I've cried, read tributes to him from others in the entertainment business, watched some of his movies again, and scrolled through tons of pictures from early in his career to later. A few years ago, I watched his documentary, Val, and saw what a eccentric genius he was, so full of life and spirit and that creative spark only a few in this world truly have. To see him still create and be so vibrant despite his health challenges made me just admire him all the more. I don't know that I can watch it again because I'll be a sobbing mess.

But I've had to ask myself: why am I experiencing such grief over his passing? 

I think it's a few things.

One, I grew up with Val Kilmer movies - Willow, Top Gun, etc. He was part of my life, just as Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, Tom Hanks, and so many more were, and losing him (and Carrie Fisher, Prince, and others who entertained me and fellow GenXers) means I've lost some of my childhood. And it is a loss, even if I never met any of them. So it's only natural to grieve. It also makes us confront our own mortality. I will be 50 years old in two months, which means half of my life is over. It's sobering and frankly, a little terrifying.

But the second reason I'm mourning is because I totally fell in love with Val Kilmer's character Simon Templar in The Saint. 

I was a senior in college when The Saint came out in 1997. I remember a guy asking me on a date to go see it at the movie theater downtown. From the moment it started, I was completely captivated. This movie had everything, absolutely everything, that I love: an international setting, romance, unscrupulous villains, a complicated hero, espionage, a smattering of comedy, and a happy ending. 

But Simon Templar...oh Simon Templar was the man I wanted to fall in love with, the man I wanted to take me on fantastic adventures away from my small Nebraska college town, the man who was the perfect hero, the perfect lover - everything all rolled into one.

And when I was in college, I desperately wanted a man to fill the gaping void in my soul. Because I had a distant father growing up (though our relationship has since healed) who did not show me affection or tell me he loved me, I turned to romance novels and romance movies to escape, and in real life, I was certifiably boy crazy. Any boy who showed me attention instantly hooked me, and as a result, I ended up with some terrible men and had my heart broken more than once. I wanted my real life hero, and I wanted my happily ever after, and I drove myself into a terrible 18 year abusive marriage trying to find it. (Only now, after a painful divorce, therapy, and years of healing, do I realize I do not need a man to complete me).

So when I saw Val Kilmer bring Simon Templar, my perfect fantasy man, to life onscreen, you bet I fell for Val Kilmer. Hard.  When the movie ended, I was on such a natural high that I walked out of that theater feeling like I was on a cloud. I remember going to the bar afterwards and telling anyone and everyone who would listen how incredible the movie was and to go see it immediately. I bought both the soundtracks on CD (I still have them) and bought the movie poster. 

It remains one of my favorite movies of all time. Some people think it's corny, but I don't care.  

Kilmer's passing triggered something in me - maybe I am grieving for that woman who, after watching that film, was more determined than ever to go to Europe and find adventure and romance, to get out of Nebraska and see the world, and I failed. I ended up staying in Nebraska for the next 27 years. I had so many dreams - and because of bad choices and bad decisions, they were put on hold. 

I think it's all sort of intertwined. Grief at how things just didn't go to plan for that vibrant, excited young woman; grief at losing such a pivotal figure of my childhood; grief at facing my own mortality.

I feel sort of ridiculous crying over someone I never met, but grief doesn't necessarily make sense, and so I'm allowing myself to grieve. I'm rewatching many of Val Kilmer's films that I haven't seen in years, or watching ones I've never seen before, and I ordered his autobiography because I want to know more about who he was. Though there are stories of him being difficult to work with, there are many more stories of his generosity and kindness, of his brilliant eccentricities, of his friendship, of him loving his children and being a wonderful father. He wasn't perfect - none of us are - but in Hollywood, there aren't many celebrities who don't have some kind of scandal attached to them. Val seems to be one of the rare ones who made his art one of his top priorities.  

So yes. I will miss him. I'm so glad, though, that he will remain immortal through his films. 

Letting Go

I'm currently listening to a song called "Time for Letting Go" by Jude Cole, one of my favorite singers from the 1990s. It's appropriate for this post because there's some things I need to let go.

I wrote and published prolifically for years. Nine novels (one published). Two nonfiction books. Several magazine articles. I also did freelance book reviews and back cover copy. In addition to that, I worked a full-time job, raised a family, and endured an abusive marriage.

And I am tired.

When I made the move to Virginia, I did so with the intention of creating a life that I loved. That's meant taking a long, hard look at a lot of different aspects of my life, making tough decisions, and enduring a weird sort of grieving process. Let me explain.

I did all of those writing projects - freelance and otherwise - for many reasons. Yes, I was fascinated by several aspects of WW2 and I wanted to research and write about them, so I did. But the freelance stuff? I did it for the money, pure and simple. Why? Because I had a financially irresponsible husband, and I had to make sure the bills were paid and the kids taken care of. Growing up with two financially irresponsible parents only made my financial trauma that much more difficult to deal with. So I burned the candle at both ends and hollowed myself out.

