Tag Archives: school

health and school, is there anything else?

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Way back in, what, May? When I first got Horton, I caught a cold. It was relatively minor as colds go, and was mostly a PITA because it made adjusting to Horton harder. On the third day of it or so, I pulled a muscle in my back coughing. It hurt for a day or so and quit.

Then T the CNP twiddled my medications (all of them it seems like) and suddenly that same muscle started hurting again.

I was supposed to wait a month and then go in for blood work. I did that two Wednesdays ago. Still no word on the results, but I have gone back off the statin on my own because I am crippled. It hurts to change positions at all, in any direction. It hurts to climb steps. It hurts to lie down, and it hurts to get up. It hurts to get dressed, and it hurts to undress. I want to whine and cry constantly. Hell, I probably do whine and cry constantly. I’m doing it now, right?

If I don’t hear from them about the results by Monday, I’m calling.

This pain thing is made worse by the fact that Mr Moth hurt his shoulder, and now we are both lamed up.

Meanwhile, on the school front, and also filed under People Who Won’t Give Me the Information I Need To Get On With My Life, my financial aid was terminated for Fall term because I had maxed it out. But, come to find out, they were still using my allowance from my first degree in Graphic Design. So I had to go in and get a new degree form from the financial aid office and carry it to the records office, who was supposed to fill it out and send it back to financial aid. Of course they didn’t do that until I called and nagged. So ten days later the financial aid office told me they had received the form and processed it, but it still needed to be entered into the system.

Another ten days later, it still isn’t showing up in Web Advisor so I can’t accept the aid, and it won’t be credited to my account. So I have to call some more. (Note to self, added to my Monday to-do list.)

Mind you, I’m not sure I’m able to go or want to go…but I don’t want the option to be taken away by failure of the school to process effin paperwork. I want to make that decision myself.

dog story: cobie, kelly, and the sunglasses

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In my living room there are a phone-and-lamp stand, a coffee table, and two end tables.  One of the end tables sits just inside the mural window, and there is nothing on it.  It’s deliberately cleared and positioned so Oliver (the cat) can look out the window, but Kelly uses it too, and I’m ok with that.  Cobie can stand on the floor and look out, or sit on the sofa, but Kelly likes to see out too, and she is vertically challenged.

On the other end table is a second lamp and a pewter coaster.  It’s where I usually sit my drink when I’m watching tv or folding laundry.  And presently there are two chew-bones there.

Whenever one of us leaves and returns, Cobie greets us with one of the three bones the dogs share.  When we had two bones, there were often alarming-sounding battles over who owned all the bones (looking at you, greedy Kelly) and I used to have to store them on top of the refrigerator and only bring them down when I could supervise.  Then T-Moth found an identical bone lost in sofa during Cobie’s puppyhood, and then there were three.  Magically, the competition evaporated.  Kelly could hog up two bones and have more than Cobie, and Cobie doesn’t care if she has more, as long as he can have one.  Heck, half the time he doesn’t even want one; I think he just likes to have it because he can.

Anyhow, when we return he greets us with a bone.  He full-butt wags, and winds around us, grinning around one of the chew-bones, teasing us with it.  Then, after a few moments, we’re supposed to take the bone and pretend to nom on it, then give it back, whereupon he abandons it somewhere until next time.

However, a lot of times when I come home my old lady bladder is at the bursting point and I can’t play Bone with Cobie.  Often he follows me into the bathroom and we play the game there while I relieve myself, but other times, presumably when his bladder has also had an–ahem–full day, he goes right outside, like as not taking the bone with him.  Then I go find it, because I don’t want to lose one and be back to the whole squabbling over two bones deal.

One day I brought one in and set it on the end table.  It sat there for weeks.  No dog touched it, although in that same time period Kelly stole the drinking straws out of several of my beverages.  And maybe this is pertinent; I think it is.  Kelly steals the straws, and then Cobie takes them from her.

