Mah balance. I haz lossed it.

I blame NahNoMoFoMe.

It is just so hard to write every single day. I worry that I’m going to lull you into a state of unconsciousness. I worry that I’m going to lull MYSELF into a state of unconsciousness. And the more inept I feel, the less I want to write.

Between writing posts, reading blogs, commenting, fussing with my blog design, and twittering, I’m spending way too much time in front of the computer. I haven’t cheated and backdated any posts. But is it worth my brain disintegrating in a fiery hell of SUCK?

My Google Reader is so voracious, I can barely keep up with it. I haven’t cheated and ‘Marked as Read’ a single post without a least giving it a good skim, and at most reading then clicking over to comment. But is it really worth it reading until my eyeballs fall out and roll around on the floor picking up dust bunnies and/or my family has put my face on the back of milk cartons?

I’ve worked on my blog design for at least a few hours this month. At first I was just kind of sprucing up the place. Well, then it did actually crash once, and I never did figure out why. I had to deactivate every plugin and reactivate a few at a time, and then rebuild everything including the Tabbed Widgets as I lost all my text widgets in the crash. I like it better now than before the crash, but was it worth 47 days of my eyes being stabbed by those little drink swords crossed by code?

My house projectile vomited all over itself. Some of the laundry came up the stairs and tapped me on the shoulder and politely inquired as to when it might expect for an estimated time of washing. Coincidentally, Hunky walked up to me and announced that if a load wasn’t done tonight, he was going commando tomorrow. (Hint: He’s not currently enlisted in any of the Armed Services.) Then I opened the fridge, and either the boys have been doing more fancy science experiments than I ever conducted, or I believe it’s time to throw out some leftovers. My kitchen floor is so filthy, I can’t come up with hyperbole outrageous enough to do it justice. I’ve been slacking around here and it’s really not fair to Hunky.

I haven’t been giving my job hunt the priority it deserves. I’ve been applying for jobs, but not near enough. I’ve been temping, but it’s never a full week, and never more than I would get for an unemployment check. So by the time they take my earned wages off of my unemployment check, I’m making the exact same amount as I would have sitting my ass at home on the couch watching movies and collecting full unemployment. But my unemployment benefits are about to run out, and at this point, I have to start applying for shit I really don’t want to do to pay the bills.

I haven’t completed a single book in the month of November, and that is SO not like me. That’s like Martha saying, “I haven’t carved a single gourd into lovely… ” Turkey booties? I don’t know, honestly; I don’t watch her show.

I have at least three picture collage frames that I’ve bought but I haven’t ordered the prints to go in them. I rilly, rilly want to finish cleaning my basement so I can set up a place down there to have all my craft crap in one place, and a small rec area with TV, DVD, VCR, and PS2. I want to go out into the neighborhood and take more pictures. I want to kick Manual Mode’s superior, snarky, smarmy ass. I want to set up an Etsy shop for my photography. I haven’t done any sewing (unless you count me sewing that patch onto Kizzle’s hockey jersey) and I miss it. I want to cut out more squares for the boys’ t-shirt quilts, because they’ve actually been asking for them. Every time they outgrow a t-shirt they’re particularly fond of, they ask, “But I’ll see it again in my t-shirt quilt, right?” Well, yes, but at this rate, it may be your high school graduation gift, if we’re lucky, son.

I just want a magic pill that gives me an extra 12 hours in a day.

I saw a commercial for something like that, where this chick was just, like, on her hands and knees scrubbing her kitchen floor, obsessively lining up the throw rug fringe, and cleaning the bathroom tile with a toothbrush… What was the name of that stuff?

I wish I could remember…

Oh, yeah!

METH.

So, yes, I know they already make them and they’re called Methamphetamines, but I’ll pass, thanks.

No, just a little pill that will grant me a spare half day, with no nasty side effects such as my teeth falling out of my head, over-obsession almost to the point of insanity, [;/'''reeeeeeeee Emma just walked across my keyboard and she wanted to share that] insomnia on steroids+HGH and vitamin supplements; oh, and an addiction more powerful than heroin. OOOooo, can you make them with no side effects and make ‘em taste like Mike & Ike’s? That’d be groovy, dude.

I just need to make the scale swing the other way. I need to spend less time in front of the Mac, and more time investing in my family. I want to complete the NahNoMoFoMe thing, then take a couple steps back and reassess to admit I’m not make sure I’m spending my time as wisely as I can. I know I can do better than I’ve been doing.

But we have a more dire issue presently.

Mah funneh. I haz brokeded it.

I’ve been looking over the last few months and for the most part, I’ve felt disappointed with the quality of the word dance I’ve pushed out onto my little stage here. I’ve wondered and pondered and obsessed and worried that I’d lost it. My voice.

I almost allowed myself to forget why I’m doing this.

I was reading writers way out of my league and starting to think that as good as they are, made me worse.

I was frustrated with throwing myself into trying to find my connections with the blogoshere and starting to think that as popular as they are, made me less lovable.

I was watching my feedcount a little too closely, and trying to figure what I might have written that would explain a drop from 25 to 9 in one day, and was starting to think that as fickle as they are, made me less interesting.

I was reading pro blogger tips and was starting to think that as successful as they are, made me more of a failure.