I'm still feeling the effects of it years later. (Is it effects or affects? I'm too tired to look it up).

But on top of the burnout is this expectation that as a writer and historian, I need to produce and produce and produce. And not blog posts or Substack notes or emails - but publications. No, I'm not a professor and do not need to make tenure, but as an independent historian, the pressure to publish still exists.

Within the first month of moving to Virginia, I landed on a potential nonfiction book project. Camp Peary, known as "The Farm," the not so secret CIA training facility, is located on the outskirts of where I live. During WW2, US Navy Seabees trained here. Italian and German POWs were also imprisoned here. And lo and behold, no one has written a book about Camp Peary during WW2. It's like the project just fell into my lap. In looking at my archival resources, I discovered a rich trove here in Virginia as well as in the national archives in D.C. which is now a three-hour train ride away.

This is a postcard from Camp Peary during WW2

I want to write this book. I do. 

But I can't right now. And this makes me grieve. 

Why? Because I desperately want to write it, but my health won't allow it. My brain and my body can't do it. Add in the complete chaos happening on a daily basis in America and it's just...nope. Not happening. It's all I can do to work my full time job and maybe write in the evenings if I have the energy. 

Do I feel guilty for that? You bet I do. I see so many people being incredibly prolific, and I envy them. I also think I should be just like them and write all the things, limitations be damned. But I  can't. I've yet to accept it. I'm not sure what stage of grief I'm in - but I'm not at acceptance yet. Anger? Denial? Probably both. 

But for my own peace of mind, I definitely need to accept this new reality. I'm damn proud of what I've already accomplished. And if I never publish anything again (gulp. That makes me really, really sad), at least I've got some books out there in the world.

I'm not saying I'll never start the nonfiction project, but right now is not the time. I need to learn more about my new state, familiarize myself with the area, and do a lot of research into where I live before I can even begin to think about starting that project. It'll take time. I need to give myself that time.

Until then, I'm going to focus exclusively on my new novel. I'm enjoying it so far, and as its lighthearted women's fiction, it's a welcome change of pace and escape from the current world we're living in. 

I'm also going to focus on my health. I cleaned up my diet a LOT (which I hope will bring down my cholesterol and triglycerides) and have an appointment set up for a pelvic physical therapist for my adhesions. I went on a walk the other day and hopefully, if I can get the pain in my abdomen to settle down, I can continue that this week. Who knows? Maybe I'll start to feel better. I know I won't be cured, but if I can pace myself well and prioritize my health, I can manage my chronic illnesses. 

So. It's time for letting go...of expectations...of perfect health...of guilt...

And time to be okay with what is.

Odds and Ends

I've been in a flare for the past few days. Yesterday, I had to take the afternoon off so I could sleep. I napped for four hours. I woke up exhausted, my joints burning and in pain, my body just one big ball of exhaustion. There's nothing I can do during these flares except rest and accept that it's happening. If I get upset, I stress myself out, and that just makes everything worse.

Today, my abdominal adhesions caused such intense pain I could barely stand it. Worse, they're causing pain in my chest - I don't know if this is referred pain, or if this is my fibromyalgia, or what it is, but after work today, I sat on the couch, took some pain meds, and put my heating pad over the entire area. While it still hurts, the pain is under control now. I'm waiting to hear back from a pelvic physical therapist here in my city so I can hopefully get some relief.

Oddly enough, after the pain subsided, I wanted to work on my novel. I managed to write over 1,000 words, and it was a fun scene to write. My main character just turned 50, and had to quit her dream job as a director of a nonprofit. She has a chronic health issue - like me! - and is taking a long break to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. She meets other women in midlife who are also dealing with their own issues. I don't have the entire thing plotted out, but rather letting the story take me where it will.

I've written only a handful of contemporary stories - and never a full-length novel - so this is a departure for me. But I'm enjoying it. 

I'm reading a wonderful novel called Johanna Porter Is Not Sorry by Sara Read. I was in a reading slump for awhile, so I'm glad I decided to read this one. Sara also lives in Virginia, and we've connected via Substack. I hope we can meet in person at some point since she lives close to me.

I'm hopeful this dumb flare will end soon because look at these beauties!

I have a walking trail right by my house, but it is not smooth pavement. The rocks were digging into my other walking shoes and I determined I needed some sturdier shoes to protect my feet. These arrived today and they fit like a glove. Now I just need to feel better so I can go and walk!

This and That

Pretty LuLu in the sun!

Life has been interesting lately...

