Lesser of two evils

"Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before."~~Mae West~~

This reads like a motivational poster for the wicked and amoral.  But it also reads as an instructional booklet.

I tend to, ah, buck up against my boundaries.  I'm convinced it was because I was such a good child.  *grins*

I did what I was told.  I made good grades.  I was a nice person.  

And yet...shit still happened.

Bullying, of course.  Various forms of abuse.  Bad thoughts.  Stress.  Depression.

Evil incarnate.

But then I grew up.  And I made decisions on my own for myself and for my children when they arrived.  I've endeavored to show them how to be good people and help others.  Guess what?

Shit STILL happened.

The fucking nerve.

So now that I'm older and a bit wiser, I've come to the conclusion that most evil is relative.  I'm not talking about the hardcore shit violating the ten commandments and whatnot.  That's a hard line for me.  

I'm more talking about eating at the Cheesecake Factory when you're on a diet and not getting cheesecake.  It seems painfully obvious to me that sometimes you DO need to pick the evil you've never tried before.  

How else will you have new experiences and form new thoughts?  How will you come to appreciate the good for itself if you only choose it and have no comparison?  And, gasp, what if you LIKE the evil you've never tried before???

What would happen?

I think smiting is out.  That seems to be old school.  People may look down on you.  Then again, people will look down on you if you're not wearing the right clothes.  Fuck them, basically.  

What is the absolute WORST thing that could happen?  THE WORST???  

You regret your decision?  The person, food, clothing, or sport is not your cup of tea?

Awesome.

Look at you.  Adulting and stuff.

If no one, including you, is being hurt, then please explain to me the harm in your choice.  Would your mother lose her mind if she knew?  Maybe.  Would your father be incredibly disappointed?  Maybe.  

But they have their own skin.  Own thoughts.  Own choices.  Own life.

This is YOUR life.  Let me repeat:  YOUR.  LIFE.

You have the right to make good choices and bad choices.  You have the right to royally fuck up and then turn around and make the best decision you've ever made.  You have the right.  Period.

So.

Those two "evils"?  You own those bitches. 

Embrace your life.  

And for God's sake...eat the damn cheesecake.

*******

Every story is a love story

Yes.
I said it.

I'm prone to tangents.  I untether my mind and let it wander about.  It's interesting.

When I say every story is a love story, I mean it.

Love of another.  Romance Happily-Ever After.
Love of an object/item.  More like idol worship.
Love of self.  Any self-help book on the shelf.
Absence of love.  Any non-fiction that tells of war/hate.
Love of violence.  True Crime stories.
Love of animals.  Rescue stories.
Love of the unknown.  Adventure stories.

No matter what book you pick up, there will be love or the absence of love.  The love will be twisted and possessive.  Or the love will be hidden and demure.
But there will be love.

It's a funny thing, love.  It's an intense feeling of deep affection.  And we all have that.  Though some of us don't have it for other beings, we have it for other things.  If we're lucky, then we have both.

I love words.  Absolutely love them.  I want to snatch them from a piece of paper and crush them in my hand and rub them into my skin.  I want to roll them around on my tongue and taste the bitter and the sweet.  I want to inhale them into my being and let them disperse in my soul.

Every story deserves to be told.  All of them.  Whether to instruct or deconstruct.  Positive or negative.  Learning or leaving.  The story, itself, stands.

But perspective.  Ah, she's another beast.

We bring our perspective to everything in our lives.  Our jobs and family.  Our relationships and interactions.  Nothing we say or do is objective, even if we try to be.

But if you do everything with love, that will shine through.  People may hate it.  But that's okay.  That's their perspective.  That is their experience.
And we should have enough faith in our offering that we are able to understand how it may not suit everyone.
Even on the most beautiful day, someone will say it's too hot/cold.
But you and I?
Let's enjoy it.  Let's, shall we say, love it.  Because anything written from the heart is a love story.
Grins* 

IMDb

I LOVE IMDb.
Like lots of love.
Like the app has a precious place on my iPhone.

