Writer's Write, Right?

     I've wanted to be a writer for the longest time. I used to write a lot in high school. I kept a "journal" where I wrote down exact details about every time I had an encounter with a boy that I liked. I thought that writing these things was ridiculous & corny, so I tried to keep it hidden, but I carried that notebook with me in school so that during any free time I could write something if I wanted. I wrote my feelings about said boy in that notebook. I kept a list in there with my friends that is so disturbing I won't even mention it in this blog. I wrote my own words to popular songs about boys that my friends liked, which I usually shared with them. I was so embarrassed by some of the things that I was writing, but I didn't realize that the first step to being a writer is writing. When I went to Penn State York, I took a creative writing class that I took very seriously. Half the class was dedicated to poetry, & the other half was dedicated to crafting a short story. I spent a lot of time on these things, & I was pretty pleased with what I came up with. What happened in the ensuing years (20+) between then & now is that while I stopped writing for the most part, I never stopped wanting to be a writer.
     I've always thought that you had to be inspired to write something, & that you had to have something that you really wanted to write about. It never occurred to me that writer's block is a real thing, & that real, honest-to-goodness writers don't always feel passion about what they're writing. They simply learn to push past it.
     I have not learned to do this. I have not been able to discipline myself to write every day even if I honestly am not feeling it. So does this mean I really don't want to be a writer? Or is my fear of failure holding me back? If I feel like I'm doing something because I "have" to do it, even if it's what's best for me, I usually have trouble with it. If I try to lose weight, even if I really want to be slimmer or healthier, I often rebel & eat a big bowl of ice cream. Or 2. With m & m's & a spoonful of peanut butter. If I tell myself that if I want to be an author, I actually have to write something, I'll find something else to do. If I have errands that could be done right after work, or even if I just have a couple of phone calls to make, I tell myself that I need to eat a snack, or take a nap first. Then I conveniently forget when I'm done.
     Why is it so hard for me to just grow up & do what needs to be done? I'm tired of being lazy, but I don't seem able to force myself to do what needs to be done. I want to feel like I'm successful. I want to be a writer.
     So I'm going to try to take a step to write most days this month, like I did during Jan. & Feb. That worked out pretty well. I set a goal, set a reward, & I reached it. I thought that it should be more of a habit by March, & guess what happened? I hardly wrote at all. So I guess it's back to the drawing board. I think I'll tell the man that if I meet my goal of writing at least 20 minutes 5 days a week, I get anniversary flowers from The Strawberry Shop on June 1st. I know he doesn't want to pay their prices, but he will.
     So here goes. Wish me luck.
    

3 quickies for a Fri

     Yes, I haven't written any things that I'm grateful for in a long, long time. But I feel compelled to do so today, so here goes:

1. Dinner with Nikki. I don't exactly have the social life that I'd like to have, but that just makes me cherish the friendships I do have even more. We had a great time eating yummy Chinese, even if she isn't quite convinced that my chicken really was chicken. (It was, & it was delicious!)

2.  Sleeping over at Phil & Becky's last night. I saw a need, & I offered my help. I may not understand what a lot of physical ailments are like to have, but I do understand anxiety & wanting not to be alone. It makes me feel good to help & be needed.

3. Carole's feeling better. My in-laws have always had really good health, so it was a big surprise to get the call last Sun. night that my mother-in-law was at the ER. I'm really glad that she had a good day today, & even though she should still be there a few more days, I'm glad that she's getting the care that she needs & that she's getting better.

I'm not (that) spoiled

     I have this fear that people see me as spoiled. I am the youngest in a family of 4 kids, me being the youngest by quite a few years. For many years, I was practically an only child. My sis moved out when I was in 4th grade, my oldest bro the following year, & the next bro when I was in (I think) 9th grade. For the next 11 years, it was just me, Mom, & Dad in the house. I wasn't a bad kid, but my theory is that Mom & Dad let me have my own way so much because they were tired from parenting the other three. I was a nasty person, but not particularly naughty, & I think they just gave up.
     So here I am, the baby of the family yet almost an only child. A Leo (yep, we're pretty self-centered). Oh, & I live with a pretty laid-back guy. I can be kind of spoiled. I like to do what I want & get my own way (who doesn't though). I try to be generous, but I know that I fall short a lot. But am I completely spoiled? No, I'm not. I know I have a lot of faults, but I'd like to think that I'm pretty aware of them. I can admit them if I have to. One of the reasons I don't want children is because I know that if you want to be a good parent you have to give up a lot. And I don't want to. Neither does the man. I think knowing this about ourselves makes us better off then those who have kids & still try to get their way all the time.
     What brought this up? I don't know if the reason actually matters, except that I feel like someone accused me of being self-centered in my choice of where a group went to dinner, while this person was a martyr with their own acceptance of the place. I know my choice wasn't selfish, & what this person thinks isn't even my problem, it is their own. But I still can't help wanted everyone to like me.

