I’m not very fashionable. You all know me. I like black shirts of various types and blue jeans and that pretty much sums it up. Occasionally I’ll throw a black bracelet and some nail polish into the deal but anything more and you’re pretty much asking to pull teeth from a chicken. Still, I adore the women in the video above. It’s not about the fashion, it’s about being themselves. You should watch it.
I’ve been really, really tired lately. As in, I could sleep all day and still be exhausted. Which is not normal. I’m not The Man, who would just as soon run on four hours of sleep every night, but I’m not a slug either. Normally six hours does it for me and the other eighteen I like to burn the candle from both ends. But not lately. Finally, yesterday after getting home in the afternoon after a very un-taxing day but still feeling like I just wanted to cry uncontrollably and pass out — you know how that exhausted works right? When you don’t even have control of your tear ducts anymore? — I mentioned it in a conversation with my mom who insisted I needed to be taking an iron supplement. “All the women in our family are anemic, you know.” And she’s totally right, I’ve been anemic all my life but I’ve never felt like this unless I give blood. And? I haven’t in years for that reason. So she brought me a pack of iron supplements last night and I took two. And then another two this morning. I’m still exhausted, but less hungry, so maybe it’s a start. I really, really hope it’s a start because this shit is for the birds.
And The Man totally agrees. Last night he was all “It hasn’t been too bad yet this year, but last year I didn’t even know what to do anymore.” Because I am not easy to live with when I’m resembling a zombie.
And then we started talking about that one time, when we were first dating, before I’d figured out the connection between being anemic to begin with and allowing them to suck a pint of blood out of my veins. It was a Friday night and we’d had a date planned all week. I don’t even remember what the date was supposed to consist of now, which will make a lot more sense in a minute so bear with me here. I was still in High School and there’d been a Red Cross blood drive in the gym that day. Naturally, I’d donated. 1) Because I’m a tremendous person and 2) because it was a good excuse to skip class. He showed up after he got out of work to pick me up and the exhaustion had already begun to set in. We didn’t get a block from my house before I started bawling — no, really; and I’m not a crier — laid down across the front seat of his truck with my head in his lap and passed. the fuck. out. I woke up about the time he pulled back into my house at midnight. I don’t remember anything at all and to this day I’m not sure what he did that night. Drive around and let me sleep? Be scared for his future with such a lunatic? He came back though, so that must say something.
In other news, winter has receded again. I couldn’t be happier about that. Temperatures in the thirties and forties agree with me so much more than temperatures in the too fucking cold to go outsides.
Now if we could just get some sunshine. This is far too much to ask of Michigan in January though. Maybe next month.
If next month ever comes. Does anybody else feel like this has been the longest month in the history of the world?
I’ve been spending my evenings plotting gardens and various farm projects. Maybe I’ll share those plans with you tomorrow. We all know I can’t just keep up with the random thoughts forever.
I’ve been working on this particular book project for months and, at last check, the word count was still measly. I made an outline of the book first; that’s what they tell you to do. And though I’ve never been much for following directions, in publishing I seem to take advice from the professionals at face value. That is, I follow blindly and I should know better than that.
Every time I open the file to work on it I spend more time staring at the outline than writing. I’ve taken to describing the whole project as being akin to giving birth to a twenty pound baby; it’s just not coming out. Until last night.
Yesterday had been a particularly rough day. Saturday night a stray dog showed up. I drove her around for nearly two hours, knocking on doors. No one recognized her. I checked craigslist for lost ads religiously, called any neighbors I missed when driving around and posted her picture on facebook, but got no hits. She was a beautiful, young lab mix and a sweet heart of an animal. She grew on me, but the last thing we need is a dog so Monday morning I called animal control to come get her.
The man on the phone was nice and very helpful, but confided that they were and have been very full. He expected a couple of dogs to go before noon and would come pick her up as soon as he had an empty pen. She was sweet, but also hyper, untrained, not housebroken and not safe with small animals. She’s also pitch black and, statistically, black dogs have slimmer chances at adoption to begin with. I knew what sending her in could and probably would mean for her. But I had no choice and her big puppy dog eyes laid behind me as I tried to work all day, giving me a guilty conscience. I got absolutely nothing of note done. I couldn’t even concentrate on Pinterest. You know it’s bad when you can’t even waste time properly.
