Thursday, January 5, 2023
Wednesday, January 4, 2023
You have questions? I have answers! I don't guarantee them to be free of snark or profanity.
January 4 questions -
Do you have a word of the year?
Yeah, it's the same word I have every year. It starts with an F, ends with a K, and has a U C in the middle. I intend to use it a lot.
Is there one word that sums up what you need to work on or change in the coming year?
For instance, in 2021 my word of the year was Finish. I was determined to finished my first draft by the end of the year. In 2022, my word of the year is Ease. I want to get my process, systems, finances, and routines where life flows with ease and less chaos. What is your word for 2023? Why?
It isn't a word, it's a phrase. I need to stop being such an asshole to myself. Like, for real. So, I suppose the word could be STOP.
I have a huge problem with getting angry at myself whenever I have a health setback. Growing up, I was instilled with the belief that people brought all their problems on themselves. Since I didn't do everything perfect, I deserve my ailments. It's a pretty terrible way to think. I no longer judge other people that harshly, but I still give myself the business.
Seriously, this way of thinking was so strong in my family that when I called my mother to tell her the doctor was sending me to the hospital to induce labor because I had toxemia, her response was "what did you do to cause this?"
Sunday, January 1, 2023
Genre: Autobiography, Self-Help
Heat Level: Just messing with ya. I would never be so gauche as to reveal the intimate details of my so-called romantic life.
WTF is this Shite? I mean, here's a Blurb.
For years now I have been intending to publish some sort of combination of memoir and workbook. I start out determined, but as time goes on I say "oh, hell, what makes me think I can do this?"
I'm writing the book I wish had been there for me, and I'm going to try and stick with it this time.
“I’d rather fail with my own shit than succeed with someone else’s,” --Eddie Van Halen
I’ve always been trouble and sometimes that goes double. I was born on February 15, 1965, in Denver, Colorado during a raging blizzard. My father, who was extremely sick with a respiratory infection, had to get out and push the car back on the road while my mother, who was in labor, steered. They made it to the hospital where I made my debut as my mother received the encouraging words of “God punishes those who don’t push!” from her obstetrician.
By all accounts, I was a horrible infant who never slept more than two hours at a stretch. When I was 18 months old, some colossal fuckwit of a pediatrician prescribed me phenobarbital. This medication worked paradoxically as many psych meds do for me. I remained awake for three days straight and I can only imagine that I was an unholy terror to deal with for my sleep-deprived parents.
Many years and misdiagnoses later, I learned that I have ADHD.
There isn't one yet.