Cobie is a dog who is strangely respectful of physical boundaries.  He’ll lie with you, but not touching you.  He’s been able to jump the babygates I use to restrain him since he was nine weeks old, but he only ever did it once.  If he leans against a gate and it falls over, he still won’t go through.  If he’s out and wants in, and the door is only slightly ajar, he waits (and moos) until someone opens the door all the way and invites him in.

My Sheldon dog.  Here he is waiting to be invited inside. 

Anyway…

He took another bone outside.  I fetched it and put it also on the table.  Then there was one.  And then that one got kicked under the sofa, as dog toys sometimes do.  And the next time T-Moth came home, Cobie mooed sadly and gazed at the two bones on the table, but he wouldn’t take one.  They were right there.  “Go ahead,” I said, because I happened to be sitting at the other end of the sofa.  “Get the bone.  It’s ok.”

But he wouldn’t do it.  So, because it was easier, I bent over and fished the third bone from under the sofa and handed him that one and he was happy all wigglebutt and helicopter tail.  The routine had not been interfered with.

The two bones are still there.  And if Kelly takes the one remaining bone, he does not seem to care.  Maybe…maybe he considers I am keeping the other two and as long as she doesn’t have them all…  I dunno.  Sometimes Cobie gives me things to “hold” for him.  That’s why I have a piece of corn husk in my pocket even as I type this.  Maybe I am “holding” two bones for him, and the table is some kind of doggy bank in his mind.

But if Kelly wanted one of those bones, she would take it.  Remember the straws?

So last night I came in the office before bed to check and see if any grades had been posted, and before two minutes had passed I heard THUNDER THUNDER THUNDERPAW, click clackety-click, and then CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH.  Even though it’s been a long time since either dog chewed anything illegal (of any importance) I know that noise and I jumped up whereupon silence descended.

I went into the living room where I discovered Cobie lying with my sunglasses between his paws.  He had a look on his face that kind of said, “Hi!”  Mind you, I left the glasses on the end table, my end table.  Behind the lamp.  Behind the bones that have been there for how long now unmolested.

My initial reaction was that the dogs had chewed my sunglasses.  Actually, one lens had popped out.  The other was partially out.  Only the earpieces took damage and that was light.  I put both lenses in right, took them in the kitchen and washed everything in the sink and they’re still usable, if a little mutilated around the earpieces, but my hair will hide that.

I was annoyed as all get out, but not actually angry.  They’re dogs, and I let my guard down.

But this morning I woke up in a fit of certainty.  Kelly stole the glasses, got in a couple-three chomps, and then Cobie took them.  Maybe he chomped them too, but not much because if he had they would be shrapnel now.  I think Kelly stole them because she does that and Cobie doesn’t, and I think Cobie took them because that’s what he does.  And I think  he was watching them.  When I went into the kitchen he followed, because when I command him to give me something and he gives it, he gets something.  He’s very reliable about giving things up, and I am very reliable about rewarding him for that, because some day I might desperately need him to give something up.

So, even though I caught him with illegal sunglasses, both dogs received carrots for surrending them.  No matter who did what while I was out of the room, they both behaved perfectly when I came back.  Maybe I’m messing up, but I don’t think so.  I read somewhere that dogs don’t understand that you can know things happened that you didn’t see, but they completely get that you know what you did see.

Anyhow, I thought I’d share.

BTW, only one grade posted so far, but it’s a good ‘un.

graduation, stress, self-pity, and panty hose

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I received a letter from Clark State telling me all the details of graduation:  time, place, ticket availability, cap and gown purchase information, etc..

And then, it said, because they are having the graduation the same day as the last day of school, they will not actually be giving out diplomas, but blanks. Duds. Fakes.

Fah.

Now I am on the fence about this ceremony.

Thirty years ago in May, I received a vocational certificate.  In June, I received my high school diploma.  Both documents were the real deal, and I still have both of them. 