I caught myself starting to whine, “Why don’t I have H8Rs and Trolls and obnoxious Anonymousi spitting their venom all over my comments?”

Then I pulled my head out of my ass.

This is MY casa.

I reminded myself that the writer I needed to be comparing myself to, and constantly challenging, was myself. I need to push my own limits, and refine my own voice. I haven’t lost my voice; I’ve just suffered a little laryngitis.

I’ve got to write for first of all, myself; to dare myself to push my talent harder and longer and stronger. (That made me feel a little bit dirty just then, how about you?)

And second of all, all of you, my Innernetz Budz; to make you laugh a little bigger, forcefully spew a little more raspberry mocha cappuccino in your keyboard, think a little longer, feel a little more connected, and care a little more.

And if the big girl (and boy) bloggers never notice me, that’s got to be ok.

As small a world as it is, Dooce will never be my non-practicing lesbian lovah complete with matching decoder rings. Someone told me she was just a mythical hobbit, and I know she’s not, but she might as well be Angelina Jolie for all it will change my life. Ree will never invite me out to her ranch to work cattle with MM and the punks and give me one-on-one photography lessons.

I will try to write as strikingly as Black Hockey Jesus and as unabashedly as Avitable and as bitingly witty as The Bloggess; but if I never do, that’s got to be ok.

And damn the page views and subscriber count. I’m thankful for how much I’ve honed my writing talent to this point, and will continue to spin the mental Thesaurus and dig a little deeper. I’m grateful for each and every comment you guys grace me with, and will continue to enjoy connecting with you.

I hope I’m not blowing smoke up my own ass.

I hope you all notice the difference.

But if you don’t, as long as I’m doing my best, that’s got to be ok.

Read the rest of this entry »

If you have a minute, wish Jess a Happy Birthday at her blog casa today!

Happy Birthday, honey! I’m so glad we met… *mumbles incoherantly* years ago! Have I known you half your life yet?!

Man, I was really worried I wouldn’t have anything to post today beyond “And then I had a microwave dinner for lunch. It was a Boston Market Roasted Pork with Mashed Red Potatoes.” Because, remember, No One Cares What You Had for Lunch. Which, by the by, is still sitting here on my desk undisturbed because no, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to write, but let’s not get crazy and actually DO something about it. It’s ever so much more fun to simply sit and stew.

Ms. Maxwell came to my rescue and tagged me for the 7 things meme. I’m sure I’ve done this one a time or few, but I’m going to attempt to come up with 7 things you guys don’t know about me. It should be easy what with how much I hold back from you and am generally painfully shy and retiring. *poker face breaks* I’m sorry, I couldn’t deadpan, it was just too hard! I accost you with my verbal diarrhea and molest you with my many instances of “Thank you for visiting The Temple of TMI - Please drive through” on a regular basis, and then have the nerve to act surprised when my subscriber count plunges from 25 to 9 in one day!

Alrighty then, on with the show.

1. I don’t like parties. They give me panic attacks. I hate enduring people I don’t know and small talk and crowds and noise. If I must attend a party, I try to find a corner to plant myself in with a few people I know to shoot the shit with until I can gracefully leave. It wears me out so bad, I need to nap when it’s over.
2. I’ve never had a bikini wax. Yes, I do landscape the private property; but even after dropping two kids out the escape hatch with no epidural, I am too afraid of how painful it would be. There will be a blizzard in hell before anyone gets near the nether regions with hot wax.
3. The highest wage I have ever earned is $14.50/hour designing booklets and forms for standardized testing across the nation. It wasn’t enough. I was only there 10 weeks before I found the next job and moved on.
4. Dude, this is REALLY hard. Too many of my IRL (In Real Life) friends read this blog! I am having a seriously hard time coming up with stuff all y’all wouldn’t know about me! … ok, only my Dad may remember this fun little tidbit of history. I skipped school so much my junior year of high school, I almost didn’t get to graduate with my class. I had to take night school my senior year to make up the credits to go through the ceremony. How many of you already knew that? Kizzle? Todd or Jason, did you remember that?
5. It’s getting tight; it’s 11:45pm! Um… um… many times I played hooky from school because I didn’t have my homework done. I procrastinated so badly, that I stayed home from school and instead of watching cartoons, I did homework. I’m a moron.
6. I’ve never tried escargot or oysters. I almost gag at even the thought of something that slithery coming near my mouth. *shudders*
7. My senior year, I got the lead in the play You Can’t Take It With You and The Girl Beater told me that because the female lead kisses the male lead, I was going to give up the part or he was going to break up with me. But then the play got canceled. I can’t remember why. But I was upset not that it was canceled, but because I wanted him to break up with me. I didn’t have the strength to do it, but by then, I knew the relationship was going to end one way or another.

Ok, have to tag quickly and then leave comments tomorrow! Andi, City Girl, Colleen, Jenn, Jeanette, Jim, and Pamela; one long-time friend and lots of new friends that I need to know more about anyway!

November 9 to November 15

She sits like this quite frequently; cracks me UP!
I couldn’t resist the pose plus the light equaled MUST snap UNBEARABLY CUTE PIC.

Crazy Drummer Boy

Still trying to fiddle with the whole aperture/shutterspeed balance thing

Good pickin’

Practicing safe sax