I need a break. (And a tractor to deal with all the problems…)

Hello.

I know at least four of you are waiting for me to tell you all about our trip to the Juno awards, which happened, like, three weeks ago.  And every day I think of more stuff I'd like to share with the world, or at least the seven of you who are still reading!

But it just ain't happening, folks.

This winter insists on dragging along… we had a few decent days of above-freezing weather, the snow banks were kind enough to melt slowly and not cause catastrophic floods, which was nice and I was very grateful.  The layer of scum hung on for a little longer until we got a decent rain.  More gratitude for a decent rain as opposed to a battering.  The place just stunk the high heaven though.  I need to seriously deal with some s**t.  For real, and metaphorically.  Well, anyways, now there's an inch of snow on the ground again.  And it's cold.  All weekend I mentally added up the list of outdoor work needing to be done, then having a lie-down to recover from the exhaustion of just thinking about gravel on the lawn, garbage that blew around all winter, dog poop, everything that didn't get done last fall before the winter hit.  Now I'm secretly relieved to have the snow cover it up for another few days.

It's not totally about the weather though.  I'm wrestling with depression again this year.  Last year I was feeling exceptionally well this time of year, but not now.

You know what the big difference is?  I KNOW THIS ISN'T PERMANENT.

So I'm feeling wretched.  It is what it is.  It's what's happening right now.  I'll deal with it and I'll get over it.

I can get cleaned up and leave the house and put on a smile, and it's a real smile.  I can laugh and enjoy people.  It's exhausting though, and afterwards I need recovery time.  The worst part is when people ask those innocent questions:  How's it going?  How are you?  What's up these days?  

I don't lie.  I'll honestly say, the last few months have been a challenge.

I've figured something out though…

I need to be writing.

Not here.

Why wasn't I writing all winter, when I needed excuses to not be outside freezing my butt off?  My brain felt frozen.  I'd open this thing up and stare at it and feel kind of blank.  I've written something that's full of knots and I couldn't figure out how to untie them.  The harsh winter is over now, it's spring, the season most normal people associate with new life, and which I associate with scum and dirt and manure and unpredictable skies.  Difficulty.

You know what order I keep seeing? Things get worse before they get better.

I just need to take a few weeks off here… and untie some knots, rake up some dead grass, shuffle some words around, move some manure...

Arrgghhhh, extreme lack of blogging!!!!

I have reasons!  Some of them are even good reasons!

- I've been legit busy.  And that's not something I want to complain about!  I'm doing up to seven lessons in a five-day week, which is right about where I'd like to be.  I could handle more, (especially if all three of my horses are sound and happy at the same time) but this is just enough to keep me busy and not burn any of us out.  Eventually I'd like to do more group lessons but we'll get there.

- It's summer.  For all of July, it was ride, teach, get in the pool.  This is how I've been dealing with an extremely hot summer.  Now that things have cooled in the last week or so, I've got to catch up on stuff I didn't feel like doing when I was boiling internally.

- I've got this teenager who's going to college in two weeks and besides freaking the heck out about it, I'm helping her get her stuff together.  By "stuff" I mean, actual things for her dorm room, sorting out paperwork, telling her that even though I really don't feel ready to let her go that I am so super proud of her and I know she's going to rock this thing, and it's exciting and I'm happy for her and... you get the idea.  It's a really big deal.

- Mac White, at the ripe old age of five, seems to be having some problems. I have no idea what those problems might be, and in fact, even Bucky The Nerd is a little puzzled as to why it can't decide how much blank space it has in its... um, hard drive? is that where it keeps all its stuff?  I'm a horse person, not a computer tech...!  It tells me I can't load pictures from my iGadget and it seems to regularly stop to have a little think before getting on with what it's supposed to be doing, so I dunno what.

- Can't load pictures.  I want to show you pictures.  And I can't.

- I have way too much to write about.  I can't sort it out and decide what to focus on.

- I really should reply to email first, before I blog.

- The dishes have still not learned how to wash themselves.

- If I ever get time with my husband and kids in the same building, I am NOT going to blog.

Aaaaaaand one more reason for the extreme lack of blogging....




I'm writing, but not here.




So that's all I've got to say about that.





For now...