Health Issues

After seeing the same primary care physician for the past 22 years, finding a new doctor wasn't something I really wanted to do. But since I live 1300 miles way from said doctor, I didn't have a choice. I had my first appointment yesterday, and it went quite well. We have an action plan for some of my health issues.  I had my bloodwork done and unfortunately, it came back with high cholesterol and high trigylcerides, which I already knew. I've been on a med and daily fish oil to lower them, but I don't think it's working. I'm sure a push to lose weight is in the works, and I can't say that I will fight it. I need to lose weight, but doing so is just so damn exhausting. When you have chronic illnesses and can't keep a steady exercise regimen, it makes it incredibly difficult to shed pounds. I don't eat that badly, either. I allow myself to eat out once a week and have a treat, like a slice of cake or something, once a week, as well (Friday night is my preferred day for both!). My weight has yo-yo'd ever since I had my daughter nearly 25 years ago. I've gained and lost, gained and lost, but this time, I can't seem to lose anything.

My abdominal adhesions are causing me no end of grief. I'm pretty sure I have an entrapped nerve somewhere in my thigh area, and it's causing shooting pain down my leg. I'm also having a lot of abdominal pain. Solution? Back to the pelvic physical therapist I go! 

HOA Issues

I do love my new apartment and the location. I have a splendid balcony on the second floor. Unfortunately, the sun beats down on it every afternoon and through the patio windows. I've already installed black-out curtains to help. But I also want to sit on my patio and enjoy it! So I bought a patio umbrella and spent a few lovely, blissful evenings there before someone ratted me out to the HOA. Apparently, in this condominium building (I rent my apartment) shades, patio umbrellas, and the like are NOT ALLOWED without express written permission from the Board. I was livid. Why am I not allowed to provide shade for myself? Because it ruins the way the building looks? If that's the case - and I'm sure it is - that is downright ridiculous. When I asked my property manager if I had any alternatives, she replied, "Sunglasses?" which just infuriated me. 

I've contacted building management to see if I can request permission for the patio umbrella. Light sensitivity comes with ME/CFS (one of my chronic illnesses) and I'm really hoping they will let me have the umbrella.

Other apartment woes include a leaking pipe underneath the sink - and we just now discovered it - which meant everything I store under that sink is covered in mold and ruined. The repairman came to look at the refrigerator today, and we need an entirely new ice making kit. The time on my washing machine also isn't working. Sheesh!

On Writing

I'm enjoying writing my new novel, but I'm running up against procrastination again. I joined a group that writes via Zoom twice a week to try and hold me accountable. I could have participated tonight, but wasn't feeling it, so hopefully on Sunday.

I'm also hoping to blog more regularly here. I journal every night, but I think blogging here to establish a writing habit is also a good idea. 

Weekend Plans

No plans for the weekend, though I may pop over to Colonial Williamsburg and go to the Art Museum if I'm feeling up to it. Otherwise, lots of rest, reading, writing, and watching my beloved British murder mysteries! 

The Best - and the Worst - of Times

Haven't blogged on this platform for awhile; instead, I've been using Substack. While I've made some great connections and enjoy some of the newsletters, I feel a bit intimidated about writing my own stuff. Isn't that strange? I feel like I can be more myself on my own blog...even though it's my own blog on the other site, too. Weird. 

Anyway.

I've now been living in Virginia for two months. The move from Nebraska went fantastically well, and the pets traveled the 1300 miles with nary an issue. That surprised me the most, I think! We've all settled into our new home. My daughter found a job and while I'm continuing to work at the same one I've had for the past year, I'm hoping I can find one involving the history around my area. But with the Terrible Orange One and his Evil Minion (you know who I'm talking about) cutting jobs left and right with the National Park Services, who knows? 

I feel like I'm living in the best of times (my own personal life) and the worst of times (the destruction of democratic values and the rise of authoritarianism in my own country). Every day brings a new calamity from our government. The latest debacle - the shameful treatment of Urkaine president Zelenskyy by Trump and Vance - made my blood boil on a level it hasn't in a few days. HAHAHAHA. I've always had low blood pressure, but this administration might change that. It's been a battle to try and focus on my own positive changes in the midst of the devastation. 

So for this post? I'm focusing on The Best of Times.

1) I joined a local writing group that meets once a month. There's around 30 of us, of all ages and types of writers. I met some lovely people already, and I look forward to participating more.

2) I've started a new novel. It's not a historical one (though I'm currently plotting my next one), but contemporary women's fiction. Or maybe it's chick lit. I really don't know at this point. All I know is that I'm having fun writing it. It's about a woman in midlife fighting a chronic illness who abruptly quits her job and heads to England to rest and recuperate and decide what she really wants for the next half of her life. I wasn't originally intending on adding the chronic illness aspect, but I feel like that's something not often explored in fiction, and since I have several chronic illnesses, well, it only felt natural.

3) There is a lovely walking trail just down the block from there I live. I've taken several walks there and snapped wonderful photos of birds, many of which are not in Nebraska. It's refreshed my spirit.