Why do they have to have the ceremony so soon that they can’t tell who is going to actually be eligible for graduation?  It seems so, well…stupid to me, to do it that way.  Why not wait two weeks?  Or a month?  The last week of school is the first week of May, so they could take plenty of time to be sure and still have the ceremony in June like a normal school.

I can’t imagine the soul-slaying humiliation of inviting my family to see me graduate and then…finding out weeks later that I didn’t actually graduate.  And it could happen; I am feeling pretty grim about Professional Development.  If I flunk that class, or any others, I will not be able to retake it (or them) until next spring, so next year would be the earliest I could actually graduate.

“Hi, Mom.  You know the graduation cermony you went to the hassle of attending?  Well, PSYCH!”

Also, the last time I bought pantyhose was thirteen years ago for our wedding.  I swore that would be the last time in life I would wear them.

If I’m going to break my promise and buy pantyhose, I by-the-cosmos want a real document.  Otherwise, I’m leaning toward no…

thankful thursday

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Today I am thankful for warming weather.

For family, for friends both past and present, and for T-Moth, but special mention to Mom this week.  She is 72 and still has all her cognition, although she has expressed her doubts at times.  I think any slippage on her part has more to do with the volume of information there is in one’s brain after 72 years of life.

For reruns of Roseanne and Designing Women, which take the edge off.

I am thankful the Walking Dead is over for the season so I can concentrate for one more hour a week on my schoolwork.  I am also thankful for all you late arrivals to the zombie party (noob! fans) without whom there would be so many fewer zombie stories being told today.  True, there would be fewer bad ones also, but there would also be fewer good ones.

I am thankful (sad, but thankful) for a couple of hateful drama mamas that are no longer actively involved in my life.  I miss them, but not their…stuff.

I am thankful for the forgiving nature of dogs, dog cuddles, dog fur, even in my coffee, and Oliver, who somehow tolerates dogs and still comes around at least a couple of times a day to give and receive affection, and who is impervious to my mood.  “Busy?  All stressed out?  Nobody cares.  It is now time to pet me.  Commence stroking, Servant.”

And I’m thankful for ideas.  They don’t always–or even usually–come when I need them, but this time one did, and as a result I finished my portfolio cover page on time.

why this term sucks like an electrolux

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This probably won’t interest anyone but me, but I believe I have had an epiphany as to why this semester has sucked so hard and been so long (apart from the fact that semesters are long, compared to the quarterly term system of last year).

This term sucks because I now spend the  most creative, productive part of every day getting ready for, and driving to school.

How much does that suck? 

It sucks like a chest wound. 

It sucks like a Filter Queen Dream Team.

It sucks aliens through a crack in the hull.

Okay, I’ll try to stop using the word “sucks” now, but let’s face it.  THIS.  SUCKS.

Royally.  Vigorously.  Relentlessly.

It sucks in all the colors of the spectrum.

Ordinarily I would get up in the morning, pee, let dogs out, empty the dishwasher, make coffee, take meds that have to be taken on an empty stomach, let dogs in and cat out, drink coffee while checking facebook, let cat in and dogs out, and in, out, and in…  Up to here, my day has not changed much, but here comes the difference.  After all this–still in my p.j.s, sorry Fly Lady–I would do things.

Once upon a time, “things” =ed “writing.”  As recently as spring quarter, “things” =ed futzing around with Adobe, sketching, brainstorming, surfing for ideas.  If I’ve been wrestling with a problem, the answer will often come to me as I wake up or soon after, and this is when I can get these solutions down or even start implementing them.

Not anymore.  First class starts at eight, so I spend this time making breakfast, getting dressed, brushing my teeth, driving…driving…driving.

And, four hours later, when we finally get to lunch break, I’m so desperate to get the hell away from the computer, forget about playing a game or chatting with friends.  I go sit in the crappy lounge with its unusably low tables and wait for the break to be over.  I could read, or play a game, but my eyes are tired and my head usually hurts.  I eat my packed lunch, stare at nothing, and try not to think too much about how much I wish I was at home, preferably on the deck with dogs.  (I also try not to think about how I can’t go that long without peeing, and neither can Kelly.)

