Lipo Update, Pumpkins and a Snowman

First week of lipo shots over. Pounds lost – 1.4


I suppose I’m feeling slightly less murderous, but still rather unstable if you want to know the truth of the matter. This is most likely due to my current state of never ending revisions for PwF though. Honestly, this is new to me. Typically I finish a novel, go through it a time or two, then start edits with my publisher. This time, it’s all on me. Well, um, hello! If it’s up to me, it will never be ready. Ever. Never. Ever. I change 8983749093847 things every time I read it. I really don’t know what this ‘polished’ nonsense is all about. Do any of us ever think anything is polished? I think this will be the last time I pour through it, then I shall hand it over to my friend/editor/guardian angel and see what she comes back with. I’m not a perfectionist, oh no. Not by any stretch of the imagination could I be called a perfectionist, but damn, there’s always a better way to say something, or phrase something.

Anywho –

Yesterday was a teacher’s planning day here so I stayed home with my son and we went shopping, out to lunch and decorated pumpkins. I say decorated because we painted them. Mine, oh my poor pumpkin. It looks like someone spilt some paint all over it. It’s very sad. Cam’s is pretty good. He’s artsy. Me? Well, I can’t draw a straight line. No, I really can’t because I shake too much. I could never cut a straight line either and would always get in trouble for it, which I hope we can all agree now, was a stupid thing to get in trouble for. I’ve inserted pics below. I’m sure you can guess which one’s mine. -_-

 

I did, however, get some shampoo for my makeup brushes…you would have thrown up if you saw what came out of them…a new outfit, hair color, and some random other stuff from Target. I’m not much on shopping so that’s a big deal for me. They had allll of their Christmas stuff out and I saw this guy:


Sadly I didn’t get him. But, now you have that song stuck in your head too. Bwahhahhahhha *evil laugh*

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Lipo Shots and Cookies

Well, folks, I’ve decided to keep a little record of my weight loss adventures. Mainly for evidence so when they either A) find my body or B) find the body I hid, I’ll have something to point back to and say see – I was already crazy.

First, let’s point out that for the last four months or so I’ve been taking this combination medicine Phen-something. I’m not really sure what it was, but it was awesome. I mean, it stopped working for weight loss after the second month but my lord it made everything else better. I could see more clearly, I was awake, in a good mood. Yes. It was awesome. But you can’t take it forever. So I’ve stopped taking that and have started a series of Lipo injections, along with 1300 calories a day (kill me now) and 30 min of exercise a day. That’s where we are.

I.Feel.Like.Shit. I mean, like I just want everyone to go away and I want to crawl under the covers in my bed and stay there. If I hadn’t told Mr. Tom I would do something for him today, I swear to the Lord I would get up and go home. But it’s not his fault I’m a fat, useless cow who can’t just eat right and exercise on her own. So I stay and wait for him to call me back. I did read that the injections can cause you to be lethargic, (CHECK) have random tummy issues (CHECK) and phantom pain in your neck and back (CHECK CHECK). I paid for a four pack of these things and I just had my first shot last Friday (it’s now Monday) so I’ll be riding this out for another month or so. Have I lost weight? No. But it’s only been three days…two of which I ate way more than 1300 calories, I can tell you that right now. Whatever. I like food. I like yummy food. I really like sweets and therein lies my downfall. Though, I must agree with:

I can’t tell if this behavior is from coming off the other meds or getting on the shots, so I’ll just wait a week and see what happens. If I’m still alive/out of jail, that is. This is also havoc on my writing because I just want to print all 66K words out, rip them up one by one and then just go SAIUDHFIAWUEHFISUDHFI all over my word doc. But that is wrong. And I would be sad. Someday. Probably not today. It’s good though, right? It’s originalish and funnyish and entertainingish. But the question remains, is it will written enough NO ISH? Probably not, because I’m not really a writer. I’m a psychopath, masquerading as a storyteller, trying to pass for a writer, working to become a full-time author. It’s a lie. It’s all just a lie. I’m eating a cookie. I hate my life.

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Olde City New Blood CON!

