DA BOOT

"Writer's block is a fancy term made up by whiners so they can have an excuse to drink alcohol." 

- Steve Martin

No shame in my game. Brittney & I start our personal NaNoWriMo next month (fml two weeks away) and I haven't the slightest clue about what to write. I think it's supposed to be a cohesive novel, not a series of short stories, which I could eek out by recanting my wild and detailed dreams. 

Ideally, though, this forced writing will turn into a best-seller, then a sweet movie deal which will lead to early retirement and I can own a horse farm, make babies and read books on my nook all day every day. And drink bourbon champagne out of boots with egg rolls for dindin.

It's the simple things I want.

I read about this unemployed teacher who found $20,000 in cash and she returned it to the bank. I'd be so torn about returning that. LIKE MAYBE THIS IS GOD TELLING ME TO BUY A NEW CAR OR PAY OFF SOME STUDENT DEBT. Weird, my education cost more than a car and all that got me was a head full of book quotes and the ability to rearrange sentences so they don't end with a preposition (although that isn't necessary as long as you have the object for that little bitch). SPEAKING OF CARS: one, please just materialize for me. I'm scared to get another one because it'll probably be smashed to pieces again and I just can't deal with that anymore. At all. If I ever have one more, "Well, we have no idea how you survived this" conversation with a public servant, I will just keel over dead. BECAUSE I DO NOT KNOW EITHER. My heart hurts from the stress. 

This woman died in my building at 34 of a heart attack in her sleep. Scary.

I need a drink.

I SUCK AT BLOGGING.

 
 "I would always rather be happy than dignified." 

 -Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre 

 Oh hai blog. Long time no see, my bad. I guess I got rather busy with working, living, cooking, sleeping, etc. I don't even remember what was so trying in my last entry that my body shut down. Thanks body, for erasing that apparently unpleasant period of life.

 Updates: 

 1) Tom and I have moved in together. We now reside in a 3 bedroom, 2 bath townhouse with Kitty, Figgy and our recent additional roomie: Cleo the Betta. 

 2) I have a new job. SO LONG TMK. PRAISE JESUS. AMEN. I now work for a brilliant company that doesn't treat me deplorably and where I feel valued and appreciated. 

 3) I bought my first car (!) and three weeks later totaled it! I feel and felt like such a dumbass loser for being so mentally shaken by this event, but I'm pretty sure something in me is irreparably damaged by this event and situations occurring from it. 

 4) Brittney's dad passed away from cancer (upon thinking of this, I think that's why my last update was somber). I sent out an email to my famfam telling them when Brit's dad was put on hospice care and I'll share: 

 "His liver is failing. The doctor gave him 2 weeks to 2 months but realistically, they're meeting with directors today to plan his funeral. They're setting up the details of hospice, end of life care. He's jaundiced, tired, unable to really eat. He’ll stay in bed more and more until one day he’s gone. I hate the fade of cancer, the lengthening of grief which glimmers with disappointing hope. I’m tired of watching people I love break over the agony of their family suffering through this. Your body destroys itself, homicidal, confused and merciless. It doesn’t care that you have two daughters still to walk down the aisle someday, or grandbabies that want to hear bedtime stories from papa. It turns an unfeeling, blind eye to your wife who will most likely lose the meager control you help her retain, spiraling into familiar depression, probably leading us all into the now known territory of funeral arrangements. 

 Why do good fathers die and bad ones live? I will never understand this world and I will never understand cancer. 

 Brittney is in Belton right now and during our conversation last night, she expressed anxiety over not knowing how long to stay. She can’t stay two months, but she doesn’t want to leave and have him die without her there. The only advice I could offer was to stay as long as felt right. This never gets easier, even with practice. There aren’t words to comfort when death is looming. There is nothing you can do. I hate time and its methodical pace. I suppose cancer is at least gracious in its ability to allow us time to say our goodbyes. Car wrecks and heart attacks happen so suddenly, you’re reeling in shock at the funeral, grief barely there because it’s all so unreal. So maybe there is one pro in this list of cons; we can prepare, we can get final hugs, we can be there.

 I’m really tired of cancer."

 Life doesn't slow down, offer any apologies or even attempt to make excuses. It happens and it's hard and the pitfalls encountered are only surmountable through friends, family, laughter and small moments of happy. 

 I need to get back to work. Bai.