I would like the work better if it started at, say, 10:00.  Like there’s a job out there with those hours.  So I’m muddling along.  My work is not as good as it has been during previous terms.  At least now I know why, although it’s small consolation.

Blargh.

another day

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This may be one of those ever rare two-cuppa mornings. Not so for hamsters. Zandy and Rocky are both up and zooming on their wheels, full of energy and creating quite a racket. It’s funny how they each pick and choose different things from their seed mix. Z likes the little seeds. Algernon likes the big seeds. Rocky likes everything but corn and the gray mystery pellets. (None of them eat those.) So I give Zandy’s rejects to Algernon, Algernon’s rejects to Zandy, Rocky’s corn to Algernon, and the pellet rejects to the dogs. Well, some of them. Cobie and Kelly think hamster pellets are the most exciting treats ever.

So. I have survived the first week of the new college quarter. I am taking Technical Report Writing, Art History, Drawing III, Digital Imagery, and Digital Typography II. That one’s probably going to be my favorite. It’ll be a tie between Technical Report Writing and Art History for which one numbs my brain the most. At least there are no business classes this go ’round. Which seems like a good segue into a Thankful Thursday on Saturday segment.

thankful thursday on saturday

1.) No business/management classes this quarter

2.) I went to the eye doc yesterday. More on this in a bit. The thankful part is, I really like my eye doctors. I feel like they care about me.

3.) I bought a tricycle. Yeah, a granny bike. It’s a hoot. More on this, too.

4.) Wagging tails.

5.) Flower bulbs. You only have to plant them once! And maybe thin them out every few years. I’ll have to check on that. Anyhow, I bought a metric buttload of them.

On the tricycle: I thought I would be able to take Cobie for runs with this, but he pulls too hard. So that part of my exercise plan was a dismal failure. However, I used to ride my bike a lot. A tremendous lot. But now I’m either too short or my balance feels off to ride my old bike. I’m hoping to work up to it gradually, and if it turns out I’m too short, I can always pick up a shorter model at a yard sale or somewhere.

On the eye situation: Two doctors. Dr P, who makes my glasses, and Dr L, who did the cataract. Yesterday I saw Dr P, because. Last summer I got new glasses, bi-focals, made. I loved them. Two weeks later (-ish) I was diagnosed with diabetes. By September, shortly after I started school, everything was blurry, but Dr L said there was no diabetic nerve damage, so I assumed I had messed up my exam. Maybe when Dr P was flipping lenses around and saying, “Does this one look better? Or this one?” I had answered wrong. I stopped wearing them, thinking I would gut it out until the insurance kicked in for 2012. By the end of Winter Quarter my head hurt behind my eyeballs so badly. I was spending 60+ hours a week at the computer, and my right eye watered a lot. It seems I had temporarily forgotten what an eyestrain headache actually felt like. I tried ibuprofen. Acetaminophen. Excedrin (since recalled, and no refund for you). None of them more than barely touched this headache. I tried decongestant, which I’m not supposed to take because of my blood pressure. That didn’t help either. My sudafed had failed me!

Then it occurred to me. Maybe this is eyestrain. I put my bifocals on and it got worse. I wanted to cry. Then I remembered my old pair, which I don’t like because…

Well. I didn’t like them because I saw this show about inmates at the Ohio Reformatory for Women. Every inmate I saw wearing glasses had frames either just like, or only subtly different, than mine. I guess I’m a bit snobby about not looking too much like a convict. But.

I put on my old glasses and within…ninety seconds? Slightly less? the headache was almost gone. Shortly thereafter, it was gone. Completely gone. Joy! Happy dance!

It’s always good to know your headache is caused by something fixable and not like, a brain tumor or something.

I called and made an appointment and got in to see Dr P. I don’t qualify for new frames until next year, but I do qualify for new lenses, and lets face it, I barely wore those frames for two or three months. Also, I really like them a bunch. So I’m ok with new lenses!

