NaNoWriMo Returns *eek*

It would seem that I've done a horrific job of maintaining my blog-o-sphere this past month.  I have a myriad of excuses:  being pregnant makes me worthless after 8 pm, not allowing time to write; I've started a few different posts without being able to get them edited to the point where I feel satisfied posting them online; my daughter's second birthday happened and I had to plan the family get together; blah, blah, blah.

But in two days, this magical thing happens every year where people all over the world dedicate themselves to writing 50,000 words in 30 days... all while knowing they're obligated to family gatherings (at least in the US) and stuffing themselves with entirely too much food and then shopping at ridiculous hours to get half way decent deals on Christmas presents for part of a week.

I've taken this monumentally silly task on twice before, and I've never met the end goal.  So here I am, attempting it again, but I'm going to be realistic about probably not finishing my word count.  The first novel I tried, I got about 36k words in and my computer crashed... and I stupidly had no back up.  Lesson learned.  The second attempt, I simply got distracted didn't write enough early on, and decided it was too much to catch up on to continue.  At least that draft I still have.

So I've spent the past couple weeks jotting down ideas in my head, a basic plot outline, character traits, etc. in hopes that I can shut down the editor in me for 30 days and just write.  Because I'm terrible about getting in my own way.  Instead of my usual ranting about life and what makes me crazy about others, I'll be attempting to share a few excerpts I find especially amusing or bits I struggle with, as I mentally try to work my way through to the next bit.

1667 words a day is a lot for anyone.  I find it especially daunting because mostly I'm my own worst critic.  But there's no time like the present to get over myself and take advantage of an opportunity to work toward something I want.  I'm sure some of my special brand of insanity will rear its ugly head for your entertainment along the way.  I probably won't be sorry if I snap at someone... but I'll blame it on the pregnancy hormones and sleep deprivation.

Two days to go!  Well, a day and a half now.  But still... WEE!!!

The Agony of Defeat

That's what it felt like this morning when I sent off an email at 6:30 am saying I wouldn't be coming into work because I was sick.  I've been cursing pollen and allergies for the past 3 days now, depriving me of my sense of smell, the ability to taste, the seemingly simple task of being in a quiet room and not coughing so profusely that it makes everyone else uncomfortable, sleep, and more.  This morning I chose to stop ignoring it and let it win.  I'd stay home, try to rest, and try to get better instead of continuing to fight through it like the stubborn mule that I am.

But it feels like I've been defeated.  Like I should be able to push through for one more day to finally turn that corner.  Like if I'd only stuffed just a little more saline up my nose, it'd break everything up, and I could get back to the business of getting everything done.  And just maybe, if I'd taken the time to take care of myself that first day, I'd feel fine right now and wouldn't have put myself through being miserable for 3 days before I slowed myself down enough to really fix it.

The entire day I've struggled to lounge around and do nothing.  I was able to take a short nap this morning, but it didn't last long.  I started cleaning until dusting induced a sneezing fit.  I looked into my closet and kept thinking it'd be a great time to tear everything out and reorganize it to minimize junk.  Don't even get me started on how badly I want to rearrange things in my daughter's room to make it all look just a little bit better.  What the hell is wrong with me?

Clearly, that question goes far beyond this one piece of my flawed yet endearing persona.  But I am genuinely beginning to wonder why I can't let myself unwind... ever.  Everything has some end goal in mind.  Everything is a step to completing something else.  Everything needs to be some sort of accomplishment and anything that doesn't fit into that little frame is just stuff in the way.

Common sense would tell you that taking a break to rest when you're sick is the smart thing to do.  In my twisted little brain, it's an inconvenience; an irritant that needs to be ignored so I can keep getting things done.  Even now, I'm sitting here writing instead of being sensible by trying to get more sleep.  Someone, seriously, stop me.  I'm completely out of control.

The Problem with the Squeaky Wheel

This is the face I'll make when I have my nervous breakdown.

