I don’t even know where to start

Well. October has arrived, and we’re inching closer to an election and National Novel Writing Month, and then suddenly Thanksgiving will be gone and Christmas will be here and then suddenly 2020 will be over and it’ll be time to pay taxes and…

October is the start of the fastest time of my life. Let’s just say that. Generally, once October is here, I’m looking forward to NaNo, and then I’m scared because time has sped up and Christmas is almost here and I’m not ready for it, and then Christmas is over and we get past all of our December birthdays and celebrations, and I get to take a break, but then I’ve been so wound up for so long I deflate and take two and a half months to relax, and then, yes, suddenly taxes are due and I’m panicking about them.

But once we get past April 15th (most years *cough*fucking2020*cough*), time resumes it’s normal speed.

For now, though, I’m in October.

It’s different than any other year. I’m (finally) not freaking out or getting depressed about or looking forward to or upset about National Novel Writing Month.

This is M.A.J.O.R.

H U G E .

As in, I haven’t experienced this since 2002, the year before I discovered NaNo. And it only got worse in the years I was working as a co- or solo-Municipal Liaison. It’s been a couple of years since I did that, but those years I were the dark years, not the excited/frantic ones.

I’m grateful that I’m not dragging myself out to events I’m not having fun at. This is not to say that I didn’t like the people at the events. I love many of the people at the events. But I need a break.

It’s going to be interesting to experience a normal October and November. I know 2020 isn’t normal, but a year where I’m not spending every moment in October plotting a novel I’ll never write (I’m a pantser and it’s silly that I keep trying to be otherwise). A year where I don’t spend every second in November kicking myself for not writing. A year where December doesn’t sneak up and kick my ass because I was so busy in October and November, I couldn’t prepare for Christmas. Where my birthday sneaks up. Where the first quarter of the new year slips by unnoticed because I’m so glad the last quarter of the previous one is over.

Well. I’m harping, I suppose. And I make it sound like I have no choice in how time passes or how I spend my time, but I know that I do. I suppose I’m just excited to actually feel in control. To take a little bit of time to really remember what these months feel like without the clutter of external events.

This doesn’t mean that I’m not participating in NaNoWriMo, which probably sounds odd. I’m going to write something. Maybe finish a previously begun novel, maybe write something completely different. But I can do it without guilt, without frustration that’s been plaguing me for the past few years. Without resentment at my inability to accomplish at meetings the very things we are attending to achieve. Socialization with my peers is fabulous, but I used to be able to write.

Well, welcome to October.

There was a thing

There was a particular kind of post that I wanted to write today that of course I cannot remember now because I get ideas and I can’t hold on to them to save my life (mostly because my time to think right now is on the drive to work while I’m listening to an audiobook, and I get sucked into the audiobook so much that I don’t want to pause it to create a recorded memo, so yes, I know there are options, but they don’t work for me right now), so now I’m going to write something else.


How is it that I can manage to put up with the political and daily news items on Twitter that push me over the edge on Facebook? Why can I keep my content on Twitter when I go through and delete everything I’ve ever written and have ever been tagged in on Facebook?

I don’t even remember why I don’t like Facebook anymore, and yet I still went over into my settings today and debated suspending my Facebook again.


I, like everyone, am having a rough time with this year. When it looks like everything is as bad as it could possibly get, it gets worse. It occurred to me today, though, that none of it is actually happening to me, but rather around me. I mean, aside from my undiagnosed depression (or whatever else is actually going on – anxiety? something else?), everything is happening to my children, or my husband, or my parents. And yet, I keep trying to make it about me. What did I do to cause this? What should I have done differently? How am I supposed to respond to this?


I am simultaneously terrified to be acknowledged, and desperate for attention. What is that? Like, you can either be nobody, or somebody. You can’t be somebody nobody knows anything about. It doesn’t work like that anymore. People are rabid with secrets like that.

What in the world is wrong with me? (Don’t answer that. It’s rhetorical. The whole thing is rhetorical.

Stabby…

I’m having the most fun over the past two nights (Sunday and Monday evening) stabbing Aida cloth in a manner that allows me to be creative, but also avoids all of the frustrating parts about cross stitch.

stabby night 1

As you can see, I am using a bright pink thread whose original use I cannot recall, and I have created a line of X’s. I have an 8×8 frame, and I just started about a 1/2-inch from the edge and started stabbing.

stabby night 2

The frustrating part of cross stitch is, for me, trying to follow a pattern. It’s not a hard process. You count the spaces with the color, and then count them again, and then a third time, and maybe a fourth…fifth…and so on. And then you stab and make your X’s. Continue following the pattern, counting, gaining confidence.

And then find out somewhere, seventeen or eighteen hours ago (doesn’t matter if you just started, it’s going to be as far back as humanly possible) you made a mistake that will require you to undo everything you’ve stitched so far and either rage quit the project, or redo everything.

Without a pattern, there’s absolutely no way I can screw things up! Except for when I cut the floss too long and it gets knotted, but I lived through a couple of those episodes already.

Maybe I’m making a giant rectangle of pink. Maybe I’m making a border for some adorable quote that needs to be stitched in six by six pixel letters. Maybe I’m going to create negative space for a picture, or a heart, or a circle, or smaller squares.

I don’t know. But it keeps me off the phone, it keeps my hands busy, and I’m enjoying seeing the progress.

Keep stopping by for progress updates!

LOL of course.

I recorded 27 minutes of video to put on YouTube this weekend, and then I couldn’t get the footage to a computer to edit it. The advice to turn your camera settings up as high as they’ll go doesn’t work when you have the slowest Internet speeds because you can’t afford the rates for the faster speeds.

It’s fine, though. I kind of let it all out, and I felt really good after doing it, but there was a lot of stuff shared that don’t need to be out in the public. I vented to friends, and that should be enough.

I’m going to try to stop complaining now. 🙂

Hope you’re having a good day.

The Deleting Urge

Sometimes I get urges to delete things.

Blogs, most frequently. Once a Facebook account. Twice all my Facebook posts (I’ve mentioned that recently.) Other social accounts. A user account that I really regret getting rid of.

Now books.

It’s a good idea. It really is.

But it’s also a bad idea.

But also a really, really good one.

Damn it.

The Deleting Urge is here.