How I Became Stupid

It's 7:22am. I've been awake since 4am, and slept fitfully before that. But the reason I woke up at 4am was because I set the alarm. Yes.

I set the alarm for 4am, brushed my teeth and hair and pulled on stretchy comfy clothes, then rode my bike in the dark to attend f%@king bootcamp. I almost fell asleep on the bike ride home.

In my bike panniers were: a yoga mat (which I didn't use), a bottle of water (which did get used), my purse ('cuz every woman needs a bag stuffed full of useless shit while doing calisthenics until you pant, growl and just generally feel like you're going to pass out), and ... wait for it ... two five pound dumb-bells. Don't *you* carry dumb-bells in your bike panniers?

Serious headsmack.

Invisible Special Needs

So I just spent THREE hours reading blogs written by mom's with kids with Asperger's or Autism, and websites that touted the iPad as a great resource for these kids. Apparently there is a butt-load of apps specifically designed for kids on the autistic spectrum. Who knew?

Now, I don't actually *have* an iPad, but my ex does. I just sent him an email with a few links to apps that might be helpful to our son.

What's gotten me on this special needs kick all of a sudden? A number of things. Some silly. Some profound.

Here are a few, in no particular order:  

Time Suck

I have a friend who has been unplugged for a month now. A noble gesture for sure, but one I’m unwilling to emulate. I don’t have cable, so I don’t watch TV, but I am a movie junkie and definitely use my $15/month at Netflix. I’m also on the internet a lot.

This weekend I’ve been having intermittent internet access. Sketchy at best. It’s frustrating and irritating – and slightly embarrassing, because I can’t figure out if it’s a router issue, or operator error. I’ll spare you the troubleshooting and just move on to my personal discovery.

Soooo Many Books To Read

A surprising, or not so surprising, by-product of attending writers conferences, is the books you end up buying that you weren't planning on. I came home with four more (not counting the review copy of Tasting Rain that was waiting in the mail box upon my return) books than I left with.

I justified them all.

Duh.

First of all, The Chronology of Water was mandatory because it's a memoir. And I write memoir, so I need to read memoir for research purposes. (See how I justified that?) Lydia Yudnavitch's writing is brilliant. Lyrical. Random. Poetic. Like how I like to write. Picked at random: page 115 shares when she met Ken Kesey the first time:

What It Looks Like For Me

I wondered seriously about posting this entry. It’s extremely personal and screams T.M.I. (too much information). But I so don’t want to feel censored in my writing. I’m struggling right now between the difference in revealing too much and putting myself out there for “friends” (or even family members) to state their disdain and disapproval of my choice of words, topics of conversation, or even the pictures I share on Facebook – and being an authentic writer that attracts the right audience to her.

I think this topic that I’ve written about today is one that all women face, or have faced in the past, or will face in the future. So, it seems rational that I’d speak of it here. It just happens to broach a delicate subject.

What a Day Off Looks Like

I woke too early. It's my day off and my children are with their dad today, so I was hoping for a good 8 to 10 hours but am only granted six. Upon waking I am greeted with a fearsome vision -- kind of a nightmare where I'm partially awake. I gain alertness as the vision increases in it's horror. And by the climax of it, I am fully awake -- though paralyzed from shock and sickness.