The Choices We Make Don't Always Seem Very Smart.

If we were smart, we would not be living in the country.

We'd have stayed closer to Jethro's work.  We'd have kept the house we had.  If we were smart, we'd be city people.  At the very least, bedroom community subdivision people, like we were for 13 years.  We would never dream of building a recording studio in a barn if we were smart.

If I was smart, I would have gotten an actual job.  If I was smart, I'd have worked my way into earning a paycheque that could support our family.

If we were smart, we wouldn't have horses.  They are big creatures that eat hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of hay, and need vet care and hoof trims.  They need acres of land to graze on and large buildings to house them in bad weather.  Owning horses is not a financially wise thing to do.  It's kind of dumb, really, from a money standpoint.

If I was smart, I would realize that teaching riding lessons with those horses is not likely to support the kind of property needed to keep the horses on, and I would have not chosen that path.  A smart way to handle that would have been to pay someone else for the privilege of riding their horse, and let that person pay for the vet and the land and the feed and tack.  

If I was really smart I'd just content myself with a few pretty pictures of horses on my walls, and sigh with envy when other people tell me about their horses, and I'd convince myself that horses are for the lucky few who are very rich and very lucky, but not for me.  

If I had any brains at all, I would understand that writing fiction is a terrible way to make a living, and that the odds of even getting to the place that I could think about earning anything from it is so far fetched that there's really no point even trying, and I'd just write a short story here and there and hide the printout under my bed or let it sit in silence in my computer.  Or if I was really smart, I'd just realize that I should stop.  Find another way to get the words and pictures and voices out of my head.  Crush them down.

Stop wanting that feeling of squeezing a story out of my brain.  Stop needing to search for the perfect word.

Stop craving the warmth of a horse's velvety smooth neck, stop thinking about the satisfaction of working in partnership with such a free spirited and sensitive and intelligent animal, stop needing to soak in their beauty with my eyes.  

If I was smart, I could look out the window of the house I live in and calmly remark on the neighbour's flowerbeds.  Be okay with how close the other houses are.  Be okay with not being able to see a stretch of horizon with no houses on it.

But I'm not smart.  We're not smart.

I mean, if he was smart, he might not stay in a business making a product (recorded music) that most people don't feel the need to pay for (and how does an industry stay functional if it can't profit from what it makes?)  If he was smart he'd be a plumber or an electrician or a truck driver.

We're not smart because we've chosen to keep going, despite the ridiculous odds stacked against us.  We've chosen to fight our way through and stick with it because he's one of the best and he loves it and it's what he does.  

I'm doing what I'm good at.  I'm good at teaching people how to ride horses.  I love it.  I'm getting better at it.  But.  We're not smart, because owning a horse in this century isn't smart, it's considered a luxury, even if it keeps a person sane and happy and peaceful.  

Writing isn't just not smart, it's kinda silly and frivolous.  Who needs it, right?  Will anybody be willing to pay for words a year from now?  

I'm not smart.

I keep writing.  I keep booking riding lessons, and feeling like a million bucks when they hand over their $35.  

He keeps pushing the record button, tuning flat notes, asking for one more take, glowing from the inside out when he coaxes a brilliant performance out of a musician, when he's satisfied with a mix.  

Is it SMART to protect creativity?  Is it SMART to be honest to yourself?

If SMART means being safe and secure, doing the thing with the least risk,  then no, we're not smart.  

We're flaky dreamers who try to magic everything into being okay.

But if SMART means doing what we're good at, doing what we love and what we feel we're meant to do,  maybe we're smarter than we realize. Maybe we can choose to get other people who are good at bookkeeping to do that for us, so we can get paid to do our thing.  If we're smart we'll realize that living in the city can be just as expensive as living in the country but in different ways.  And know that smart people figure out how to manage what they earn and what they spend and what they keep.

If we're smart we'll work at getting smarter and getting help with the stuff we're not good at, and making the best of this.

This is the deal people: We're doing what we do.  We've made some dumb choices, a few good ones, and a few that didn't feel like choices at all.  We have managed to hold onto each other, our family, and a few shreds of sanity.  

These are our choices, whether or not they're right for anybody else.... regardless of what's considered the smart thing to do.  This is what we've chosen.  