I have access to movies when they're fairly new.  And that's all well and good.  But the time? Spending two hours of precious time watching something that may be good or may make you want to pull your eyelashes out.
Not a fan.
Or being all hyped up about a certain movie only to have it suck ass from the get-go.  I'm talking to you (Green Lantern) Ryan Reynolds.  I did laugh my ass off during "Deadpool" so we may find a middle ground yet.

But IMDb feeds my story fetish in a timely manner.  I've taken to reading the synopsis of several movies.  One of the last ones I read was "The Revenant".  The only DiCaprio movie I've ever watched was "Inception".  And I enjoyed its confusing criss-cross.  Still unsure of the ending.  *shrug*  Even though the talented man won an Oscar for it, I knew I would not spend time watching the movie even though it sounded interesting.
So I read it.
And I'm good.
(Funny offshoot.  I started to call Leo the "talented YOUNG man".  Then I had to Google his age only to find out he's three measly years younger than myself.  It matters not.  He is so incredibly DYNAMIC.)

I can either spend two hours watching a movie, or I can IMDb it, spend three minutes reading the synopsis, and then move one with my life.
I love it.

And the movies that I'm looking forward to?  I couldn't tell you how many times I watched the "Guardians of the Galaxy" trailers before I saw it in the theater.  Right now I'm stuck on "Suicide Squad".  I can't wait.

I find it a more efficient use of my time.  When I read the story, I can picture it in my mind.  I don't need surround sound or a ten dollar bucket of popcorn.  I only need the written word and my imagination.
So I can spend that other one-hundred seventeen doing something I KNOW is productive.
Or, you know, watching more IMDb trailers.
Grins*

Day off tomorrow

I'm so damn excited!!!

First of all, I will be able to sleep in.  Past five.  In the morning.  When it's dark outside.
Second of all, I believe I'll be dropping by Sprouts.  They're building one about a mile away from my house, but they have miles to go on that, and I'm digging their sale.
Third of all, I'm not going into the day job.  Nope.  Not happening.  Whatever cluster of debacle goes on tomorrow...I care not.

I'm nearly giddy.  I think the last time I had Friday off, I was sick.  That's not conducive to anything.  And while I'm sure the day will fly by as days off are wont to do...it's still mine all mine.
*rubs hands together with glee*

Will work on writing and agents and editing and my literary world.  Working the day job Saturday so that day is shot.  Sunday will be...I DON'T KNOW YET!
And isn't it simply grand???

Just have to make it 'til five today.  Then go visit my sweet baby grandson.  Then an hour and twenty commute.  Then I will be home.
Oh, man.
Sometimes it IS the little things.
Grins*

A bit eclectic

I like lots of things.
I rarely pop myself in one group because that's too confining.
As for music, I enjoy everything from Classical to Hard Rock.  Country to Soundtrack.  Opera to Jazz.  If it touches me, I really don't give two shits what "genre" it's classified.

I also utilize this in writing books.
Yes.  I write romance.  I LOVE romance.  It's been the backbone of my reading pleasure for more years than I care to admit.  I will admit, however, that I was a precocious child.
Things have not changed.

But with the romance, I like to spread out.  I've written Contemporary, Time Travel, Erotic, Paranormal, and Fantasy.
And now that I'm looking for an agent, I wonder if they're looking for someone who will stay in the niche that they've painted themselves in.

I'm currently working on a five-book series Fantasy Romance, an Erotic Paranormal, and a Philosophical Fiction.
One may look at these and think that they couldn't possibly have anything in common.
But they do.
Me.

I actually think several writers have a diversified view of their works.  And I've listened to local bestselling authors who are stepping AWAY from their bread and butter to check out the buffet.
I love that.
I believe that the more you listen to yourself and your own voice, that you simply cannot go wrong.

So if you've an idea for a multi-genre story or even a story with different elements than the norm...GO FOR IT.
It's never been done.
Until it is.
*******

Trying to be Zen

Note the word "trying".