I registered for my very first book conference today. I’m so excited because A) it’s super close, like 20 minutes away so I don’t have to pay for hotel, B) there will be a ton of authors I like there as well as Entangled Publishing, and C) I’m finally doing what the psyshic told me to do, which is go to conferences.

I’m not sure what happens at these things, I assume there will be some Q&A with the authors, perhaps with Entangled as well. I hope to gather some advice and network with other folks like myself; it’s nice to know I’m not alone.

Here is the link if it’s something you’re interested in: http://oldecitynewblood.wordpress.com/

As for the rest of my life, things are slowly getting back to normal without Pops. My husband still isn’t the same. Sadly, I think this kick-started his mid-life crisis. Joy. We’ve weathered worse, though, so I’m sure we’ll push our way through this as well.
I’m finished with PwF and am now revising, which could go on forever with me. Nothing is ever good enough. I know what it needs to be. I know what it has to have in its most basic form to be coupled with a marketing plan and equal a wildly successful book. Does it have that? I think it does. Now, I just need a publisher with a marketing plan. ;) And an editor. A brutal, intelligent, loves my voice and won’t try to change it, editor. Does one such as this exist? I can but hope.

I think I’m going to just keep right on going with PwF 2, you know, while it’s all still with me. LLL and FireFlys will just have to wait, along with Dreams, Gemini and Nightlights in Heaven. Yes, I admit to having Literary Schizophrenia.

I also entered a little contest over at NA Alley, so perhaps something will come of that. I’ll let you know.

Until then, my friends.

 

 

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Death & Taxes

It’s Sunday morning after Pops’ wake/viewing/service/whatever-the-hell-that-was. You know how some people have weddings that last a full weekend? Well, these people are having a funeral that lasts even longer than that. This is the first time that someone I’ll actually miss has passed away. You know, someone who touched my life in such a way that his absence will be felt. It sucks. It also sucks that they didn’t have anything planned. I spoke to my dad yesterday and told him they needed to get their shit together, make a will, call a lawyer, something. Because trust me when I say to you, I will NOT be able to do all that and make all of those decisions when he passes, especially if he goes before my mother who lives in her own little world. There’s the advice for the day, folks. If anyone you love is over the age of 60, talk about it now. Death and taxes, people. It's going to happen.


I took off work Friday and went to my mom-in-law’s house when she wasn’t there and cleaned it from top to bottom. It made me feel useful since other than writing, cleaning is pretty much the only thing I’m good at. While my mom-in-law was at the funeral home a stray dog wandered up to them, a collie, which just happens to be the kind of dog Pops used to have. Needless to say, my mom-in-law has a new dog. She’s really sweet but something’s wrong with her back for sure and maybe she’s sick too? I don’t know. I hope that all works out though; I’ve always wanted a Lassie Dog.

The service was Saturday and it was just awful. You walked into the place and to the left was a little copy of a church and to the right were a few rooms. Pops was laid out in one of them and in the other they had a slide show of pics of him and all of us accompanied by sad, war-hero type country songs…you know, just in case someone wasn’t already crying. For whatever reason, we had to be there right at 1 and sit there until 3 while people came in and out to look at him. (I didn’t go in the room. Couldn’t do it. That’s a whole other post.) My husband, he’s just not good with that stuff. He ended up in the other room alone, fighting tears the entire time. He kept saying things like, “I never really appreciated him” or “I don’t know what to do now.” Broke my heart.

The service was given by my mom-in-law’s pastor who is black. I only mention this because he was the only black person in the room. I’m sure he felt odd. But he pulled through like a trooper. Nice things were said, but not nice enough. I’m mad at myself for not getting up to say something about him. I wanted to, like how Myron told me he learned how to treat a woman from him or how he always made me feel welcome and truly did make the best BBQ sauce I’ve ever had in my life, but I stayed seated. I guess he knows.

After, there was a reception at the American Legion where Pops hung out. By that time I had a headache from crying and ten minutes into standing in the smoke filled room, I thought I was going to puke so Myron took me outside. He’d already said he didn’t want to go in there, so I think he was glad for the excuse. You’d think this would be the end of my tale, but no! There’s more! We still have to go to this veteran’s cemetery thing on Monday and actually bury the man. Like I said a weekend, plus some, of a funeral.

