Why I Am Itchy.

If that stupid title doesn't get your attention, nothing will. Or maybe I just feel that way because I wrote it.

Which is the issue. Novel 1 is complete as far as I'm concerned. Novel 2 now needs a going over by my writing partner and then I'll work on finishing it. Novel 3 is on deck to be my data entry partner for the month or more that it takes for me to enter it. Novel 4 (which is going to be Novel 2 in the story's chronology) has a very few scenes written in my current notebook. So, why am I uncomfortable? Everything is moving along exactly as it should.

When I say I'm itchy, I mean my heart is itchy. This is the way I feel when something is over or when I have to do something that makes me nervous. Endings and beginnings are both itchy situations for me, I guess. If I'm walking through the bowels of Hell, I'm fine. It's walking in and walking out that make me feel weird. Like there's something wrong with me and the rest of the world has it all under control. Like I might say or do the one thing that will make the portal explode and ruin everything.

Yes, I am in drama queen mode today.

I'll get over it. I always do. Sometimes it fades on its own. Sometimes I have to lean on chemical assistance. (Either endorphins or alcohol. Both work.) Sometimes stepping through the portal into the next thing is enough to make it leave.

Now that I think about it, it's not really the ending or the beginning. It's that space in-between that makes me itch. If I hover here long enough, I'll get numb to it by the grace of time or chemicals. I don't usually get to hang out very long. Just long enough to get itchy before something pushes or pulls me through and leads me down into the catacombs to slog through to the next gateway.

Random, rambling blog posts are almost as good as Calamine Lotion.

Spoiled

Lost my internet service for a week. If you wanna know how spoiled you are with your little "First-World Problems", try going without the 'net for more than a day or two. It's both stupid and funny.

I don't watch TV. If the TV is on, it means someone else is watching it. I used to, but I like having control over what I see and TV just kind of throws things at you. The only other time I might watch TV is if something "big" is happening that I think I need to know about or sports. There is something very soothing to me about listening to someone call a game or other event (the Kentucky Derby comes to mind). Otherwise, if I'm home alone, the TV is off.

Radio in western Oklahoma sucks. End. Of. Story.

So, I have the internet. If I need to know about something, I can Google it. I keep my food and exercise logs online. ("Keep" being a relative term.) I blog and talk to my friends on Facebook and keep up with the bands I like on Twitter and the fitness folks I like on YouTube and I clean the house to Pandora.

Last week was hard.

I did, however, make some big hay with my novels. Still sanding them down to make them smooth. Soon I'll be able to move Novel Three from the analog to the digital world and I've already started writing scenes from Novel Four (which will actually be Novel Two, chronologically).

I've been forced to go without the internet several times since we first got it. Once the withdrawal period is over, you get used to it and find other things to fill your time. I'm just spoiled rotten and I want my 'net. Damn it.

Editing Editing Editing...

...and more editing.

Novel One is done. Done-done. Like, I'm not touching it to make big changes again unless someone who wants to give me money for it says, "I'll take it, but you need to fix X, Y, and Z." Of course, I'll read it again, because I'm a dork and I like to read my own stuff. It would be nice if I didn't find any more typos, but I will. Which will probably make me want to put my fist through the screen and just electrocute myself as punishment.

Next project is to make Novel Two pretty so I can let my favorite writing partner have a look at it. Having another set of brain cells rake over your muck makes it so much better. It's also very interesting to see what your stuff looks like through another person's filters and not nearly as painful or embarrassing as I thought it would be.

After that, Novel Three gets moved page by page from spiral notebooks to the computer. Severe butt death shall ensue, but it's always worth it to see the last page typed in and saved and toasted with a shot of Jack.

This is so much fun. Seriously. No sarcasm. The amount of joy this gives me, even when it feels tedious, is inexplicable.

Function Over Form

I went to the dentist yesterday. (Look Ma! No cavities!) The gal cleans my teeth, talks to me about flossing more, gives me my toothbrush and cool flosser thing (which needs refills, but if it makes it fun, I'll spend the money) and we wait for the dentist.

