Evening Snowstorm

The snow was uncomfortably
beautiful this evening.
I imagined the snowflakes
as hundreds and hundreds and thousands
of little albino bees
that swirled around in a mist
over the empty streets.


Smashing against my windshield,
they left nothing but frozen
albino bug guts in their wake.


I am glad I have new wipers.

Convo with Ali (age 5)

Ali (talking about the Batman Lego game she got for her birthday): We can fight them, Mom!  You and me! And kick them. And throw them. And do like this (shakes her fist around to show me how you can pick someone up by the neck and shake them around.)
Mom: Awesome. Death and destruction!
Ali: And we can fight the big ole fat guy and Poison Ivy! POISON IVY! Can you believe it, Mom?
Mom: Oh... I sure can!
Ali: (without missing a beat) And the Joker and the clock guy and Toofpaste* and Hollow Queen.
Mom: erm. Harlequin.
Ali: HOLLOW Queen, Mom. We can kill your favorite girl! (gives me the exicted OMGWTFBBQ face.)
Mom: Oh, really?
Ali: Yeah! Batman can put on his different underwear and kick her in the head!
Mom: Awesome. Do you want to eat some lunch or not?
Ali: Yeah. (picks up her sandwich and heaves a massive sigh)... I need to get big and strong so I can do this. 


*Her name for Two Face. No amount of telling her otherwise will change it. Wait until she can read and she realizes I am not made entirely of stupid.

A friend of mine set up this neat little writing project here.  It is worth checking out.

A good place for amateur writers to get together and get feedback.

Attempting to write in Nadsat. OUCH!

Hello, new droogs, old droogs and chellovecks I never saw with me own glazzies. Welcome the world of me and mine. If you don't know me, you should. And, if you should know me and don't the Bog sod ya! 


Me eemya is Ana. At least, that is what me droogs horn at me. My em, she don't call me nothing like that, but I ain't a lomtick worried about what me em calls to me, you know?

Anyways, I know who me droogs are. And me droogs know who I am. And if you count yourself on that list, then I can guess you is lucky enough to know the odin and only choodessny me.

This morning, I woke up on some strange couch in a domy that don’t belong to me nor none of me droogs, with me platties all torn and skirked and wasted like I had been out and about all the nochy. I don't right recall knowing where I was or who I was. But, I supposed I will hear about it in and about sooner or later, eh?

Meanwhile, I needs me a shower, so off I went with, like, my glazzies all swollen and sharp and my gulliver ittying round and round. When I tolchock the hot water, it caught me a hard one, right under the chin and I thinks to meself "Ah... self!"... (Because there ain't no point calling yourself Ana or Alex or Bob or Bog who whoever you are, you know. Inside your own gulliver, it ain’t nobody but you and the ole monster.)“Ah… self!” I think. 


“Self, last nochy-if indeed there was a last nochy and me mozg says oh, yes indeed they was-Last nochy was sure to be a dobby raz full of ultra-violence and frolicking about all chipper and full of moloko and fizz. I wish I could re-remember it for me own self, anyhow.”

On Dialogue

I have decided that I really need to carry around a small pocket notebook so that I can write down bits of conversations that I have with my honey and kids and sister.

We come up with little gems like:

A couple is standing in line at the store. The woman has expensive tastes and is very high maintenance. The man is carrying several bags and is obviously disgruntled.
Cashier: Oh, you are so pregnant! What are you having?
Woman: We don't know yet. But I want a girl. Can you imagine how cute that would be? I would love to have a girl so I could spend oodles of money on clothes and makeup. I am so excited.
Cashier (turning to man): What about you? Boy or girl?
Man: I just hope it's not mine.

Or

Drunk Mom: Don't you remember when you were eight months old and you superglued yourself to the car?
Grown up daughter (confused): You mean when you were eight months pregnant with me and you superglued yourself to the car?
Drunk Mom: Yeah, that!

Or (from when I worked in retail)

Middle aged, middling-pretty Woman, approaching dressing rooms: It is Christmas and you said I could have whatever I wanted! I want clothes! Are you stupid? Why can't you understand that you promised me this? Is it my fault that your credit cards have a limit?  I just can't deal with this. (she stomps off into the dressing room, leaving him with her purse and about eight well stocked bags from the most expensive stores in the mall.)
Well dressed man: Excuse me, miss?
Me: Yes, sir!
WDM: I would like to return all these items.
Me: Sure! *returns everything that can be returned at our store*
WDM: And... would anyone mind if I just left this purse over there? *points to an empty register stand*
Me: I don't see why not. Would you like for me to hold it for her?
WDM: No. I know where it goes. *goes over to the other stand and dumbs the purse in the garbage* Oh! Can you let her know that she needs a ride home please?
Me: Okay. *tries not to grin* I sure can!