  

Hmmm... Interesting....

My blog buddy, Heidi Willis, asked me to do this, and I'll do it for her because she is one of my favourite people I've never met.  We're part of an online writing group, in which we plan lovely getaways to Heidi's Maine beach house, where we'll read in our jammies all weekend (in pretend world).  I didn't think I had anything interesting left of me -- I spill a lot on this blog.  I might repeat myself, so consider pretending you don't know anything about me first.


1)  I have a crooked spine.  I've come to terms with it. Symmetry is over-rated.  Imperfection is interesting.

2) I was at a bush party in 1987 with my boyfriend.  I watched him take a drunken beating from a particularly tough dude, while standing beside my ex-boyfriend.  Also in attendance that night, although I didn't know it yet?  My next boyfriend.  I ended marrying him and we don't do bush parties anymore.  Good times.

3) I have written 5 novels.  One of them is pretty good.  One of them is really good and getting better, but I'm aiming for excellent.  None of them are actual real books.  However, I can call myself A Writer because I have been rejected by some of the best literary agents in North America, darn it!

4) I got a pony for my 7th birthday.  I named her Chocolate.  Because she was dark brown.   I was seven; clever literary reference names weren't in my repertoire yet.  Besides, "Hemingway" is a ridiculous name for a small filly.

5) I don't care or mind if you resent me for #4.  Hey man, I didn't have much of anything else, but I had ponies and that was more important than anything else.  Even Barbies.

6) I am a bit of a tomboy but I loved my Barbies.  (Both of them.)

7) I had a huge crush on Shaun Cassidy when I was eight.  I had the T shirt.  I had the pin-ups on the wall.  Until John Stamos came along a few years later, Shaun was the sun in my sky. What can I say, I fall hard and I fall easily.

8) I had a Donny Osmond doll too.  He had purple socks!!!!!

9) Sometimes I really lay it on thick with the red carpet stuff.  Like, "Well when I was on the red carpet the first time..." and "We walked right past (insert Famous and /or Well Known Canadian Artist) and he/she is actually very short..."  and also "....about four feet away from Shania Twain..." and I am just a tiny bit ashamed that I throw it around like that.

But come on!  I grew up on a pig farm!  My husband grew up behind the feed mill!  RED FRIGGEN CARPET?  You are damn right I'm gonna brag that up.

10)  If I had money to burn I'd start up a Useless Critter Farm.  I'd have a llama and a few miniature horses, heck, I'd have the three horses I have now.  A large collection of donkeys.  A sheep.  About 50 goats, because they rock!  Numerous cats.  Peacocks.  Heck if I could I'd have an elephant.

hahaha, I just changed four of those because I thought of something more interesting than what I first wrote.

It's not that I don't care. It's that I don't remember.

I'm in hermit mode.  I don't really feel like talking to anybody, I sure as hell don't want to go out shopping, and I kind of don't want to think much at all, about anything.  I just want sink into my own imaginary world and then write about it until my wrists and hands scream at me, begging to be freed from the keyboard.

I'm forgetful and scatterbrained at the best of times.  Add some stress - and we all know there's plenty of that to go around - and maybe some emotional turmoil - heck that's just normal for me - and I won't remember where I put my feet let alone my glasses.  I find myself yanking the twine off a hay bale, cussing that I forgot where I put the damn scissors, and then find the scissors ten minutes later while bending over to push the wheelbarrow through the gate, when those scissors jab me in the ribs because I put them in my coveralls pocket.  I'm in the kitchen yelling frantically that I can't find my keys when somebody calmly informs me that they are in my hand.  I walk into a room and stand there frozen in mid-step because I can't remember why in the hell I'm in this room, what I wanted to get or do, or even if I actually live in this house.  I lose track of money and time.  I feel like a constant mess.

I know everybody feels like that sometimes.

I feel like that pretty much all the time.

These last couple weeks I've been kind of anti-social.  Yes, I have avoided running into people I know in town.  I'm not proud of it.  But at the time it seemed a lot better than having to make small talk and pretend I've got the whole thing under control.  