Zen, in my definition, is the attainment of enlightenment where the bullshit doesn't touch you.  I don't think Webster said that EXACTLY, but I'm paraphrasing.

I endeavor to be Zen.
But I find it incredibly difficult to try to embrace the peace and light while I have an hour to an hour and twenty minute commute every morning and late afternoon/early evening.
And thank you SO much, Oklahoma DOT or DPS or whoever the hell decided to resurface pieces of the highway I take to work and home one mile at a time stretching out over three months.
Kudos, you asshats.

But my issue does NOT lie with them.  (Totally random:  They are using like these flame thrower things on the concrete.  It is uber awesome.)
My issue lies with all the sorry ass hayseed mofos out there who do not use turn signals at all, who slam on brakes, and who think that speed limits are mere suggestions.
I loathe your being.

I work to bring a peace to myself in the morning when I arrive at the day job.  That lasts until a few certain people act like Godzilla to my mental township leaving anger and destruction in their wake.

I try to recenter myself in the afternoon, about halfway through my day, so that I may try to find some semblance of calmness in this hectic world.

It's hard.
And I don't mean "putting pantyhose" on hard.  I mean "the world spits on you" hard.

It seems like this world likes to smack us about and snicker.  And sometimes it's all I can do not to throw up my hands and scream "FUCK IT" as loud as I possibly can.
Now you know why I used the word "trying".
*grins*

But I don't.

I take a deep breath.  I blow it out.  I think of my kids.  Or my grandson.  My Honey.  My writing.  I think of all the good that I have, and I realize that while I may never reach that Zen status, I'm not quite ready to yell "fuck it" quite yet.
*******

Great premise. Shitty book.

I weep for these situations.

Premise is basically the idea of the story.  The foundation on which a writer builds his/her story.  It is germane to the entire creation.

I'm a voracious reader.  I find myself bending toward teen fiction right now.  Easy reads.  Interesting plots.  So on and so forth.  I've also taken to downloading ebooks from Overdrive.  I can read them in my browser, and if I really enjoy them, I may pick up the paperback.

But it's a sad day when I read the synopsis of a book and pick it up, only to find that I'm incredibly disappointed with the finished product.
I'm trying out the first book in a trilogy about witches and paths that they choose.  Great premise. But the heroine?  She's not TSTL (too stupid to live), but she's highly annoying.  She's whiny and angsty and so helpless that I want to flick her to see if she can focus.

Because...MY GOD!!!  You have so much material here.  You could have made it a fantastic story where I wanted to keep reading until the wee hours of the morning.
I'm right under less than halfway, and I'm believe I'm done with it.

It pains me.
Truly.

If you've a brilliant premise, then please!!!  Please put everything you've got into it.  Make your characters live and breathe and cry and scream.  Use vivid descriptions.  Utilize dynamic dialogue. But most of all???

Do the premise justice.  Do YOURSELF justice.  It's not easy, but it's a hell of a lot better than half-assed storytelling just so you can type "The End".

*******

Where everybody knows your name

Names have power.
I firmly believe this.

We're encouraged to wear name tags at work.
Yeah.
Mine is at my desk.

You have members of the community that you really don't want to know your name speaking to you with a familiarity reserved for decade-old friends and family.
Sir.
Excuse me.
You DO NOT know me.
Step.

Or the time a gentleman asked me my name while I was working on the floor, and I told him.
No, I most certainly didn't want to.
Then the asshat went to the front desk and threw my name out like I referred him for the job posted.
Oh, I was so displeased.

I'll answer to Ma'am.  Miss.  Crystal.  Chrys.  Various other names from family and offspring.  Mimi to grandson.
But there is an intimacy in a name.  Your identity and experience are tied all up in there.

I'm often asked why I kept "Inman" as my last name after the divorce.  Quite simply, all my children have that last name.  And I wanted to keep THAT tie even though I severed the one with their father. So I'm building my professional career on a name that I married into and divorced out of.

