Notes From a Coffee Shop

So I just posted two past weeks' blog posts that I started but didn't finish. Don't get confused, it's not that you missed them... they were waiting in the wings, unpublished, unfinished.

"Unfinished" is too much of a theme in my writing life lately. Anything seems easier than finishing the writing task at hand. Even now, as I sit here in the coffeeshop, committed to a writing date with myself, I'm looking for outs. Maybe someone wants to watch a movie? Maybe I should check Facebook to see what new events I need to add to my calendar? People watching...! How about people watching? That should count towards writing time - it's character material fodder, right?


So much easier to procrastinate than to write! When I am sans deadline, I suffer from a miserable combination: tons of inspiration and ideas + zero motivation. When I have a deadline, I often feel a bit blocked idea-wise, but at least the fire is lit and I can get moving. I need to find the shift, wherein I can write when I have ideas about what to write... rather than having brilliant ideas while driving through the middle of nowhere and having thoughts like "man, Sofia looked funny when she was shaved" fill my head while I waste my hours of writing time at the coffeeshop.


Perhaps tonight's next activity will be to do what I keep intending to do, but keep forgetting to do: put together a timeline of submission deadlines, and set up a calendar of monthly external deadlines for myself. So, dear readers (whoever has not yet given up on this poor, abandoned blog), do help keep me on task. Ask me if I got the list done. Ask what the next goal is. I need to find a rhythm before the next surge of work/travel/outside obligations makes it even more difficult for me to stay focused.


Sending good writing and excellent life-in-general vibes out to everyone...

And My Hair Will Shine Like the Sea-ee-ee... Ee-ee-ee-ee!

I don't care what my teacher says/I'm gonna be a supermodel/And everyone is gonna dress like me/Wait and see/When I'm a supermodel/And my hair will shine like the sea/And everyone will wanna look just like me...

Cause I'm young, and I'm hip and so beautiful/I'm gonna be a supermodel/'Cause I'm young, and I'm hip and so beautiful/I'm gonna be a supermodel!

I wish that I was like Tori Spelling/With a car like hers, and a dad like hers/And I will show them how, how it was done/And that'd be fun; that'd be fun/And I'd write my school report/On "Why I love my jeans; why I love my jeans"/And oh! On my locker door/It's the coolest thing that you've ever seen...

'Cause I'm young, and I'm hip and so beautiful/I'm gonna be a supermodel/'Cause I'm young, and I'm hip and so beautiful/I'm gonna be a supermodel!

I didn't eat yesterdayAnd I'm not going to eat today/And I'm not going to eat tomorrow/'Cause I'm going to be a supermodel/'Cause I'm young, and I'm hip and so beautiful/I'm gonna be a supermodel...

--"I Wanna Be a Supermodel" (Letters to Cleo)

Somehow I got drafted into being in a runway fashion show this week. This is not a joke. (Okay, it's actually one heck of a joke, but mostly because it actually did happen.)

There are many stories I could share, but I'm behind on blogging and short on time. I will share the best of the worst:

Most of the models in the show were actual models/model material: tall, bronze-skinned Amazonian blondes. The night before the runway show, I had to attend a rehearsal for said show. During the run-through of a section in which I was not participating, I was seated beside a mother of one of the models. She pointed out her willowy golden daughter to me. Then, another girl strolled down the catwalk - a long-necked girl with cinnamon-hued hair and porcelain skin.

"Oh, look at that poor baby," she whispered to me, scandalized. "She is so pale! I've tried talking to her mama, but she still won't take her to the tanning salon. Can you believe that?"

I believe the expression on my face could only be described as "What the SWEARWORD is wrong with you? How the SWEARWORD is that okay for a parent to say?"

Overall, it was an interesting experience, and I'm glad I could help the person who was coordinating this show. But, just in case I ever had any doubts: I am so not model material.

Storms

Huge storms ripped through Jackson this Friday. I was unaware of the magnitude of the storms until I headed home at day's end, with down power lines, trees, and traffic lights stretching my fifteen minute commute into forty-five minutes. I knew there had been a storm, was even caught out in some intense hail during lunch, but the worst of it missed my office - and also missed my home. Incredibly, several of the tornadoes touched down smack in between my home and office.

The weather, so beyond our control, seemed a powerful and unforgiving metaphor for life in general. So often, we are wrapped in ourselves, and not fully aware of those around us. I didn't know the storm was as bad as it was because I was not one directly impacted - but the storm was all around, and many, many were impacted. Some of my friends are currently unable to live in their apartments; others have no power. My gym is partially de-roofed. The Storage Max building I rarely notice was partially destroyed- cement and brick ripped from its side.

The storm doesn't always touch down right above your head. But there's usually someone being impacted by some sort of storm, somewhere. Hold a good thought that those without roofs and without power are soon fully restored... and maybe this week can be a reminder that even when we're doing just fine ourselves, someone is always under the thunder.

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

I suck at being sick. For this, I blame my mother.

(Sorry, mom. But considering all the jokes about therapists helping you realize that most things can be blamed on your mother, if "rendering me unable to cope normally with being sick" is the worst I can pin on you, that's not so bad, right?)

When I was growing up, most of my friends' mothers pampered them when they were sick, keeping them home from school, letting them watch movies and cartoons to their heart's delight, bringing them hot soup and cooling drinks.

Not so at my house.

First of all, for most of my childhood years, we didn't "go-to-school," per se, so sick days meant no change of scenery. (This is also why "snow days" held no joy for me; they meant I was simply stuck. at. school.) Second of all, illness is something for which my mother has very little patience. This was the typical response when one of us fell ill:

Day one: (with loving, uber-maternal sympathy) "My baby's sick? Oh, honey. Stay in bed, sleep in, get better, I'll make you some soup. By the way, you can still only watch PBS."

Day two (or sometimes just later in the day on day one): "You're still sick?" (Pulls the blanket off whimpering child) "Get over it, we're volunteering at the library today, go get your little brothers ready and don't you dare sneeze on them."

My mother's basic philosophy was that you shouldn't coddle a sick child, because to encourage such behavior might reinforce that behavior, and make them want to do it more often. If you think about it for a few minutes, it almost starts to make sense...

...and it is most certainly why I suck at being sick to this day. I mean, all of us are pretty cranky about being sick, right? But my stubborn refusal to be sick, and my borderline insane expectation that all illnesses should last 24 hours or less, is not exactly normal. This is my solo sick routine these days:

Days one-three (or longer): "I'm not sick."
Day four: "Body... shutting... down... can't... get out of... bed..."
Day five: "I HATE MY (SNEEZE, COUGH) BODY WHAT DO (COUGH) YOU MEAN I (SNEEZE) HAVE A FEVER (COUGH) I AM NOT (SNEEZE) STILL (COUGH, SNEEZE) SICK!!"

How am I feeling now? Better, thanks. :)

(Cough... sneeze...)

....