I asked Dr P if it was possible that my vision got better as my blood sugar came down. It really did seem like they were perfect when I got them and then, lickety split, they were horrible. And he said he practically guaranteed that was the case. However, on examination, he was unable to get my right eye to correct as clearly as it should, so he peered inside for a long time and said that my…well.

When they do cataract surgery they open a capsule of tissue that contains the cataracted lens and remove the lens. They put in an after-market lens, and kaboom. You can see! I’ll never forget the color I could see after that damned thing was gone. And I could see at night! Even if cars with headlights were coming toward me! It was a glorious thing to be sure. Cataracts can’t come back because the lens is gone; there’s nothing for a cataract to grow on. But sometimes after the surgery the capsule turns opaque. I forget what Dr P called this “posterior capsule opacity,” but a quick google search tells me it can also be called an after-cataract. This is apparently easily fixed with a laser during a painless five-minute office procedure. I’m all about seeing better and five-minute painless procedures. So that would be excellent if I could see well enough to read with both eyes again.

Especially that damn Art History book with its glossy pages and tiny print. I may keep that book after class ends, though…as a third line of home defense. Yanno, after Cobie and my old Royal typewriter.

it burns

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money boothHave you ever seen, probably on television, one of those booths where the contestant gets in and then  money blows all around while the person tries to grab as much cash as possible?  That is how it feels inside my head a good bit of the time, with ideas and thoughts instead of money.

Lately, I have not been able to grab much.

There’s just too much in there.

No time to purge with morning pages.

Under the heading of IDEAS-GENERAL, there’s the new beginning for godlight, the work in submissions.  There’s the draft beginning for Seldom Untitled, the work — allegedly — in progress, although as for progress…ahem, mumblemutter.

Under IDEAS-SCHOOL we find the ideas for Digital Illustration class, where I am currently supposed to produce a series of zoo pictograms (icons).  There are ideas for Typography (which class I may be the first ever to  love).  There are the ideas for Drawing II.

Then we have RESPONSIBILITIES.  Under this heading find laundry, menu planning, shopping (what all did I forget last time and what all will I forget next time?) and prescriptions (human and pet) and cooking and cleaning.  Haha! if you could see my kitchen floor, you would be as appalled as I am ashamed; I should be in there mopping instead of in here blogging about how I should be mopping.  Also, maintaining relationships (phone calls, e-mails).  Feeding people and critters.  Cages, litter boxes.

I could really use a wife maid.

Up until about two weeks ago, I found myself thinking, in a recurrent way if not obsessively, that maybe I was done writing.  I’d told my one good story, and I had no particular burning drive to get on with telling another.  It occurred to me briefly that maybe, just as I only have seven hundred to twelve hundred good words in me per day, I might perhaps only have so much creativity in me per day.  Maybe, perhaps, I’m using it all up on school projects. 

After all, I did have a burning drive to finish that last DI project:

But no burn when it came to godlight or Seldom.  No particular guilt over lack of burn, either — which was the most disturbing aspect.  Can a burning desire just wink out like that?  If it does go, does it ever come back?

What can I do to make it come back?

Even if I figure that out, should I make it come back?  Because I really do not have time.

I thought it was me, my inner whiner.  This is all well and good for kids living at home and men with wives.  I AM the home, and I AM the wife!  And:    Nobody else spends this much time doing school work.  I’m only taking four classes!  WTF?

Last week my hard drive self-destructed and the youngest spawn fell ill, so on top of everything else, there was alla that there to deal with.  The inner whiner was on a rip, let me tell you.

Then I heard one of the young people, a second-year student say almost exactly the same thing about how much out-of-class time we spend on school work, and I felt so relieved.  It’s not just me!  There really is an exorbitant amount of homework in the graphic design program.  So. I could just quit, right?

Quit and do what?  Sit around having plenty of time to write but no desire to do it?