That is what's important to me.  And it's a name that my children can now be proud of having.

Grins*

Do what you want

Permissive, aren't I?
heh

I sometimes wax philosophical.  This last weekend, quick though it was, seemed to be a stellar time for this.
And it came to me Saturday evening...what if everyone did what they wanted???
I'm speaking occupationally right now.
What if all people who wanted to be teachers were teachers?  And doctors were doctors?  And artists were artists?
What would that look like?
I firmly believe that we wouldn't have 50% in the medical field while only 10% in the teaching profession.  I honestly think it would all even out.
Because how many people out there are NOT where they want to be?  Working that 40+ work week with minimum wage but maximum stress?
Maybe you'd like to be an artist but went to nursing school.  Maybe you're a teacher but would like to be a lawyer.  Maybe you're a carpenter but would like to study ballet.

I think it would be beautiful.

What's that saying?  Love what you do, and you won't work a day in your life.  I'm paraphrasing and too lazy to look it up right now.  It's past four o'clock on a Monday afternoon.  I'm lucky my eyelids are not at half-mast.

But could you IMAGINE???

I'm not speaking of some dystopian clusterfuck like Divergent.  I'm not about the pigeonhole or anything of the like.
I'm speaking of true aptitude and need for spirit to find its niche.

It would be beautiful.
I simply know it.
*******

What weekend???

I commute.
A.  LOT.

I drive an hour each way, and it tends to wear on me come the end of the week.  Friday is completely shot since I don't arrive home until well after six, closer to seven.  Saturday should be the day of rebalance, but it never seems to be.  I'm sitting here and trying to remember what I did yesterday. Honestly.  Right now...it escapes me.  Today was church and then food prep for the week.
I've found out that the more I plan out during the week, the less stress I tend to accumulate.
Because, dear ones, isn't life stressful enough???

Now I'm sitting here at my desk.  It's almost six.  And this day is just...gone.  Poof.  I've done food prep and dishes and treadmill, and I'm flat tired.
I've looked at the day job schedule, and the week stretches out in front of me like that road painting that Wile. E. Coyote splashes on the rock, and the Road Runner zips right through.
Interminable.

I'm entirely convinced that this world is spinning faster.  That an hour, twenty years ago, is not the same as an hour now.  If time is wibbly-wobbly, then I believe it's wibbled a bit quicker over the years.
Rarely do I have time to simply enjoy.  Sit with the sun on my face.  Tap out a story with my writing playlist in my ears.  Weed the flower gardens and plant some seeds.  Sit with my grandson and just enjoy his perspective.

I've come to realize that time is a precious commodity, and I've also come to the point where I don't like to waste mine.  If I open a book, and it's complete trash...I'm done.  If I start a TV show on Netflix, and it numbs my mind...I'm done.

Time is ephemeral.  While some may think that's redundant, I believe it's quite apt.
Sixty seconds can be a lifetime.  Sixty years can be gone in the snap of your fingers.

Think I'll work on this a bit.  Maybe try to work my way around to not feeling like time is slipping through my fingers.
Work on being in the present.
Love those sixty seconds like the gift they are.
Grins*

Truck love

I tend to treadmill in the evening.  On the weekend, I walk during the day, and my treadmill faces the car wash.
I watched three men buff their trucks.  It was the damndest thing.
They were different ethnicities.  Two white trucks and one dark blue.  And they were polishing the hell out of these inanimate objects.
It tickled me.
Not going to lie.  I didn't understand it.  But I had to respect the commitment.
Then I began to wonder...are they like this with all facets of their lives?  Do they polish their relationships with friends/spouses/children?
I found it fascinating.
Or were they simply showering their love on this machine that didn't give two shits about them?
Was it all for show?  Was it pride?  Something else?
I wanted nothing more to swim in their heads and pluck out the answers.

I wanted their STORIES.
And I wanted them badly.