He leaves.

About twenty minutes later, she comes out of the dressing room and begins to get angry about the fact that he is nowhere to be found.

Woman: Excuse me. EXCUSE ME! *buts between me and another customer that I am trying to help* Do  you know where that man went? GAH! He is making me so mad! I can't believe he wandered off with my purse and all my stuff!
Me: Uhm... well... I think he is returning your things.
Woman: What? OH MY GOD. He better not be! I will be like, so mad! UGH!
Me: Oh and he gave you a message. He asked me to tell you that you need to find a ride home.
Woman:... Is he breaking up with me?
Other Customer: If he isn't, he should be.
Woman begins to cry and runs off out into the mall.
Other Customer, watching her run out into the mall, wailing: Wait... that shirt had tags on it.
Me, sighing: I just love the holiday season.
Other customer: I don't even want to know.

Writing Project-Day One

My little Ms. Sunshine is "sick" so she is staying home from work school today.

Yesterday she threw up in the cafeteria. No, no... nothing so much as the flu. If only it were that easy!

See, Ali is a natural vegetarian. She hates meat. Won't eat it even under pain of death. Her eyes glaze over with the sight of broccoli or corn or even green beans (half a dozen ways). But meat? NOT EATING IT. Even if that means she will be hungry for the rest of the day.

We stopped fighting that fight about a year ago, when I realized that she was not just being stubborn. (Oh, she is stubborn. But this was not part of that catalog.)

In the cafeteria yesterday, they served cheeseburgers. And they made Ali eat it. Three whole bites of soggy, greasy low grade meat was all she was able to get down before everything came right back up. After the fact, she told the lady "I told you I don't eat meat."

Being a vegetarian is not a viable option here in Oklahoma, I guess. Not for non art school majors, anyway. In San Diego, we would have been able to have the option-just not vegan. (Which is fine. I am certainly not vegan material. I like to eat things with eggs and milk too much.)

I may have to start packing her lunch again, as the school's idea of a nutritious lunch is a lot of meat, some potatoes and a tiny bit of fruit. And milk. Which Ali loves despite the fact that it does not love her back: not even a little bit.

Some years ago, Ali had such bad behavior problems that I did not sleep for nearly three years. That is not an exaggeration. Starting around seven p.m., when it was time for bed, my child began having nighttime fights. I would put her in bed and she would get up, screaming for me. I would put her back in bed and she would come find me.  I put stuff her back under the blankets with a swat on the rear and five minutes later, she would be wailing in the living room. Or dining room. Or bedroom. Or even in the bathroom if I just happened to be sitting on the pot.

Around midnight, she would sleep for a maybe an hour. Maybe even two. Then, she would get up again. And again. And again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. This was my life every night except Sunday nights, when I would keep this child up and running for the entire day so that she would crash out shortly after nine and at least sleep for a couple of hours before we started all this again.

I lost count of how many times I dozed on the floor in front of her bed, or crashed out on the couch with half folded laundry in my lap. I slept in front of the stove, while making dinner (no meat for Ali!). I even fell asleep on my feet while brushing my teeth or at work in the middle of processing an order.  If I stopped moving, even a little bit, I would just zap out in a self induced fit narcolepsy.

Coffee became my best friend. I drank so much of it that I started having palpitations. My brain cells started phasing in and out of existence. My normal speed was OMGWTF. It was insane. And then, at night? I would have to drink coffee just to stay alive. I drank coffee so much that my sweat started to take on the same acidic smell of used expresso beans.

This cycle would go on and on and on. No rest. No vacation. Not even on the weekends. I was single mother, living in San Diego. My friends and family lived in Oklahoma. I didn't have any support there. I moved back and found out that no matter how much people love you, they just aren't very supportive if that means they will lose sleep, too. So, here I was. Back in the Midwest. I found the only job I could find (I hated it.) with the longest drive I could find (I hated that.) and with the most religious, condescending, self righteous prick I have ever worked for (I hated him, too.). But, whatever, right? It was an income. And I could slip off into the ladies room (I was the only lady, but not the only bitch.) and sleep on break. Fifteen solid, sweet minutes at a time.

I would have to get up at five a.m. to take her and her older sister to daycare. Of course, Ali was already up-which made the morning dance macabre slightly more tolerable. Between me yelling and her yelling, my poor, sweet little Tina got totally forgotten. She played second fiddle to her sister for so long that it started to kill her spirit. At daycare, the staff felt so bad that Ali was so tired that they let her sleep all day and lectured me on the importance of not letting a child stay up all night. Not exactly what I wanted to hear after a solid ten hour shift.