Well I could walk the dogs, there’s that.  And spend more time trying to not think of all the things I’m not supposed to eat, which is always a worthy occupation.

For now, my writing goal is to finish typing in the changes to godlight‘s beginning.  When that is done, I’ll submit both visions* for critique and see what they say.  While that’s pending I can go back to work on Seldom in my — ahem, spare — time.

Meanwhile I’ll keep thrashing out the school projects unless or until it becomes more pain than pleasure.  For instance, I needed an idea for a surrealist drawing yesterday, and the girls in the basement are simply not cooperating.

nothing much interesting

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That’s what’s going on here, nothing much interesting…a whole lot of nothing much interesting, which is why I haven’t blogged for a while.

I can’t recall if I said before, but I’ll risk repeating myself. I’m taking four courses in school this quarter, Digital Illustration I, Typography I, Drawing II, and Organizational Behavior. That last one is about human relations and is eating my brain. The first one is eating my life. Drawing is interesting, but I’m so slow! I wonder if I’d be faster if I were younger.

Yesterday I was in the Mac Lab working on the Godzilla Galapagos Guava project. There was a second year class in progress, so I had my earbuds in, but I heard the instructor say, “You all grew up with computers.” He’s about–guessing–ten years younger than I am. I tried to shoot daggers at him with my eyes, but apparently the eyedagger quiver was empty, or else just old and too decrepit to fire. Well that, or he just couldn’t see me all the way in the back row.

Dude. I grew up with three black and white tv channels full of snow, and a bakelite wall phone with a three foot cord. Nary a computer in sight. In fact, they put computers in my high school the year I went to JVS, and they were installing the computers at the JVS as I graduated. And honestly, having come to my smallish quantity of geekery late in life, I don’t consider missing out on those dinosaurs to be all that much of a loss.

Ok, so swamped with school work, and taxi work. I’m going to try to send (my youngest) Zor to driver’s ed next summer, so she can occasionally free me up by transporting herself places. Next year the school goes from quarters to semesters, and I’ll have to take five classes instead of four, so I anticipate everything that’s overwhelming this year to be even more so next.

Next up, hamsters. I had originally kept one hamster, Dmitri. When he died of old age, I let myself be talked into getting two, because dwarf hamsters are allegedly so social. And thus I ended up with ten. Two of the babies didn’t survive, but six did, bringing the total to eight. After much angst, I rehomed four, and kept four. The parents Zandy (male) and Lita (female), and two babies, Algernon and Rocky (both female.) Algernon and Lita co-habitated in the nursery bin, and Rocky and Zandy had their own cages. But Algernon had developed a habit of chasing Lita around the cage, which was bizarre in my opinion, because Zandy got his own cage because Lita was beating him up. (Rocky got her own cage because one of her siblings gave her a bloody nose.) Anyhow, on Saturday I ordered two more Dmitri-style cages from Amazon. And on Wednesday I found Lita dead under the bedding of her cage.

I have no idea why; there were no signs of injury.

On that day there was also an outbreak of excruciating personal drama I don’t feel right sharing (which might tell you something right there, since you may have realized I am the Empress of TMI.) And I received a rejection letter.

I know we’re not supposed to blog about those, but I mention it because, unlike other rejections I have received, this one stung, and I’m not sure why. No one rejection has ever hurt my feelings before. This was a form letter; it even said in the body of the letter, “This is a form letter.” There was nothing hurtful about the phrasing. I’m not sure if the sting came from the fact that this was an agent I particularly hoped to land, or from all the other events of the day, or because it was a camel straw, but it knocked me for an emotional loop. I found myself relieved to bury myself in my drawing class project.

…

So this blog entry has been open on my laptop for three days, and I have no idea how to close it. I finished my drawing project and my exam, but missed the quiz by forgetting what day I was supposed to take it. The new cages arrived, and the rodents are installed therein. There was another minor disaster (by which I mean a loss of time) when two of the new water bottles leaked and both new cages had to be changed again the day after the new residents moved into them. I have two extra cages now, and the inner voice that whispers, “HOARDER!” can just shut up, because I didn’t need cages until I needed cages.