4) I love my new home! I'm in a part of town close to everything I need, and within walking distance of Barnes and Noble, restaurants, and other shops. The people in my building are quite friendly; in fact, everyone here is very nice and pleasant.


5)Yesterday, I went and bought some patio furniture for my balcony, and also put up two birdfeeders. I've had several finches visit already, and I hope some other species will also stop by!

6) Spring and warmer temps will be here soon! I plan to do lots of exploring when that happens. I'm surrounded by an abundance of history, and while I've explored some of it, I've not made even a dent in everything I want to see.

That's the update from here. 

What a Difference a Day (or Two) Made...

Dinah Washington sings a wonderful tune called "What a Difference a Day Made." While the lyrics are romantic in nature, it perfectly shows how much life can change in "24 little hours."

With my daughter gone on a weekend trip, I decided I needed to just cut loose a bit on Friday night. I bought a bottle of wine, FaceTimed one of my best friends, and had my own 90s music dance party in my living room. Just being able to relax and unwind, to let the cares of the week drift away, helped tremendously.

By Saturday morning, my gloomy mood had lifted considerably. I made some decisions regarding the day job (namely talking to co-workers and making a decision to discuss some issues with my boss) and having a plan of action eased my mind. I worked on my novel, took a walk, watched a few good episodes of television, and turned in early.

Today, I worked on my novel again, and lo and behold, I saw the path forward for the rest of the story. I'm super excited about finishing it. It's remarkable how my mood is so connected with my writing. This evening, I also took a nice nature walk and managed to snap some incredible photos. I'm not a professional photographer - I am firmly in the amateur category - but I so enjoy this little hobby of mine. 

Long story short? I feel so much better. 

What a difference a day (or two) made...

Woe Is Me

Maybe it’s because I’m only a year away from 50.

Maybe it’s because I’m burned out.

Or maybe it’s because the Very Worst Season (summer) is upon us, and my brain is beginning to go into deep hermit mode. 

I started a new job this year, one I thought I’d love.

But I don’t. It’s not at all what I expected. Worse, I’m starting to dread it. That’s not how I want to live my life. I need a meaningful day job, one that makes me feel as though I’m making a difference. While this job has that potential, there are too many other issues hampering it (micro-managing, miscommunication, etc., etc.) and long story short, I need to find something else.

But what?

I started buying myself flowers because why the hell not?
I deserve them!

I’ve worked as a writer and editor for my “day job” for more than 20 years. And to be honest, I’d really like to try something else for the day job part of my life (I will always write my fiction - but one cannot make any kind of living that way).

Here’s what I’d really like to do: historical research. I’d love, love, love to be able to research anything from an old manor house’s history in the heart of England to the life of a previously neglected historical personage, or the history of an object or a document, or hell, just about anything.

Finding those types of jobs is like trying to find one ladybug hiding in a field of grass: nearly impossible.

Why is is that the things I love most do not pay? Why must my passions not allow me to make a living wage?

Granted, if I did not have to worry about health insurance in this god-forsaken country, I might be able to cobble together a living doing freelance historical research jobs. But nooooo…I am a human being with chronic health conditions and I need to have decent medical insurance. And I also need a steady paycheck, something that freelancers don’t get for a few years (if ever) while they establish themselves and gain clients. Growing up poor, watching my mother have panic attacks over money, also makes it impossible for me to not have a steady paycheck. Trauma is real, folks. 

What to do, what to do?

I’ve been scouring the jobs boards, looking for positions in publishing, but the jobs are competitive, and I don’t know that I want a job in publishing,. Therefore, I’m trying to open my mind a little to other types of work, but how do you get a job in another field when you’ve spent nearly your entire adult life in the same industry?

Whatever the job is, it needs to be a remote one because my health absolutely will not allow me to go back to an office full time. There are days I can’t leave my bed!

I’m trying to be patient and have faith that the universe will provide me an opportunity when the moment is right. But it is so hard.

And maybe all of this is because of the reasons I mentioned above: I’ll be 49 this year, and that’s one year closer to 50, and OH MY GOD HOW DID THAT HAPPEN? And as we just finished up Memorial Day Weekend, that means summer is upon us, and last summer nearly killed me. I swore I would go to the UK for a month to escape the heat, but I can’t do that because the job I have now WON’T ALLOW IT.

Or maybe I just need to get away for a weekend, go somewhere stimulating, and come home refreshed.

Woe is me indeed.

I am feeling sorry for myself, but this is very discombobulating. I've always known what I've wanted to do - write fiction - and working in the writing/publishing field for the day job has, in the past, been exactly what I wanted to do. Now that I'm having doubts about it, well...it's terrifying, I tell you. And I'd rather not go through another drastic life change! I already moved, started a new job, and broke up with my boyfriend. Can the universe just leave me alone for awhile?!?

Sigh.

One day at a time. I have to remember this.

Staying Focused

Friends, sometimes it is exhausting to try and stay focused on goals.