Did they grow up poor with old automobiles?  Did they procure a dream job that allowed them to have the truck of their fantasies?  Were they like male birds preening and polishing to attract a mate?

I never found out, of course.
It's a pity.

But I think that I'll file that away for another day and another story of my making.
Everything is fodder, dear ones.
Everything.
Grins*

Let there be site!

My website.
heh

Handy having the Honey who has a Master's in Computer Science who can help create webpages and whatnot.
So I'm working on a website now.  No damn pop-ups which my old one has.
Well, you know, free is free.  Over 5700 views.  And I worked my ass off on it with colors and fonts matching and pictures of my books.
I'm still incredibly proud of it.

But now I will have an official site that I help design.  Excited!

Links to Amazon and Goodreads with my books and reviews.  Tabs for free stories and whatnot. Different entrance for my Erotic Romance.  18+ disclaimer on there.  So much to do!!!

Off tomorrow since I work Saturday.  Not quite sure what I'll be doing besides a bit more editing. Going to be busy working on that for the next few.  And I don't feel like death like last weekend so I should be gold.
*grins*

On a personal note, my youngest is uber excited about baby boy's first birthday.  I can't believe it. Little Man will be one at the end of April.  Seems crazy.  Going to see his little booty today after work and grab some smooches while I can.  Feels like an eternity between smoochfests.

Totally random.
So.
I have Netflix now.  Yeah.  I know.  Welcome to 2016.
Anyway, I wanted it SO bad for "Jessica Jones".  Didn't finish that.  I'm savoring it like expensive chocolate since the new series doesn't start for a freakin' eternity.
But I started watching "Bones".  And holy shit.
I love it.
And I don't mean...blah blah blah...love it.  I mean OMG!!!  I had no idea it was this good.  I'm only on Season 3, and I haven't found an episode yet that disappoints.
Woot!
The series now has a coveted spot on my Amazon Wish List.
So.  Damn.  Good.
Grins*

You can have my nose spray when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers

This still holds true.  You try to grab my little plastic bottle of joy, and I will cut you.

I've had a horrible cold since last Wednesday/Thursday.  Spent Thursday/Friday/ most of Saturday in bed.  Still fighting having to BREATHE through my nostrils.
It sucks.

I thought it had gotten better only to wake up this morning and not be able to breathe ANY out of either nostril.  Silly me didn't bring my little bottle back to the bedroom.  I left it in my purse.
Lesson learned.
I'm thinking of making a little scabbard/pouch for it and strapping it to my waist.  Rather like Robin Hood's sword or Billy the Kid's gun.  I need it close by in case of sinus emergency.
sigh

Yes.  It's my medicinal crutch.
I've made peace with it.
Others need to do the same.

Grins*

Beta Readers

I've never had a Beta Reader or two.  I'd like a couple now.
I have more perspective when I've put a work down for a couple of weeks and then pick it back up.  I see things I wouldn't otherwise have caught.  And that's great.  But I need some fresh perspective from people who can give constructive criticism and ask questions I may not think to ask.

But, then again, I write extremely close to the vest.  I don't put titles out or character names.  I don't feel comfortable with that.  However, I'd like to cultivate some Beta readers that I feel comfortable with.  I need a writing social circle.
Which, by the way, would probably be bigger than any other social circle I have.
*grins*
Being the ambivert that I am.

Think I'll ponder this some more as I have time.
*******

Finding an Agent AKA Damn it! This is a great story!!!

Hello out there.

Yes.  I see you.  You're a writer.  You have voices in your head and calluses on your fingers and you mumble to yourself when you're really feeling it.
Grand, isn't it?
That rush when you're in the zone.  The feeling of all cylinders clicking away while you tap tap tap until the voices fade, and all you have is harmony.
Until you finish.
The End.
Ouch
Now.  Take a moment there.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Because that, my friend, was the easy part. Bleeding over verb usage and dialogue tags and passive writing was just an appetizer.  Now you're about to get down to it.
You are going to look for an agent.
Don't hide your eyes.  That sentence isn't going anywhere.  And neither will your story.  Unless you find an agent.
They're mystical creatures that can make or break a writer's heart from a thousand miles away with one simple email that starts out, "We're sorry..."
Dry your eyes.  Toughen up.  How hard can it be?