These are the sweetest, mellowest hamsters in the history of hamsters. They are like powder puffs with faces. Pygmy tribbles.

So. My thoughts are distracted and fragmented, and I still haven’t figured out how to end this. I’ll just say, til next time, later, taters.

Yum. Taters.

With a side of commas…

whitman’s sampler

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I leave half-finished posts unposted for days, and then delete them because the topics are now old news. So here’s some random:

School
My Clock Picture for Drawing Class.

Self Portrait, ugh. The blue cast is because I took thie picture outside, I think. Afterwards I did a fingerstick, and let’s just say it’s a miracle this drawing didn’t come out even worse!

The Six Basic Shapes (for Fundamentals of Design class.) This project was more my speed: COLORING. Ha!

I haven’t received grades on any of these yet. It’s hard for me to accept that, when it comes to art, the very best I can do is–maybe–a B. Maybe that is the real lesson I need to learn at this point in my life, though. On the up side, I don’t have any trouble accepting critique, because years of writing have thickened my skin. On the down side, I still hate hate hate to give it. I don’t feel qualified, and I know other people do get their feelings hurt.

Critters
I have at least six hamster pups running around the cage and trying out the wheel. There is so much cuteness contained in such a small area, even T-Moth had to go, “Aw!” I’m fixing to move them all to a large plastic bin as soon as I figure out how to hang the water bottle. I’m on a budget, and I chose to buy an exercise wheel rather than a bottle hanger that probably wouldn’t be low enough anyway. I have another idea though…we’ll see how it works out.

Cobie and Kelly miss me, and I miss them. I’m gone a lot, and when I am home, I’m busy. I’m hoping to squeeze in some hanging-out-like-dogs on the deck time this afternoon.

I need better time-management skills.

Seriously.

Health
It’s not just the colonoscopy, or the eye exam. It’s all the hours I lose prepping for the -scopy, or half-blinded by the dialation. I can’t afford to lose that much time. My brain is not as fast as all these 18-year-olds’! Also it’s tireder. Probably the only part of my body that’s smoother now than 10 years ago.

Writing
Last Friday I went to the school’s creative writing club. I didn’t have a good feeling about it, since the club description emphasized poetry and short fiction, and well…I hardly read poetry, much less write it, and it’s been years since I popped out any short fiction. I went because Zor wanted to go, and I was obsessively avoiding an art project.

It didn’t turn out too bad. The instructor who leads the group seems to be grounded in publishing realities rather than literary snobbery (as I admit I had feared.) One of the women in the group is writing a YA F/SF novel with black protagonists. I wish I were more enthusiastic about speculative YA. Although lately I’ve been wanting to read Black and Blue Magic again for the first time in what,…30 years or better?

Mostly what I learned from the meeting is, I need to make time for writing in my life. And dogs…but also writing.

Need.

It goes back to that time management thing again.

Anyhow, as fragmented as this post feels, I’m-a hit send before I get distracted again.

calendars

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This back-to-school gig is a lot harder than I thought it would be…kinda like when you think you know what the exhaustion is going to be like, and then you have a baby. I’ve had my blogging client open for days but have been too tired to type anything coherent into it.

Housework? Exercise? Writing? Not happening. I’ve got to figure out a way to get on top of those things. One of my biggest challenges is figuring out what calendar/planner works best for me. I like google calendar, but when half the world insists I turn off my cell phone, how do I access my calendar?

I tried a regular monthly pocket calendar, but the blocks are too tiny for all the things (assignments) I need to write in them. I think a weekly planner is going to be better. Maybe. Switching it back and forth from my bookbag to my purse is just another thing I’m going to forget to do.

Can’t I please just leave my phone on? I promise not to answer it, talk on it, or text with it. I just need to see my calendar.