Eat healthier. Lose weight. Exercise. 

Find a literary agent. Edit the novel. 

Keep working toward my dream of moving to England. 

And there are some days, like today, that I just want to sit on the couch and watch British murder mysteries. 

Last night I did my workout and it was fantastic. Felt good. Strong. Made a healthy dinner. Worked on the novel a bit. Went to bed early and couldn't sleep. Woke up and felt awful. Took an unpaid sick day (which I really can't afford to do, but...). 

I slept a lot and and then moved from bed to couch to start watching the new Palm Royale series on Apple TV which is fantastic. Now I'm watching Father Brown on BritBox and thinking I need to work on the novel.

My beloved Kathryn, who passed 3 yrs ago, knew how to rest!

Which irritates me because, as Devon pointed out in yesterday's post, why do we have such a hard time resting? I feel like if I'm not being productive, even on my days off or even on sick days, for goodness sake, I feel guilt and shame.

Capitalism. Midwestern work ethic. Call it what you will, but it's deeply ingrained in me - and many other Americans. I want to just watch television on a sick day without feeling guilty - maybe indulge in a sweet treat (trying to limit it to once a week except for my daily dark chocolate ration) and relax. Rest. 

I don't know how to combat this. I even felt guilty for taking a sick day. That's not right. 

But!

I'm still going to stay focused on my goals. Today might be a bleh day where I am not productive, don't get in a workout (I can't), and maybe only write a few sentences in the novel, or maybe none at all. And that's okay. 

Now if I can just convince my brain that it's okay!

THERE IT IS

 It's back. 

And who knows for how long? But for this day, for this moment, all is bliss. I'm happy, excited for the future, ready and eager to keep reaching for those dreams.

Is it because February, the hardest month of the year for me, is gone? Is it because for today, all is well at work - i.e. I know what I'm doing? Is it because I just finished watching the finale of the Apple TV show Ted Lasso and am brimming over with tears and a warm feeling in my heart? 

It's all of it and more, I'm sure.

I'm going to grab onto this moment, hold it tight, and remember how good it feels. 

When I work on my novel tonight - after I watch All About Eve with my pals on Twitter (we use the hashtag #TCMParty and live tweet throughout the movie) - I plan to immerse myself deeply into my story, and try to remember why I write: because I love it.

Life Update

I figured something out the other night. Because I lived for years never knowing what was coming around the bend with my then-husband (would he end up in a fight? Come home drunk? Be arrested? Yes, all of these things happened), I lived in a constant state of fight or flight. And even now, years later, when I am in an uncomfortable situation - like learning the processes of a new job - it triggers the fight or flight response. I've had to take deep breaths, remind myself that this is temporary, that I just need to not be afraid to ask questions when I'm unsure of something, and most importantly, to take it slow. 

As far as the novel goes, my editing process is messy, but it seems to work for me. I'm starting to figure out what needs to be changed, and starting to find my groove. Huzzah!

The weather has been unseasonably warm, and the other night I found a tick on my scalp. Yes, a TICK. I was appalled. A tick? In March?!? Climate change is really messing with the world.

And finally, I have to share this amazing sign that my niece made for me for my new apartment. Some day, I want to hang it in my home in England. 

Reminder: Art Is Subjective

Today I received a rejection from an agent on a full manuscript request.

It stung.

While she said she was initially drawn in by my story and premise (yay, the query letter worked!), she ultimately didn't fall in love with the execution of it. 

*sob*

Yes, I know this business is subjective. There are lots of published novels I've read that I've scratched my head at, wondering how they managed to make it from agent to editor to published novel. 

But I admit to being quite deflated today, and the self-doubt began to creep in.

What if I really am not good at writing novels?

That's a terrifying thought. Writing fiction is in my blood. I've been doing it since I was 12 years old. I can't fathom doing anything else.

So I've had to just confront this head on and realize that while this agent didn't fall in love with my story, I know one will. I have to keep the faith. I have to believe in myself and my abilities.

Life Update

I've been at my job for nearly two months now, and I'm starting to settle in and find my way around. It's much more challenging than my last job (which is what I wanted) and this means I am more mentally tired at the end of the day. I don't have as much energy to devote to my writing, especially when I'm having a flare (I've had two bad ones in the last month). I'm still trying to squeeze in a bit of editing every day in hopes that it will all add up to a finished novel. It makes me realize, though, how age and my health have so affected my energy levels. When my kids were young, I was working full-time, parenting, dealing with an abusive marriage, and doing about three freelance jobs plus working on my novel. How did I do all of that? 

Ultimately, I'd like to work part-time and write the rest of the time...while living in England.

Yes, that is the ultimate goal! 

The weather has been glorious here with temperatures in the 50s and 60s. I've tried to take as many walks as my body would allow, and it's been nice to be out in the warm sunshine.

I Just Don't Know...

I think I expect too much of myself. 