Ah, yes.  That tired yet oft used reference that the squeaky wheel gets the grease.  Perhaps you've heard it a time or two?  If not, please tell me what part of the world you live in because I want to move there immediately.  I'm serious.  Tell me right now.  I will start packing.

It's a cliche that continues to see relevance because it's the approach many people still take.  The biggest complainers, the employees who constantly halt innovative ideas because they don't like change, the elderly person who gripes the most about how terrible the Jell-O is at the nursing home, the child who throws the embarrassing tempter tantrum in public because you said they couldn't have yet another toy they'll play with for 5 minutes then discard--they ALL get more attention than their silent counterparts who simply go about their business or do what they're asked.  Do people giving them the attention like them better for it?  Probably not, but guess what--they're still winning.  Even negative attention is still attention.

Therefore, as one of those fed up functioning wheels--tired of working harder for less grease--the following is my squeak filled soap box rant.  This is my screaming into a pillow when no one's around, hitting a punching bag until my knuckles bleed in sheer frustration, time to try out how the other guys do it to see if it really works, full blown bitch fest.  Tomorrow, I'll go right back to quietly doing what needs to be done and not constantly demand attention for it because it's just who I am.  For now, the irony of calling out the over greased wheel by taking their approach to do is not lost on me.  I'm going to relish in it for just a moment.

Do you know what's wrong with focusing most or all of one's attention on the problems?  The things and people that are going/doing well go unacknowledged and over time lose their motivation to keep everything running smoothly.  The people that work hard without needing a cattle prod shock to the ass see the how those who get prodded are the ones really getting the undeserved rewards.  The people that don't complain end up being forced to carry the weight of the complainer because it's a "teamwork" situation and the non-complainer feels some sort of obligation to turn in their best work where the complainer constantly makes excuses not to do something.  When the boss gives the complainer a raise to shut them up (doesn't work, by the way), the non-complainer begins to learn that advancement comes through excuses instead of the stated desired results.

So someone, please, explain to me in a logical manner with valid supporting points as to why this phrase such a widely accepted practice.  Someone convince me that it's actually better for mankind to be full of people who never seem to get anything done but are quickest to blame it on something they're not given as a reward before they ever even accomplish anything.  Explain to me how expecting to put in hard work first and then be recognized for it is actually foolish and uninspiring to others.

The way I see it from the functioning wheel angle, rewarding the squeaky one is only setting up for the entire car/wagon/plane/trailer/whatever for complete failure.  Whether you're intending to or not, you're rewarding the bad behavior and ultimately telling everyone that despite what you may say, you really WANT people to chronically complain and never accomplish anything.  You WANT people to constantly make excuses.  You WANT people to expect a carrot without the stick before they make even the smallest effort.  You WANT to be the only person to ever "fix" anything.

Yeah, and I'm the crazy person.  Last time I checked, we didn't land on the moon because someone complained it into reality.  GE didn't go from being Thomas Edison's little light bulb company to one of the largest conglomerates in the world by complaining about competition.  Are you getting it yet, because I can keep going.  Someone somewhere had to do more than was expected of them, be more dedicated than was fair to ask, and give more than what they thought they might receive in return.

And to end my selfish little "look at me!" tirade on a somewhat useful note, some complaints are valid.  If one person had the ability to think of every possible scenario to determine the best outcome for everyone involved, none of this would matter.  But each of us needs to listen to complaints and ask one important question when they've stopped talking--what are you going to do to fix it?  How would you make that problem go away? What ideas do you have that would improve what you don't currently like, and how would it benefit not only yourself, but others?  But then you have give them a legitimate shot at doing it.

Get away from the whiners--their purpose in life is to bring everyone else down to their level.  Then nothing happens.  And they'll complain about it.  And that's when I think I'm only screaming in my head in frustration but then realize every one's staring at me because I'm doing it for real.  Nobody wants that.

