Oh boy…

Nothing like saying stupid things for all of my son’s friends to hear. That’s what I get for letting him play online games with people across the world with headphones and a microphone in the middle of the family room… (I yelled out “stupid testicle” – I know it sounds weird out of context).

Anyway. Tomorrow trying new ADHD meds, should take a few weeks before I see results. Maybe I’ll stop yelling stupid things (impulsive you think?). I hope I can start writing again. I miss it, but for the life of me I can’t sit still and read through what I wrote so far… 

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Earplugs

My husband has been practicing the same guitar riff for approximately ever. Okay, just kidding. Maybe a week now. It’s the same notes, over and over and over and over, dling dling dling dling dling dling dling, no change in rhythm, no change in notes, no change in anything. We can’t hear the rest of the music, only he can through his earphones. I’m sure it’s better with the whole thing. But all we get to hear is dling dling dling.
I really wanna support his music and he is a very talented musician. This is not his usual thing, just something he’s doing with some friends. His part this time obviously sucks musically.
I’m going out of my mind.
I need earplugs.

3 months to live

What would you do with 3 months to live? If you only had three months left of your time on this earth, what would be essential for you to accomplish in such a short time?

Would you travel? Finish that book you started (the one you’re writing, not reading)? Would you sell all your stuff and move to Florida? Would you write letters to all your loved ones? Would you run naked in the street just because no one would press charges against the lady with the deadly cancer? Would you rob a bank ’cause you wouldn’t be around for sentencing? Would you buy an expensive car with your life savings ’cause your kids will be able to sell it after you die anyways? 

Would you think of all the things you’ll miss? Like your grandchildren’s proms, and weddings? That movie you wanted to see that will only come out next year, after you’re gone? The ending to the Vampire Diaries? The next book of your favourite series? Knowing what your grandkids want to do when they grow up? Organise a last Christmas celebration, fuck whatever date it is?

Would you cry and rage and curse fate for throwing such a fucking wrench in your gear? Would you rant and cry about the injustice of it all? Would you wonder ‘why me’? Would you think back on your life to see what you did to deserve this?

Would you tell your children you love them everyday until you can’t anymore? Would you touch your spouse every chance you get? Would you make love more? Would you stay in bed and make cookie crumbs? Would you have a fling? Would you have a threesome? Would you finally tell that person (you know who) what you really thought of them? Would you write to your old boss to give him shit? Would you contact ‘the one that got away’? 

Would you make your funeral arrangements? Would you put all your affairs in order? Would you make a will? Would you start giving away your stuff to make sure it goes to whomever you want it to go to? 

Would you make a list of things that you never got a chance to do and burn it? Would you make peace with yourself? With others? Would you ask for forgiveness while you still have the chance? Would you make a list of regrets and burn that too? 

Would you be grateful to live up to four months? If so, would you regret cashing in your RRSP’s and buying that stupid car? 

I hope my mom gets to do everything she wants to do with the months left in her life,whether it’s 3, 6, 9 or 12. And I hope she dies of a quick and painless heart attack, right before the cancer wins.

Anxiety: at least it’s loyal

Anxiety has been my friend for most of my life. It has never left me. It has always been there for me.

It has been a constant companion through thick and thin, through good times, bad times, heartbreak, falling in love, death and grief, birth, marriage, work, career.

It was generous and often introduced me to more friends, like panic, angst, nerves, despair, low self-esteem (with whom I developed a long, lasting relationship), impending sense of doom (not the party animal you would think) and bottomless pit of self-doubt and loathing.

It made me grow, learn new things, and develop new skills like a knack for embarrassing myself in front of people, saying the wrong thing at the very wrong time, mistaking manipulation for love.

Ahhh… where would I be without anxiety. And who would I be? I don’t know, really. And I never will. For anxiety is part of my chemistry, of my heritage and I will certainly fuck someone up and pass it on to one of my kids for sure, because that’s how life works. 

I’m weaning myself from my ADHD meds in order to try a new one. Does it show? Can you tell?

I haven’t written a single word in my novel since last week. No short story either. No little flash fiction peace. Nothing. I hope my passion to write comes back soon. 

‘Slay me’, said the dragon by Stephen Del Mar

ImageI can’t believe I didn’t write a review for this one yet! It’s the sweetest, most captivating short fantasy story I read in a long time.

It’s sweet, a bit scary, and oh so beautiful in the end. 

There’s dragons who can appear in human form, and a dragon slayer. Bad dragons and good dragons. And love.

It starts a bit scary and you don’t know where it’s going until you reach the end to realize it’s one of the most beautiful love stories ever written. And I read a lot. It’s really touching.

Yup, kiddies, another one not for you. Sorry. Sex. (I’ll try to read pg-13 stuff just for you, but can’t promise anything… because you don’t really exist!!!)

Too much

I’ve taken on too much. Possibly. Probably.

Maybe not.

Teaching a bunch of English conversation classes, some far from my home necessitating lots of driving, a restaurant guide blog with two reviews a month, a new client for revisions on a website, these blogs, two books I promised to read and leave reviews everywhere on amazon across the world, barnes & noble, goodreads, etc., starting to write a book… yeah, maybe too much.

Oh hell who am I kidding.

My ADHD meds have been reduced because it seems the type I’m taking isn’t good for me really, it’s increasing my anxiety levels to a frightening level, so my brain is reacting in a weird way: it’s getting overwhelmed by the running hamster on a wheel, just like before when I didn’t take anything. I’m seeing a direct link between the reducing of the meds and my enthusiasm in writing my book. I’m also more irritable, impatient and tired.

This would not be the time for me to chat with those people who told me ADHD isn’t a real problem, it’s just a new trend in psychology to sell more pills, it’s a new way of medicating kids with behavioral problems so they leave teachers in peace by making them stupid, and all those other ignorant, self-righteous, ignorant (I know I’m saying it twice) comments I heard from self-centered people who finish their opinion with “I’m impulsive sometimes that doesn’t mean I suffer from ADHD or need meds”. I’d smash their heads in the walls.

Uh oh

All of a sudden, what I wrote so far – 10 chapters – is pure crap.

Last week I thought it was good (not excellent) but now I read it and I’m thinking ‘who’s gonna read this crap’.

Apparently this happens to many writers. Since I’m not an experienced writer, it was bound to happen to me, right?

I’m tempted to throw the whole thing in the bin.

I won’t. But just thinking about it makes me feel better.

It’s like when you want to throttle your kid. You don’t, obviously, but you feel better just thinking about it.

I think they call it fantasizing.