Every day, I expect myself to do the following:

1) Be awesome at the day job

2) Cook and eat a healthy supper

3) Keep up on the housework 

4) Exercise

5) Write

That's not a bad list, right? That should be doable every single day. When I accomplish all of those things, I feel amazing and damn proud of myself. 

But when I don't accomplish them all? When one of my chronic illnesses strikes and I'm too exhausted to cook, do housework, and barely have the energy to just sit and watch television? I feel like a damn failure.

I have a theory that life is a constant cycle that is always interrupted. We follow a routine - we get up, we go to work, we eat, we do the things we want to do (read, write, watch t.v., exercise, etc.), we go to bed, we sleep, we get up and do it all over again. 

But then come the interruptions. The sickness. The bad day at work. The medical appointment that brings bad news. Family issues. Relationship issues. Pandemics. Politics. And on and on and on...

We can try and plan our days and stick to our routines, but life interrupts us. Constantly. 

I need to learn to just roll with it, and not beat myself up if I don't fill in those little circles on my planner for each activity I hope to accomplish every day. There's something to be said for being consistent and for attempting to stick to your daily goals. But it's also okay to realize that hey, if you're in the middle of a flare, you don't have to exercise because if you do, you'll make yourself worse. Or if you had an extremely bad day at the day job, it's okay to watch television all night instead of work on the novel because if you tried to write, only complete crap would emerge.

Bottom line, I need to show myself grace. 

I love, love, LOVE this artwork
Artist: J.C. Leyendecker

Life Update

I'm just now getting over a flare that lasted almost ten days, and it was a doozy. Worse, I have no PTO at the new job until my "introductory period" (90 days) is over. That is beyond frustrating. I ended up taking an unpaid day and that's money lost that I really can't afford. It makes me realize that even though I have to wait for my PTO, at least I will have it. So many people do not have sick leave. 

This flare also reminded me of how sick I really am. I am not exactly sure what caused it (I did have a date night with my boyfriend and had two Moscow Mules, but I think it's just the enormity of the move, the new job, the holidays, etc., etc., finally came crashing down on me, and my body said ENOUGH. I still am not back to my baseline, and I'm trying not to push myself. These flares leave me terrified that one day I will not recover, that I will end up bedridden like so many patients with ME/CFS. How would I take care of myself financially if that happens? What about insurance for medical bills, etc.? Which brings me to the horror of the American healthcare system. Get sick, go broke. That's about the long and short of it.

Sigh.

I'm back to working on my novel, but I'm still trying to adjust to the new job. There's just so much more to learn, and while it will become second nature to me at some point, it's still mentally draining to work through it all. My cognitive issues (memory issues, recall, mixing up my words, etc.) that come with ME/CFS are not helping matters. However, I am very happy that my employer set a meeting up with me to discuss accommodations, and they have already made arrangements for a few things. It feels good to know I work for a company that values my health and wants to make sure I have what i need to get the job done.

Betrayed By My Body

 I've been doing pretty well with my exercise routine. I love the ease of using my walking pad, and how I can just slide it under the bed when I'm finished. Much better than that huge treadmill.

So tonight, when I hopped on the walking pad, put on my music, and started walking, I looked forward to listening to some good tunes and getting a burst of adrenaline. Then out of nowhere, my head began to throb. I tried to ignore it, considering I'd just had a migraine on Sunday, and had given myself all day yesterday to recover. I thought my headphones might be too tight, so I loosened them, but that didn't work. I took down my hair and clipped it at the base of my neck. That didn't work, either. I still kept pushing.

But the longer I walked, the worse my head felt. I finally admitted defeat and by the time I stepped off the walking pad, I had a full-blown migraine I have no idea what caused it. 

A few hours later, it's finally calmed down to a dull roar, but I am so damn frustrated. I wanted to exercise, craved it, in fact, after two days of inactivity. Yet again, my body betrayed me. Instead of exercising, then working on my novel, I had to put both those things on hold. Again.

I've lived with migraines since high school. While Botox shots every three months keep them at bay for the most part, I still live with daily headaches. I've exhausted treatment options and medications. Even when I have a migraine, I can't find a medicine that works to treat it (my neurologist and I have tried so many that I've lost count). 

So I suffer. 

Sigh.

This sounds like a "poor me" post. It's really just a "I'm frustrated so I need to vent" post. That's the beauty of blogging. I can write whatever I like.

To top all this off, another agent rejection showed up in my inbox. I'm about done trying to sell this novel. No one wants it. Might as well accept it at this point, and keep moving forward on the current WIP.

Though you'd think a novel about fascism and antisemitism in WW2 America might be relevant right about now...but who can understand the publishing business? Not me.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite pieces of art that I saw on my Scotland trip.