I was exhausted and crazy. Nothing fit. Three years of no sleeping is more than enough to wreck a person's life.  I was looking at adoption, thinking that there was no way in hell I was going to be able to raise this child to adulthood. I didn't want it to be this way. My heart broke because I loved her, but I just could not keep her. I did not know what to do. Then, on Thanksgiving, I visited my stepmother's family. My Aunt Janet is something of a believe in alternative medicine, so when she suggested that Ali might have a food allergy I was willing to take her off dairy. I was willing to try anything. If I had the money for insurance, I would have already put her on meds.

Turns out that we didn't need meds. The very first night, Ali slept for a four hour stretch. I didn't even bother going to sleep, since I thought she would be up in a few minutes. Even without sleep, it is amazing what a four hours of silence will do for a person.

Three nights later, Ali slept through the night for the first time in her life. I woke up in a panic, thinking something awful had happened. I kicked off my covers and ran into her room, knocking my knee against the doorframe in the process. I came to total stop, in absolute amazement, at the sound of her snoring.

Nothing was wrong. She was asleep. Tina was asleep-it was her first night in three years not to be woken up by her sister, too. After zero hesitation,  I went back to bed and slept until seven for the first time in years only to be woken up by a very hungry and bored Tina.  Ali managed to sleep right up until she heard the sound of cereal being poured into a bowl.

When Gus moved in with me, (Gus being my current and future honey) he took on the awesome responsibility of making Ali go to bed. For Ali it was like hitting a brick wall. Someone in our house finally had more sleep than she did and was willing to stay up all night to make her stay in bed. It was like watching the lion and the eagle having a boxing match. Gus would always win although sometimes, it would take a long, long time to make it happen. Honestly, I could not care less if the fight took all night because I got to sleep while it was going on. It was such a relief.


Between taking away the dairy, changing daycares to someone who would work with us, and Gus Mom-blocking Ali all hours of the night, we got our lives back.

When it came time to try and make her eat meat, it just wasn't worth it. I know how much fight this child will put up to not do something she does not want to do. Oh, yeah. I know! Horrible Mom! I let the kid win.

You're god damn right I did.

About Writing and All That Jazz...

Since this blog is about writing, and writing in a blog, I believe it is safe to assume that I will actually be blogging rather than hotlinking here.

Not that I do that much, anyway. Heh. 

I already know that I am good at writing narratives. Five years of blogging a personal journal(s) ought to have paid off by now, right? I should be able to sit down and in one fell swoop tell a simple, well defined story with a beginning, a middle and an end. One would think that after all this time-and almost daily postings-I would have learned to write something compelling and articulate. Something dashing and interesting! *

My point is that although I have been working my so-called "novel" for about six years, I still cannot write a cohesive, full story unless it is a monologue about the "Greater Internet Jerk-wad Theory" is valid or what I am cooking for dinner or how I found a half-used, all-but-dead house plant sitting on my doorstep every few days for about a month.* * Maybe it was some strange fertility rite? I never stopped to check and see if it followed a Lunar cycle.

…

Okay. Down to bidness.

I have roughly fourteen weeks to post ten entries. Go ahead and laugh it up, ya’ll. We all know that I will be posting more than that.

I think I am going to use those ten (plus or minus 40) posts to talk about my writings or lack thereof.

Don’t worry. You know I will get OT in about two clicks. Come next week, it will be a post about how may husband is outside grilling pork chops despite the blizzard like snow conditions. Or maybe something about the cat. Or kids. God only knows that I post about *that* a lot.

Well. Whatever.

Enough for now.

Footnotes:

*Well... I learned to type faster, at least. I should be able use that when I finally graduate with this really awesome Studio Arts degree so I can be manager at some fast food joint! I am sure there is some artistic merit, there.

**I swear to you that this is a true and faithful representation of what happened. For some reason, an unknown person left various zombie'd vegetation for me to adopt. I still don't know who or why. It stopped just as suddenly as it started. At the time I lived in San Diego. So, really-it could have been just about anything. Aliens is a sure bet.

And then, there were two again...

Some time ago, I had four blogs. I eventually consolidated them and moved them elsewhere. I forgot about this one and left it, all sad and alone, to rot on the interwebs.

Until today, that is.

Today, I attended my first creative writing class-post high school, that is. My professor rather insists that I get a grade for blogging. Can you believe that? A GRADE FOR BLOGGING. Holy shit! I hope that his head does not explode from the amount of blogging that I... well... er, blog?

Anyway.

Greetings. And re-greetings.