I Like Sports and I Don't Care Who Knows

I have hobbies that don't fall under what many consider traditional female interests.  I didn't get involved with them to make some moral gender statement.  I'm not trying to be some Alice Paul and make a broad statement that spits in the face of injustice and unfairness across the world.  I happened to grow up around some unconventional things, and I just happened to find them interesting.  I think the unconventional makes a person more intriguing with unique ideas and perspectives to offer. 

But it still irks me when the reactions I get are those of complete shock, as if it's insane for me to like anything beyond cooking, cleaning, and makeup.  It's almost as though my hobbies need to be mutually exclusive and can't possibly meld together in any form.  And yes, you may not see how pretty handbags and fire arms can co-mingle, but I do and that's what matters.

I started off justifying each of my "non-traditional" interests and deleted it all upon further review.  I don't need to prove I know anything about these things--I don't really care if I get your approval.  The point I want to focus on is that it shouldn't be so shocking for me to say, "I follow pro football" and have someone else try to decipher whether or not I mean it.

Maybe it's too many years of women feigning interest in "man things" to impress their boyfriends or to get more attention from a group of them (and if you're a chick who does that, STOP IT).  Maybe we're not as evolved as we think we are and still hold fast onto gender roles, despite the statistics that say those days are over.  Maybe it's just impossible to believe someone could possibly know anything about a sport/hobby that you almost never see the opposite gender openly participate.

Whatever the excuse, it's growing increasingly frustrating.  I want to enjoy my hobbies, not feel like I have to justify my spot at the table.  And just because I'm watching an F1 race, shhh-ing you so I don't miss a radio transmission, don't assume I won't go shoe shopping immediately after the race.  I promise I'll refrain from any preconceived notions about you in return.

This weekend is jammed packed with fun, too.  An Italian car show, the F1 race in Monza, A&M vs Florida, and the highly anticipated return of Peyton Manning taking on the Steel Curtain.  Personally, I hope he's really angry and takes it out on everyone.  One more month and I can start adding hockey back into the mix.  Yay!

I don't care how old this is, it always makes me laugh.  And everyone deserves to laugh on a Friday.

Searching for that Dream Job?

I need to find my dream job.  The one with flexible hours and an option to work from home some, lots of autonomy, challenges me to grow and develop personally and professionally, doesn't waste time on pointless meetings, pays REALLY well, and everyone immediately notices the greatness I bring to the table so they ask my opinion on strategy and the future direction of the company.  Oh, and it needs to align with my personal and political views so I can feel like I'm changing the world through my career.  That job has to be out there, and it has to be just waiting for me to show up and start being the rock star that I am, right?

I don't need anyone to look over my resume to make sure it works--my resume speaks for itself.  I've done impressive things in college so far and I can do many more.  Nevermind I haven't actually been employed yet or ever bothered with an internship.  I'll just upload it to the Internet Cosmos and wait for the offers to come pouring in.  I don't need to waste my time with networking--none of those people could possibly teach me something I don't already know and certainly none of them are CEOs looking for their successor.  This stuff should all just fall right into my lap.

What do you mean I haven't demonstrated to you all these bold claims?  What do you mean, you want proof that I'll fulfill my commitments before you're willing to give me a shot at that amazing job I know I deserve now?  What do you mean I need to curb my attitude?  What do you mean I need to keep my mouth shut and learn something?  I went to college, after all.  What do you mean I need to start off with this low profile, grunt work that no one else wants to do?  What do you mean I need to EARN it?

I'm here to make my mark on the world and you should feel privileged I want to do it within your company.  I could just as easily go out on my own and make millions, I just want the stability of a good paycheck, social interaction with coworkers, and the safety net of being with a company that's not going to close up tomorrow.  I mean, I can't have all my accomplishments and genius go to waste.

Yeah, thanks for all that parents, coaches, and teachers who bought into the ridiculous crap about making sure kids never feel bad about not winning or doing well while growing up.  Somehwere along the way, these no keeping score, never grade in red, never tell them no ingrates became "adults" and now they don't understand the good life isn't just handed to you.

I hope they live with you well into their 30s and keep you from being able to retire.

