I know I need to write today (real writing, the kind that makes me money) but I am having a terrible time getting started. So, I figured I would download my brain here for a bit. I expect everything I write from here on out to be disjointed, scattered and unpolished. Let’s just go with it.
Starting off, I have this cat. He is OLD. That needs to be capitalized. Scrapper will be 19 this July and there’s naught much left to him but skin and bone. That is including the brain department … there’s just not much going on upstairs anymore. He is not in any pain, at all, he is still spry as a kitten at times, but by golly … if alzheimer’s affects felines, this one has it. He forgets where he is in the house. Sometimes late at night, he can be heard downstairs going from room to room calling out in his very distinctive meow, “Mom? Mom? …. Mom??” I am not kidding here … it sounds like he says “Mom” when he cries. Which, of course, wakes me up every time as I am “Mom” and as all mom’s know, when the kids call, you wake up.
This morning Scrapper, my darling kitty, was apparently very confused, He did find us, came into our room and SCREAMED “MOM!!! MOM!!! MOM!!!” repeatedly for about 5 minutes. I am not kidding when I write scream. It has never been that loud, or that frantic. I jumped out of the bed in a panic, heart racing. We were never able to find out what was wrong, and eventually he quit the assault and returned to his favorite chair. My husband and I, however, were never able to fall back asleep. Horror movie stuff, that sound, and now that I am trying to work on about 5 hours sleep, I have to admit that Scrapper is currently not my favorite cat. I returned the favor when I came downstairs to find him fast asleep in that chair, screaming “MEOW!! MEOW!! MEOW!!” right over his head. I swear, he rolled over, stretched and smiled at me.
Yesterday was exciting, she writes, thinking “yeah, not so much”. I began the day with an early morning kettlebell session. As we near the competition, our homework assignments have become …
difficult … unbearable. Sunday’s class went really well. I came out pumped and encouraged. Not only can I do this, I think I can ROCK it. Then Monday hits. My arms and legs were so fatigued that I was barely able to finish any of the sets. My right hand continues to tear and just will not heal, which means I have to train wearing a glove. Let me tell you, gloves make quick work of your grip and forearm. Yesterday, my competition goals felt as impossible as they did the first time I picked up a bell. Thoroughly discouraging. As a result, today is a rest day. Hopefully tomorrow will have better results.
I raced from kettlebell to our meeting with my son’s special education department (as was somewhat chronicled here). Already broken down emotionally by my failings at the gym, I was a bit of a wreck after that meeting. I took to eating chocolate. I thought it might help and I can’t say that it didn’t. It’s just that I wish I hadn’t, you know?
Last night, I had a meeting for a volunteer organization I work with. It came with beer. (Have I mentioned the gluten issue lately? Yeah, beer not such a good idea. My intestinal track and my hives thank me today.) Unfortunately, when I drink beer, I think I am funny. I am not. I am also pretty sure that I am annoying, but everyone is very kind, and they just set me somewhere from which I can inflict the least amount of damage. I was pretty useless at this particular meeting, and left feeling quite dejected. I say the wrong things all the time. If you want politically correct, you have not found your girl.
(Interjection: My computer keeps dropping my bleepin’ “F”‘s and I have to retype any word with an “F” in it like 3x … and it is getting annoying. It’s going to be so bleepin’ ffffffun to work next on my novel where the male protagonist’s name is Geofffffffff!)
I say the wrong thing all the time. It’s truly in innocence. I think if I actually were a racist, bigoted, child abusing hick, I would watch my words more carefully. At least, I hope that I would. No, though, I just say the wrong thing, or I say something the wrong way, so that it comes out all kinds of backwards and misunderstood. Which is one of the reasons I prefer to write. I can go back and edit my words before they are “heard” and hopefully, get my real point across in a less offensive way. Or, I can read that the joke is a flop and erase it before anyone reads how incredibly dumb I truly am. In real life, I can not, so people are just left looking at me uncomfortably as I replay my words in my head to try and figure out where I screwed it all up. Again.
Would you like a beer? It makes me more ffffunny.
OK, I do believe that is enough brain downloading for now. Geofffff is waiting.