Let me learn you a thing or two.
This writing business is hard as hell and twice as nasty.  You will be asked to divvy up your literary delight in so many ways that you'll hardly recognize it.  Because each agent has different wants and needs for their business.
I can respect that.
Out of seventeen different agents, not ONE will want the same thing as another.  I guarantee it. Some want a synopsis and bio.  Then the first five pages.  Wait.  The first ten pages.  Writing history. Qualifications.  First three chapters.  First fifty pages.  One page synopsis.
If you have any hair left, you can pull it out now.
I have so many damn tabs open in Microsoft Word right now my eyes are beginning to cross.
No one said it would be easy.
Thank God.
Because I'd be tempted to beat that liar's ass.

Good luck to you.
I've always said it.
Good stories find a home.
Now make it so.
Grins*

Make it so

For some reason, my body has been in revolt this year.  I've been sicker these first two months than in the past two YEARS.
YEARS!!!
Right now my body composition is mostly nose spray.  One spritz every four to six hours?
BAHAHAHAHAHAHA
You're so cute.
I spritz until I can feel air passing through my sinuses.
Still can't taste or smell anything, but by God!  I can "breathe".
Two sinus episodes and one incredibly violent vomiting spell?
Color me done.  The rest of the year best be anti-climactic.

Even though I feel like someone beat me, ran me over, and then beat me again, I've decided to work on the writing and querying.  At somewhat of a crossroads on the third book.  I think I've puzzled it out so that won't be banging around my cranium any longer.

Gathering up my notes and making sure I have everything together so I can piece and polish my words.

Got to thinking about writing while I was having some breakfast.  It's not like I could taste my food so my mind started wandering again.  I'm always writing.  I think, perhaps, the only time I'm not writing is when I'm reading.  If it's a good book, then I disappear into it with nary a thought to the outside world and my own stories.  If it's a bad book, I throw it at the wall and don't waste my time.
But there's always SOMETHING.  It could be that indefinable something that pricks at your subconscious until you recognize it.  Or it could be that mystery meeting between characters that defines a scene.  There's always something, isn't there?

Part of me wants to simply curl up with Rainbow Rowell's "Carry On".  I've started it, and it's brilliant.  But the so-called "adult" in me knows I need to bang out some words for my own stories.  *grins*
And let's just say I'm glad that I can do this from home.  At my desk.  With my Einstein hair, pajama top, and bare feets.
Carry on, indeed.
Grins*

Too pooped to pop

Something my Mom used to say when we were frazzled.  And I find it still holds true.  Yesterday was a busy lovely day of the foul-mouthed merc and Patty Wagon for dinner.
Then, instead of actually resting, I found myself awake more than asleep last night/this morning.
I'm so paying for it.

Editing my second book.  I stop at a spot where I'm adding a bridge scene to link two different scenes, and all I could think about was laying my head down on the bed in my office/The Sanctuary and sleeping for a couple of hours.
Not too mention I forgot an important couple of pieces of paper at the day job.
So that all greatly inhales.

I'm just so damn tired.

Instead of finishing the edit, I think I may watch a mindless movie or read a book.  I'd like to watch "Rogue Nation" again.  I own it.  Thanks, Honey.  Or I could read the latest Rainbow Rowell.  Or maybe I could watch "The Magicians" on-demand.  The Lev Grossman books are brilliant.

Yet here I sit.  Brain-dead and too tired to do much about it.  I don't want to lose two or three hours of my day sleeping.  But I don't know if I have the werewithal to do much of anything else.

Last Sunday I wrote 5000 words.  This Sunday?  I'll be lucky not to drool on myself with my eyes open.

