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.

How I write

I like to break the 4th wall.

I like to be a lot silly.

I like to slip in private jokes for my friends, and for me.

I write too much of me into my characters. Shhhh…

I write better when I write fast.

I don’t like to edit much more than for grammar and continuity.

I am struggling a LOT right now with writing. Maybe that’s come up? Or maybe I’ve just been ranting about it in my journal for a few days. It’s stress. Personal stress, family stress, and pandemic stress.

And the fucking masks. I know I mentioned the masks (which I will wear while loathing every second, but not resenting them).

But anyway. I got an idea for a scene — I guess it’s more accurate that a scene started playing in my head — while I was in the bathroom, where a character complains to another character about their nickname, and the second character tries to convince them to go with it, because the author is getting tired of typing it. The first character rationalizes that the reader doesn’t mind reading it, and she prefers it, so it should stay.

I’m going to keep that.

Heh…