The Mythical Perfect Childhood

I spent most of my blogging time last week obsessing about one post.  And it's still not up.  There is a reason for that--I wrote it, edited it, asked my husband to read it to give me some feedback, edited again, and sat on it.  Over the weekend, I had a bit of an epiphany--this post I was so concerned about, was written with the completely wrong approach.  I couldn't change it enough so that I didn't think it didn't come across as whiny.

This trait aggravates me greatly, and I'd hate to have my writing perpetuate it unless it's absolutely necessary.  I'll probably still post it at some point, but it's going to need a lot of rewriting before it's done.  It is very personal, it is a large piece of my motivation, even obsessive drive to write.  But if I have even one person say to me, "Oh you poor thing, that must have been so hard for you" I'll hate myself for it.

It did make me start to wonder, however, we all have "issues" from childhood--why in the world do we tend to spend so much time dwelling on them?  Why do we tend to focus on how we were wronged in our minds instead of taking into consideration how lucky we really had/have it?  Why is there a seemingly eternal struggle for creating or defining that "perfect childhood" and then comparing all the ways we were denied that experience?

Even the most noble of intentions can go horribly wrong; just ask Macbeth.  No matter how much you think your kids are like you, they're going to be different in many regards and how you would handle something is going to wind up upsetting them in some way.  Despite the well meaning actions of a parent, while possibly "traumatic" at the time, the kid usually grows up and starts to understand their parents better as people allowing us to see why they did what they did.  We're still allowed to disagree with it, but if you're holding on to some deeply embedded resentment because your mom wouldn't let you go on that date with the guy with 8 tattoos and a nose ring in high school, it's probably time to move on.

These are just life lessons that you can learn and become a stronger person or ignore them so you can continue to have that pity party.  The problem with the latter is that eventually, you're the only one left at that party.  After all, you heard your mother say countless times, there are starving children in Africa while you are complaining about meatloaf and not wanting to eat all your vegetables.

Reading myself complain about my childhood seemed so ridiculous after I stepped back from the post for a day.  I never had to learn how to cook meth after school and balance that with getting my homework done to escape the same future.  I never got left in a 3rd world country where I was either sold into human trafficking or as a child soldier.  I never had a family member do anything inappropriate to me that would scar me for life.  I could go on and on.

The bottom line is, I'm (for the most part) a responsible adult, I make enough to provide for my family, I occasionally have fun and act silly, and I generally like who I've become.  I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for my experiences as a child and on up through yesterday.  There's no such thing as "perfect" but I certainly can have what works best for me. 

Hopefully, I'll be able to do the same for my daughter and keep her from becoming a serial killer when she grows up.  She can be mad at me when I embarrass her as a teenager or not let her have THE outfit that all the other girl's moms said was okay because I think it looks like a $2 hooker dress.  She'll learn to get over it because I had her best interests in mind when she didn't.

I'm Long Winded

I would probably make a terrible professional blogger because I can't seem to keep things short and sweet.  I go off on tangents, get too descriptive, and I write like my brain thinks--bordering on just plain crazy.  Probably explains why I've always been drawn to writing novels.  I like making sure I can see just what I imagine as I read my writing, I like to plant those critical tiny details that make a story more real or inviting.

I can't think of an assignment or a contest I've entered where I haven't run up against the word limit.  I always have to cut things down.  And I'm glad I do because I can decide which details are most important and which ones after a 12th look are really superfulous.  Blogging requires learning to exercise self restraint.

This, however, does not translate well to blogging.  I've been reading up on how to make mine better, more interesting,  and how to improve overall and the one thing that's glaring in my eager little face is I write far too much.  Which is quite ironic given that I'm not big on talking.  I can spill thousands of words onto a page without trying, but when it comes to conversation, I'm usually the one listening.  I rather like this contradiction about myself.

So, in honor of Friday or my very merry unbirthday, I'm going to keep this one short.  Ha!  Take that contradiction!  I shall learn to temper you yet!  Probably not, but at least I'll try.