Grins*

Whole New World

No.
Not going to break out into the classic "Aladdin" song.  Tempting, though it is.

I've been querying agents.  Necessary process when you want representation.  Not so necessary if you want to self-publish.  And while I don't write for financial gain, nice side effect, I need a broader audience to read my works.
Therefore, I require an agent.
When I truly began writing over a decade ago, I hadn't a clue what I was doing.  Now, with a little experience under my belt, I have a small semblance of a clue.  *grins*
I remember querying agents when I didn't have a book published and wanted representation.  It was...painful.  Some were outright rude.  I remember it well.
But as I query for my five-book series, I've found it's a different ball game.  I've received five rejection emails so far.  And that's fine.  I comfort myself with the fact that I haven't found a good fit yet, and then I pull up the sites that tell me J.K. Rowling was rejected in the double digits.
Here's the difference:  These rejection letters are basically NICE.
NICE REJECTION LETTERS
Who knew?
I think it has to do with the fact that the Internet is a hell of a record keeper.  Agents and agencies that were rude are being called out on sites.  There is no need to be cruel to make a point.  There's never been a need for that.  So now they are apologetic, for the most part, and you don't feel like you've been emotionally eviscerated.
It's quite refreshing.
I've also grown as an artist that I don't take it personally.  That's what a decade of writing will do to you.  It thickens your skin and hones your skill.  Sharpens your wit and gives you enough distance from your work that you don't feel kicked in the nuts when someone doesn't want said work.

I'll continue querying.  I'm not even through one of my tiers yet.  And I'll keep writing because me not writing is something no one wants to be around.

For those that are also querying agents and looking for a literary home, good luck to you.
Keep writing.
Keep querying.
And for goodness sake, don't take the rejections personally.
If your story is ready, it will find a home.
Grins*

My Friday

Oh, yes.
I'm off tomorrow but have to work Saturday.  By the time this fourth Friday rolls around, I'm on the cusp of forgetting my humanity.  I'm tired and restless and need time for myself.  I don't think a lot of people understand that.
I need down time.  Even from myself.  Time to let my mind wander and pluck and embrace.  Time to breathe and know that I can wallow in the moment instead of having to be somewhere else doing something else.
piffle

Do I have big plans?
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Um, no.

Next week is birthday week, and I have enough things planned for that, apparently, that I believe my day off tomorrow will be one to take it as slowly as possible and enjoy every minute.
And that becomes lost so easily in the day-to-day living.  Hamster wheel on high.  Gotta do.  Should have done.  Going to squeeze as much as I can into this 24 hours because I didn't have time before and OH MY GOD I don't think I can!
But, really?
Breathing?
That little thing your lungs do to keep you alive?
It needs to slow down.  It needs to even out.  It needs to be a priority.
It needs to influence the day more than the day needs to influence it.

I have literally had clerks ask me if I'm in a hurry because I'm twitchy and in fast mode.  And guess what?
It's my day off.
I have nowhere to be.
But I'm still in manic mode.

Have to work on that one.
Grins*

Pieces of me

Hard at work when all three of my babies, and my baby's baby, came to see me.
Did you ever have that feeling that heart was literally going to BURST with love?
I was close to my mother growing up.  That went away for quite some time.  Now we're back to being amicable, but there's still distance.  My father passed away a few years ago.
But my children?  My 20, 21, and 22 year old???  And my 9 month old grandson?
Holy shit.
They are my world.
I look at them and know that I've done something right.
I'll have bestsellers.  I'll work too hard not to.
But the best parts of my life live in my babies.
They are smart and beautiful and flawed and sarcastic.  They always hug and kiss me and tell me they love me.  They're good people who help others and work hard for themselves.  And no, they're not perfect.  I love them.  I'm not struck stupid by them.  *grins*

So the best part of this incredibly long week happened about two hours ago.  When my beautiful babies and one grandbaby graced me with their presence and spent some time with a woman who loves them more than life.

*******