This piece, entitled "Reverend Walker" was painted by Sir Henry Raeburn and hangs in the National Galleries of Scotland in Edinburgh. I bought a print of this and it's currently hanging in my apartment

The Dreaded R Word: Routine

For years, I didn't think I did well with routines. I was a free spirit! Just let me do whatever, whenever!

Hahahahaha. 

The last two weeks have shown me how completely and totally wrong I am. I need a routine. I thrive when I'm in a routine. I feel better physically and emotionally when I'm in a routine. I can hardly believe it, yet it's the truth.

Ever since the pandemic hit and I started working from home full time, I pretty much created my own schedule. There were some days, if I wasn't feeling good, that I would sleep in, then just work extra hours. Other days, I'd work a fairly regular schedule. But in the last year or so, I really had no schedule at all. I did the work, did it well, and met my deadlines. But my sleep schedule was all over the place, and there were days I was working on day job stuff at 1 p.m.

Not ideal.

I loved it, though, as I could set my own hours. I felt as though I had an immense amount of freedom, and that is certainly true. If I needed to take a few hours in the afternoon to run some errands, I could do it, then just work some extra hours later. Other days, I'd be up super early, do some work, then sleep another few hours, do some work, and then I'd crawl into bed around 2:30 a.m. or so. Some nights it was earlier; others, it was later. I guess it was a kind of routine, but my mood and how I felt physically was all over the place.

I didn't realize how all over the place it was until I started my new job. Up at 8. Steady work throughout the day with a lunch break. And then quit at 5 p.m. I now go to bed around midnight or 1 a.m. (still need to make it closer to midnight) which means I have about seven hours to do what needs to be done after 5 p.m.: working on freelance projects, reading, exercising, and writing. I always watch a movie or a few episodes of TV every day, and lately, I've started playing Tetris on my daughter's old PlayStation 2. It helps me to unwind. (I need to get back to my jigsaw puzzles!)

I've noticed a significant difference in how I feel emotionally and physically. It reminds me of when I was staying at home with my kids, and thought I had all the time in the world to write, to exercise, to do whatever I wanted. I didn't end up finishing the novel I began when my daughter was a baby until she was five years old and I'd started working full time. I joined Curves (remember Curves?) and started working out. In other words, I had a set routine that forced me to make time for my writing and prioritize my health.

Of course, even with my weird schedule of the last few years, I finished two novels - in fact, I wrote a novel in less than nine months. That's because I made a promise to myself to work on it nearly every day, and I kept that promise. I also worked out whenever I could. But I had a lot more days when I felt pretty rotten. 

I still have days where I feel rotten because fibromyalgia and ME/CFS don't take vacations. But they seem to be behaving themselves because I'm on a routine. 

I'm also inclined to think it's something else: I no longer live with a man.

Trauma does crazy things to our bodies. I lived with a narcissistic, abusive man for 18 years (which is why I developed fibromyalgia and ME/CFS) and my body was constantly in fight or flight mode. While my boyfriend is nothing like my ex-husband, he is still a man, and I really do think my body never felt safe in our shared home. Now that I'm in my own space, my body does feel safe. That's my theory, anyway.

So. The dreaded Routine, a lifestyle I eschewed for so long, has now become my best friend.

Who'd have thought?

And...Breathe

It's been ten years since I've had to have a "first day on the new job" experience. I forgot how terrifying it can be. When last Tuesday morning rolled around, the first day of the job, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. But I made it through, tucking away my terrified introvert and putting on my extrovert persona, but doubts began to plague me: had I made the right decision? Would I be a good fit for this company? Would my coworkers like me? I felt overwhelmed and unsure. But I kept telling myself, "This is normal, completely normal. Give yourself time to adjust."

As the days went by and I started to meet more coworkers and learn more about the products, our process, etc., the anxiety started to ease. By last Friday, it had disappeared, and I knew I was in the right place. It's a challenge to learn a new job and tackle new projects, but I welcome it. I'd grown stagnant at my last job and that was one of the reasons I wanted and needed a different job.

There will be challenges ahead, of course, and perhaps some difficult times. But I'm staying the course.

Oddly enough, the biggest adjustment I had to make was my sleep schedule! That has improved, as well. 

I'm also back to exercising. I bought a walking pad and have used it a few times now, and it's so easy to just slide it under the bed when I'm finished. I'm trying to eat healthy because I need to lose some weight for health reasons, but it's proving difficult. Still. One day at a time, and lots of grace!

The new walking pad!

I've returned to editing my novel, and feel fully immersed in the story. Even better? I'm excited about it again! 

Life is starting to settle into a routine. I've discovered I need a routine to stay on track and accomplish my goals. In fact, I'm making all sorts of discoveries about myself. I feel healthier emotionally and physically living without my partner. I don't know exactly what that means, but for right now, I'm going to embrace it and accept it. 

The last two months definitely stretched me, but in good ways. 

I'll take it!