Death does weird shit to people. My husband was acting like a crazy person for two days. Didn’t shower, hitting himself in the head, yelling at me…it was insane. My bro-in-law was a hot mess too. People handle their grief in their own ways, though. I’m writing to you. That’s how I deal. I write. I don’t want all that when I die. I want all of my parts donated to whoever can use them, to be cremated and then for someone to drive my ashes to the highest place they can get to in the Tennessee mountains and let my ashes scatter with the wind. I don’t want some sad music playing and me that doesn’t look like me laid out in the box they're going to put me in the ground in for all to see. If anything, maybe a few people get together to read something I’ve written or eat really good food and be happy. The ones who really gave a shit too, not random people who suddenly want to act like we were close. Like I said, death does weird shit to people, but I guess when I’m dead, I won’t really care.

Just FYI – I think there’s a really good country song hidden in those words up there.

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What an Awful, Horrible, Seriously F'ed up Day

You know those days when you wake up and the sky is ominous and you have this sense of dread, like you should just get your butt right back under the covers and stay there? Well, today was not one of those days. It started out as a fine day. Truth be told, the sky was a little gray but I'm a fan of gray so it was fine by me.

Once at work I find out that this fella I work with's little dog was attacked and murdered by a larger dog. He was there, saw the whole thing, tried to fight the other dog off...it was bad. And he is truly the nicest male I've ever met. Like, consistently nice, kind, respectful, just a class act all the way, you know.

About an hour into that, I get a call from my husband and his step-dad, my father-in-law has passed away. This is sad news in and of itself. Phil, but we called him Pops, was also a class act. Would give you the shirt off his back and not think a thing of it, always made me feel welcome, just good 'ole people. Add to this, my hysterical sister (she's my sisiter-in-law but I call her my sister because she's more my sister than any of theirs) and you've got yourself some pretty messed up shit. She's 18, I mean, I've heard her be dramatic. This.Was.Not.That. Have you ever heard someone's heart break? Like, heard it rip in two and fall from their mouth in choking sobs? Well, trust me. You don't want to. Ever.

My husband and I just got back home from going over to his mom's house. It's pretty bad over there. Just memories of Pops everywhere you look; his jacket draped over the chair, the eagles and military memorabilia he collected still on prominent display, little pieces of him reminding you that he's not there. My sister, I just don't know. She looked like a zombie. She'd been crying all day, but still. Just staring into space, nodding when spoken to. It's not like her. It's not good. So now I'm here, writing all of this on my iPad because I just don't feel like getting my laptop out but want to get these words out of me before they swell up like wedding rice inside a bird and make me burst:

It's not fair. Why does bad shit happen to good people? Why does just the most vile, despicable stuff happen to people (and baby puppies) who didn't do one damn thing to deserve it? Do you hear me, God? We're all about transparency now, right? All about everyone having to know the reason for every freaking thing, so I want a reason for that. Anytime now would be great. I'll wait.

September 25, 2012
In Memory of Cookie Davis and Phillip Bosland

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Just FYI:

That is all.

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6:00 am

I wake up every day at 6:00 am thanks to a kid who was up by 5:00 for six years. Now he sleeps until 10:00 and I’m still up. Whatever! *rolls eyes* My point. I wake up every day in time to catch the news, which just makes me sad. People killing people, mad at people because of who they choose to love or the color of the skin that God gave them. Really, people? I try to put myself in their shoes, to understand where such hate can come from. I feel that way about folks who abuse kids and animals, and while society says that is acceptable, it’s really not. Malice isn’t acceptable, no matter what. If I were in the room with someone who sexually abused a kid, I would truly try to kill them. So, I guess I’m just as bad as the idiots who actually carry out their plans.

I’ll try to work on that. I think sometimes people think I’m cheesy, but this is really the way I am! My heart swells with emotion at least five zillion times a day. When I believe in something, by God, I believe in it. When I say something (unless I’m clearly joking) by God, I mean it. Am I the only one? Wouldn’t be the first time.

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