Christmas has come and gone, and so have both my decorations and my health. Now before you all start attacking me for my un-Christmassy spirit, let me lay it all out for you: new baby, new house after 10 months of bumming off family, hard-core Holiday season. (We were “smart” and moved the WEEK of Thanksgiving. Brilliance, I know.) Add on to all of that a cleanliness complex and the intense desire to see my living room without looking through a billion nutcrackers I had no other place for, and you might begin to get an understanding of why everything came down FAST. I mean, I literally finished college, came home, became a stay-at-home mom because that sounded fun, and spent the next week trying to cook a myriad of cookies with the four-year old for Christmas presents, because “that’s cheaper.” Lies. Alllll lies. Next year, people will get a craft from the boys and be happy with it. So there!
All that said, the stress and insanity have led to that age-old bane of winter: the Drippy Nose Cold. I’m not quite sure how to survive. My bathroom trash cans are over-flowing with wadded up tissues, my nose runs like Niagara Falls every time I slightly test gravity, and I think I pulled a muscle in my neck from sniffing. How’s that for a trip to the doctor’s? “Doc, I need some of the good stuff. I’ve pull a muscle in my neck and can’t see straight.” “Alright, how’d you do it? Car accident? Slept wrong? Wrestled polar bears?” “Ah…no… I sniffed too much.” I can just hear my mother telling me to go blow my nose. Doesn’t she understand, though, that you can only blow your nose so many times before a.) you are living in the bathroom blowing your nose every 5 seconds or b.) your nose turns into a massive bloody appendage worthy of a Kleenex commercial.
Alas, life must go on. My head may feel like a gigantic melon, my cheeks might feel full of rocks. My nose may be an endlessly dripping facet of nasty, and I might use up all the tissues and toilet paper in the house, but life must go on. So, I valiantly head forward, back into the melee, armed with a roll of Charmin and my trusty Lysol. If I fail to re-emerge, send in the foot patrol. I might need some Dayquil or something. Maybe, JUUUUUST maybe, if I survive, I’ll share a little of the chapters I’ve edited. Maybe. IF I survive.
This is entirely short and entirely too rushed, but it’s been bothering me for days! I think I’m a half-decent writer. I’ve had some tell me I could even be great. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, really. But, I’ve run up against something that I can’t write. I can’t write Christmas with all my characters.
And, what’s worse is I can’t draw worth a lick. I used to be able to, but I’m too much of a perfectionist to do it any more. It’s incredibly frustrating, especially when I want to have a cute little blurb on Kira, Rashir, Liam, and Kat all sitting down to a nice Christmas dinner. Or ripping open presents. Or something. It’s a little hard to do, especially since it’s their facial expressions I’m most invisioning…Gah!
So, those of you who possess the talent of drawing, I’m eternally jealous. I can paint a picture with words, but sometimes a picture is WORTH a thousand words. That was never so true as now… Alas, I fail. And I have to run to work.
I know it’s late, but I couldn’t contain myself. I’m so excited!!!
For any of you (roughly four of you) who have followed me for any length of time, you know that I’ve struggled to get where I am now. Hell, it took me over a year just to get comfortable with this damn thing. But, I’m pleased to announce, I have hit my stride! (Yes, every possible piece of me I can crossed is crossed, and every horseshoe, shamrock, and other piece of luck has been found and placed in a safe for…well…safe keeping.)
I have just finished two decent chapters in ONE WEEK! And managed to do all my homework, AND clean house! Yes… I am Superwoman. I’ve even managed to cook once or twice, but that’s not where I’m excited. The writing is what’s so amazing.
I used to be able to write like this. If you knew my parents, you could ask them. I would type for hours, to the point where my computer would be taken away. 8th grade and I’d written a 300+ book (of questionable quality, to be sure, but still!). Perhaps that’s why my present state of slowness has been so depressing. Almost 15 months, and I’ve only managed to write 150 pages. But that is no more!
Join with me in a toast! The writer is back! (Please don’t drink and drive.)