Here Comes Winter

 On Christmas morning, after we'd opened our presents, my dad would jokingly say, "Christmas is over!" We three kids would protest, tell him that we had yet to visit our other set of grandparents for gifts. 

While I have never celebrated Boxing Day (though if I do want to move to the U.K. some day, I should start, right?) or observed all 12 days of Christmas, I should start. Two days - Christmas Eve and Christmas Day - simply aren't enough to celebrate the holiday. I always feel a bit melancholy on the day after Christmas. There's such a build-up to it, and then, POOF, it's over. 

It was just the three of us this year - me, my daughter, and my boyfriend. We didn't do anything special - just ate good food, opened presents, and watched Christmas movies. It snowed on Christmas Day and we had a white Christmas which I always love. I received some wonderful gifts, including an action figure Robin Hood from the Disney movie (my daughter gave me the Prince John action figure last year!) and I was happy my daughter and boyfriend enjoyed their gifts from me. That's probably my favorite part of Christmas.

I allowed myself to eat whatever I wanted these past few weeks, not only because it's Christmas, but because my gosh, I didn't need to monitor my food intake after moving and sorting and unboxing for a solid three weeks. But the last sugar cookie is now in my belly, and while we still have some leftovers from Christmas dinner (stuffing! mashed potatoes! ham!), those will be gone in a few days, as well. 

I did manage to walk for 15 minutes on my new walking pad. It will take some getting used to. I'm not sure it has the support I really need because my knees were killing me afterwards. But, that could be my crappy shoes, too, which squeak like I'm walking on a wet floor all the time, so I zipped over to Amazon and ordered me a new pair because let's just keep on adding to the credit card bill, right? 

On Winter and Writing

The beautiful snowfall yesterday beckoned me today, and I went out for a few minutes to snap some pictures. I am so, so fortunate to live in an apartment that looks out onto a woodland area. There's a bubbling creek mere steps away from my patio, birds twitter among the treetops in the morning, and the other day, a fat raccoon just ambled by in broad daylight. I just love it.

I signed up for a winter writing sanctuary hosted by Beth Kempton, and today I did some writing prompts on winter as a warm up for the course. It was rather lovely to think of the aspects of winter I enjoy, and there are many: cuddling under a blanket by the fire with a good book or to watch a movie, the bright lights of Christmas, the snow dusting the trees, the chilly wind blowing outside while I'm toasty warm in my bed...

Of course, there's some things I don't enjoy about winter. February has been a very hard month for me since 2017. That's when I found out my now ex-husband was cheating on me; the next year, my grandmother died in February; and the year after that, my beloved Kathryn, a cat I'd had since 2009, died a tragic, terrible death (she died in my arms - talk about trauma). I barely made it through last February.  I watched a lot of British murder mysteries and didn't do much more than that. Barely got any writing done and just counted myself lucky to wake up each morning. 

I hope this year is different. I hope living in this new apartment, and starting this new life, will make a difference. Of course, traumaversaries don't much care how good you're feeling in life - they have a tendency to make their presence known. But we'll see what happens.

I'm back to editing my novel, and had some new ideas hit me the other night while I was trying to sleep (I actually remembered them in the morning!). I'm starting to incorporate them, and I know they will add depth and nuance to the overall story. 

One thing I really hope to do with this writing sanctuary is to rediscover my joy of writing. I remember those heady days of my youth, when I'd forego attending high school basketball games or going out with friends so I could write. I'd sit at home on a Friday night, writing on my little desk, with a blue pen and lined sheets of paper. I wrote and wrote, and I don't remember it being as hard as it is now. 

Is it because the more you write, the more aware you become of all the story elements you must include? Is it because we are wiser, more jaded, trying to write for an audience and trying to write so no one will leave one-star reviews? I think that's a lot of it. I've always said you should write the first draft with your heart and the second with your head, and that still holds true. But I want to be able to still find joy in the process. Sometimes, I'll sit down and not even want to work on editing the novel because it just seems so overwhelming. Other times, like tonight, I know what my goal is - and I break it into small chunks so it's not as intimidating. Why can't I always do the latter instead of the former? Because I have a squirrel brain, always hopping from one branch to the other, chasing after acorns and other shiny objects instead of focusing on the task at hand. Sometimes I do wonder if I have ADHD - but more likely it's the result of having my brain rewired due to the Internet. Right now, there are six tabs open on my screen, and I've been sorely tempted to check Twitter or Facebook while I've been writing this post. Social media has robbed us of our attention and focus. I've thought about deleting those apps from my phone, but the thing is, I really enjoy interacting with my Twitter friends (if I stay away from the terrible Holocaust deniers and white supremacists on Twitter, it's much more enjoyable - yes, that place is brimming with horrible people). The key is, I suppose, to limit my time on those apps and learn some strategies to keep my squirrel brain from kicking into gear when I need to be writing.

I have a week until I start the new job - and I plan to enjoy ever minute of it.