The dentist comes in and we chat for a bit. I have a tooth that needs to be pulled and we talk about that appointment and they need to get an x-ray for it. Then Doc looks at my teeth.

"You have really nicely shaped teeth. Did you have braces?"

"Thank you. No. I was lucky."

"You know, your teeth would whiten really well. People with gray teeth don't get good results, but this brown color whitens nicely. It would make you look younger."

...

Yup. Now my teeth look old.

For anyone who doesn't really know me, how about we do a little math? I am 45 years old. My dad died when he was 29. That means I have outlived him by 16 years already. My mom died at 32. So, I have 13 years on her. I don't know how old my grandfathers were, but I was around 4 and around 7 when they passed away. Unless they both had more than 10 years on my grandmothers (and they may have, I don't honestly know), that would put them in their late 40's or early 50's when they passed away and I think I'm going to blow by them as well. My maternal grandmother was in her early to mid 60's when she crossed over. I have fantasies about outliving her as well. Regardless, I am healthier than any of my grandparents were at my current age and thankful for it.

It would be nice to look younger. However, it would be even nicer to feel and act younger. If I can hang on to my mind and continue to increase my strength and stamina for a little while before it levels off, I'll be ecstatic. I'm proud of every gray hair and wrinkle because that means I have earned them by hanging around long enough to get them. Don't talk to me about looking younger. Talk to me about keeping my teeth longer. What the hell good will it do me to have white teeth if I only have three left? What good does it do me to look younger if I can't walk around and take care of myself?

No thanks. I'll take function over form just about every time.

Serendipity

So, today I graduated to four minutes of running and two minutes of walking. Go me. If I could hold my pace properly, I'd be doing about 600 steps in four minutes. I'm not. I'm getting to about 530 or so. I call it running, but it's really a slow jog at best. I just call it running to make me feel better about being old and fat.

Anyway, as I was doing my third "run" of four minutes, Blood Red Summer by Coheed and Cambria came up on my iPod. Whatever the beats per minute is for that song, it's the perfect cadence for my running. In addition to being the perfect pace, it's also four minutes and five seconds long.

Guess what I'm going to be listening to for the next two weeks.

Monkey Mind

I'm having trouble settling down. I have work to do, but I keep wanting to write other things. I'm between a third and halfway through seriously editing Novel One and I work a day and goof off a day and find other shit to do another day and suddenly three days are gone and Novel One sits around, getting lonely.

It's hormones and weather. I know this. I also have the solution, but I keep talking myself out of it. When I get like this, I need to put myself on a schedule. It's like potty training a dog. If you take them out regularly, they eventually catch on and do the right thing on their own. I need to set up a schedule and only have free days on days that are really free.

So, starting tomorrow, I'm potty training my monkey mind. Mini deadlines work every time. I can have it done in fourteen days or less so I can make Novel Two pretty enough to let someone else read it. That should take another twenty-eight days or so.

Tonight? I'm not starting tonight. Supper. Dishes. Shower. Write something that gives me joy. Bed. Then a date with the first deadline tomorrow.

Surprise Days Off

I've had quite a few surprise days off since Christmas. Bad weather. Doctor Conferences. Doctor's personal emergencies.

I don't like it.

I do way better with a routine. It doesn't have to be a "normal" routine, but it needs to be a routine. Too much free time is a bad thing for me. I tend to eat too much, drink too much, and not get anything done. Oddly, it seems to add to my insomnia issues as well.

I did make myself a list today and I actually accomplished all of it except one thing and that couldn't be completed only because I didn't have the supplies I needed to do it. Today was the exception.

Most people would be ecstatic to have unplanned free days. I am not most people. I'm reliable and I like to put that on display. I can't do that if I keep getting extra days off.

Anyway, I should be back on track tomorrow. But then I'm also working on Saturday and that's going to goof me up, too.

I'm done whining. I have a good job and I'm thankful for it. Somehow I will teach myself to be thankful and productive when I get an extra day off instead of stressing out about it and vegetating.