Finally, in the early afternoon with my anxiety at the highest it’s been since I started seeing my shrink, I gave up. I went to the family room, curled up on the sofa with my youngest, and dozed off to Clifford the Big Red Dog on PBS. It was the best nap I’ve ever had, but when I woke up the productivity didn’t really catch up. As some of you know I’ve been struggling with work life balance lately so I concentrated on life and not thinking about the innocence that poor dog was sure to lose when she stepped foot into the pound for the first time. And she was so very innocent. I cleaned and cooked and watched more cartoons. And then I cuddled back up on the sofa with the man after dinner where we watched the usual Monday night comedies and then the GOP debate.
My mind was quiet most of the day; even when I’d tried to work through the anxiety cohesive thoughts refused to be formed and as bedtime approached I began to believe that wasn’t such a bad thing. It was a nice day and there was always tomorrow for hammering out words. About eleven I turned off the TV and lights and slid into bed beside The Man. And then, right then, right that very second, my mind went crazy.
It went crazy on this book project and crazy on a speaking engagement that’s coming up in March. It talked to itself and narrated greatness into the backs of my eyelids, screaming for me to get up, go, put it down on paper. But it was jumbled and unordered and I really didn’t want to get back out of bed. I tried to fight it. I tried with all I had. I tossed and turned. I rearranged my pillows, pulled the blankets on and pushed them off. I laid on my side, my back, my stomach, my other side. I pulled a pillow over my head. I told them to go away. I told the voices it wasn’t the time, but they refused to listen and after almost an hour of incessant struggle I got up, stumbled out to the table, opened the macbook and began to type whatever they said. I didn’t bother with the outline. I didn’t care if the paragraphs flowed from one to the next; I completely ignored the need for transitions. And within a half hour I had 1,000 words of, perhaps not perfect, but perfectly suitable content in front of me. Like that.
And I don’t know why it took me so long. I don’t know why I never realized it before but in that moment it hit me: it’s not about the order. I can copy and paste those paragraphs wherever they need to be later. I can add transitions on the edits. I just have to let the thoughts have their way with my fingers for a while. It’s not about the order, it’s not about the outline, it’s about getting it done.
Today was not a great day. It’s cold here. Not as cold as it has been. It could be a lot worse. It’s single digits cold and we’ve seen winters where it didn’t even reach the negative single digits for weeks at a time. It’s only been this cold for [...]
I can’t count the number of op-eds, blog posts and general news articles I’ve read about the FDA’s recent move to ban extra-label uses of cephalosporins — a type of antibiotic – in meat production in the past two weeks, but Mark Bittman’s piece for the New York Times pretty succinctly sums up what [...]
I’m trying to get back into the daily-blogging groove, but I’m lacking for fodder so bear with me here. I need to grease the gears that make up my mad-word-smithing brain if this is going to happen. And sometimes that means random, mundane thoughts for your reading (dis)pleasure.
Someone really needs to clean [...]
One thing I always forget about snow: it makes everything brighter.
There’s a shortage of daylight this time of year; not just in the length either. It’s awfully cloudy most days in Michigan in January and without snow on the ground for what light we do have to bounce off it gets downright [...]
I’m talking gardening at BlogHer today and would love it if you’d join me.
I’ll never forget my first garden. It was a behemoth thing; seventy-five-hundred square feet of hard clay and encroaching weeds. I watched with much trepedation as my husband tilled the ground that spring. I was convinced it was going [...]
I’ve been quiet. I know. I’ve been quiet in reaching my goals for the past week, too. Transitioning back after the holiday has been harder than any transition I can remember in recent years. Productivity has not been something that has been my friend lately. That needs to change. [...]
I’m talking about rising food prices and hunger over at BlogHer today. I’d love it if you’d join me and share your thoughts!
I went grocery shopping the other day and came home with an empty wallet (despite growing much of our food ourselves, I might add) to read that, according to the United [...]
My Grandma always had an Amaryllis in the house in the winter. Tucked into a dusty corner of the kitchen, beneath the shadow boxes full of salt and pepper shakers and the cuckoo clock, between the record player and the Pieta; it’s one of those things I’ve never forgotten.
Hog Farmer. Goose Wrangler. Sustenance Cultivator. Hobby Photographer. Women's Progress Advocator. Wife. Teacher. Mother. Freelance Writer. Unsophisticated Wine Connoisseur. Sister. Speaker. Friend. Butcher. Ruminator. Student. Reluctant Artist. Wannabe Quilter. Chocolate Addict. Gun Enthusiast. 
Only You Can Keep Animals Off Drugs
January 17, 2012I can’t count the number of op-eds, blog posts and general news articles I’ve read about the FDA’s recent move to ban extra-label uses of cephalosporins — a type of antibiotic – in meat production in the past two weeks, but Mark Bittman’s piece for the New York Times pretty succinctly sums up what [...]