Enough

     The other day in English class, a student said something wasn't fair. I gave my usual response when someone says something isn't fair: if life were fair, I'd be thin & rich. Usually the person I say this to doesn't really respond, but this person  looked at me & asked me what that had to do with anything. And I started thinking, what does it have to do with anything? Why would me being thin & rich be fair?
     I started thinking about having enough. Isn't that what I really need, simply enough? I may not have the biggest house on the block, or the nicest car, or the most money, but I certainly have what I need. I may not be a thin as I could be, or dress as well as I could, or style my hair perfectly every day, but it is good enough. I do the best I can, & that is simply, you guessed it, good enough.
     Back when the man & I were thinking about if we wanted a baby or not, it seemed like people who had children, or wanted them felt like something was missing. That seemed like a pretty good reason to have children to me. But I didn't feel like that. I didn't feel like a part of me wasn't there, or that I was missing out on something wonderful. I felt like my life with the man & our animals was enough. I still feel that way. I want a house with a yard so we can get some more animals, but I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything by choosing not to have a child. I'm glad I made that choice.
     My life is pretty good. I'm happy, which I grew up thinking wasn't a possibility for me. I'll get to see my nephew get married in a few months, & someday I should get to be a great-aunt. The house will come, & so will the dog or two, & maybe some chickens. I may lose this weight I'm trying to lose, or I may not. Hopefully I'll get to Disney in a couple of years, & I'll get to go on a cruise when the man & I celebrate 20 years of marriage. I'd like to publish a book. I'd like to learn to be a better friend, & to gossip less, & to just be a better person. But if I die tomorrow, may people say that I had enough.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

     I love the tv show Glee. A lot of people think that it's unrealistic, & true, it is over the top. None of us are likely to break into song & dance at any given time. But when I was in high school my life seemed like a song. I liked to walk down the halls with my girl friends singing one tune or another. The main reason I went to school was for chorus & show choir. I work in a high school, & I realize that many issues the show deals with are things kids today struggle with, although maybe not in such a dramatic manner.
     The episode I watched yesterday dealt with a boy who was being bullied because his football team found out that he was gay. He had been struggling with these feelings for awhile, so much so that he had previously bullied a student at his old school who was out as being gay. He went home, crying, put on a suit, & attempted to hang himself.
     This really affected me. Not because I had been bullied, because I hadn't, but because I used to think about death a lot when I was a teen. I never wanted to actually commit suicide, I was too much of a coward for that, thank God. But I wanted to die. I wanted something to happen to me so that I would die without actually doing anything myself. I even prayed for God to kill me so that I could go to heaven. I wasn't so sure that I could go to heaven if I killed myself, but I felt sure that I would go if I didn't die by my own hand.
     I watched that show, & I cried for all those kids who feel even more helpless & hopeless then I did back then. And then I cried more because I realized that I actually did attempt suicide by being so severely anorexic. I didn't try something that would be quick & relatively painless, I tried something that was rather slow & very painful for me & for those around me. Imagine watching a loved one dying. Now imagine watching that loved one dying & knowing that they were doing it to themselves & knowing that you couldn't do a damn thing about it.
     Life isn't easy. It isn't supposed to be. I was lucky enough to somehow dig deep with myself & realize that it was time to live & get the help I needed. I wonder sometimes that people who know me now realize how close I was to dying. I'm a bit of a drama queen (surprise!), & I tend to exaggerate things if it makes my story sound more entertaining. It's no exaggeration to say that I believe that had I not entered Mercy Medical Center on March 29, 1991, I wouldn't have survived the year. I wonder if it should still affect me the way it does.

Valentine's Day

 

                                                       

       I used to hate Valentine's Day. I think it started in 2nd grade. Every child got a brown paper bag to be decorated . On the big day, it would be stuffed with cards & treats from everyone in the class. No one was left out, because each student was sent home with a class list with everyone's name on it, & you had to bring a card for all your classmates, you weren't allowed to leave anyone out. We would have a party, & play games, & eat snacks, & open our cards. It was a like a real holiday. That year I got chicken pox, though, so I came back to an undecorated bag with cards already in it. I missed the party, & the fun.
     In middle & high school, I never had a valentine, or even much of a boyfriend, save for about 5 weeks in 11th grade. I hated the day. I hated seeing others happy, & all lovey-dovey with each other. I protested the holiday by dressing head-to-toe in black, even painting my nails black. I made it known that I hated mush & expressions of love, while secretly longing for it. I wanted to get a mushy card & flowers from a boy. I wanted sweet nothings whispered in my ear.
     In 1993, I met a guy whose name has long been forgotten who asked me out for our 1st date on Valentine's Day. I said I really wasn't sure, because I hated the holiday. I explained that I never had experienced a good one, & told him about my protesting. Yes, at age 21 I was still doing the head-to-toe black thing. He told me he would like to change that, that he would pick me up for dinner that night, which happened to be a Sun, & to dress in church clothes. I picked out a nice dress & heels, & waited for him, nervous. He picked me up wearing a suit, & handed me a dozen red roses, & took me out to a very nice restaurant in Harrisburg. It was our one & only date with him, but my Valentine's mind-set had been changed. No matter, because 6 weeks later I would meet the man who would later become my husband.
     By 1994, I fully embraced the Valentine's Day holiday. I realize that many people think it's stupid to have a day to express your love for someone, when love should be expressed every day, but I disagree with them. I think it's nice to have a day to celebrate love, because love is amazing, no matter what kind of love it is. I say celebrate love, because it is something to be cherished.