And speaking of small talk, please do not ask me if I'm ready for Christmas.  Assuming you mean, have I done all the shopping, the answer is NO.  I haven't started.  Haven't spent a dollar.  If you mean, am I ready to relax and celebrate the birth of my spiritual king in a place of squalor and poverty, heck yes.  Bring it on.  But please don't ask about holiday plans because I'm not exactly sure if we even have a plan.

I have to focus very tightly right now.  It's alright.  It's just how it has to be right now.  It means I won't be sending out that great end of the year Christmas letter I used to send out (somewhere around Valentine's day) for about a decade, up until last year when it just sort of didn't happen.  Cards?  Nope.  Decorations? Sure, but first I have to dust and then I'll have to water the plants and of course I'll dribble some water on the floor and I probably should mop, but that means moving some furniture out of the way, and oh wow, here's that report card I couldn't find!  That'll lead to a trip upstairs to the filing cabinet and once I'm up there, I might as well just get my boots on and head outside because that's where I'd rather be.

So you see what I'm dealing with here, right?

I do care.  I care about my loved ones who are probably wondering how we're doing, or even where we live right now.  I guess I've been a hermit longer than just this month.  I dropped out of sight.  Not really intentionally.  I just forgot to tell everybody where we are.

I kind of feel like there's not enough brain space to allow me to remember.

I think I can still pull off my Christmas blog party.  It's a lot less work and planning and buying than an actual party with invitations and people and stuff.

Meanwhile it's a nice mild winter day, and that corral isn't going to clean itself up, and going out to the barn means blissfully forgetting all the other things I should be thinking about.

Payin' some bills...

You might notice some advertising on my blog.

I've decided to try and earn some income from my writing.  Ultimately I'd like that to be from writing novels that people want to read, but this is a long difficult process, often verging onto frustrating and confidence-destroying, and at its worst, soul-sucking, but a process that I insist on putting myself through.

I mean, theoretically, we're supposed to get paid to do something we like and are good at, right?

I like to write.

I think I'm decent at it.

It's taken me years to figure out how this whole "making a living" thing works.  I'm not good at being an employee.  I'm forgetful and scatterbrained and tend to be thinking about really awesome things/ really worrying things instead of thinking about what the boss wants me to be thinking about.  But blogging is great, because I get to do all the thinking!  So then, that thinking turned into... hey... I hear some people get paid to blog.  WAHHHHT?  HOW DO THEY DO THAT?   Well, other people pay them to put ads on their blogs.

Now that I've had a couple years of getting paid to teach people how to ride horses, I've discovered what a buzz it is do get paid to so something I love, and may I say, I do believe I'm pretty good at it.

The satisfaction of paying for something with money that I earned is something I gave up for a few years while I raised the younguns.  It was worth it, but now?  Now I'm ready to pay some bills!

What I DIDN'T do was shove my unfinished novel under the door one single-spaced page at a time.

What I did do was find the address of Janet Reid's office and wave hello.

Hi!

  JANETREID gave me one of my top 3 awesome rejections, which made me respect her even more, I'm not even kidding.

So I didn't technically stalk any literary agents, but I did seek out the workplace of one and No I do not think that's crazy.  

LITTLE HICK IN THE BIG CITY: Day 2, Friday

Man, the stereotype that people in New York are in their own little worlds of aloof unfriendliness is entirely untrue!  Before leaving, some American friends of mine, assuring me that I’d be okay here, told me that it’s not like in the movies.  Well, I already was firmly of the belief that in general, American people are a warm, friendly bunch of individuals.  This experience confirms it.

Today a fella named Pedro came to my room to fix the phone.  He has such a strong accent I had to concentrate to catch what he was saying.  He told me there are 9 million people living in Manhattan.  Just in Manhattan… by comparison, there are 5 million in Metro Toronto, the biggest big city I know.  That includes the boroughs.  Canadian cities really aren’t very big.  Pedro told me he takes the train in to work from Queens.  I told him in Toronto most people spend two hours commuting.  (One of the reasons why after a decade-plus we had to get the heck outta there.)

I can’t comprehend how big this city is. Or the scale of things.  Everything is so tight.  Little blocks of streets.  

Last night, we had a late bite to eat.  We walked north on 10th Avenue.  There were so many people out taking their dogs for a last walk of the day.  We sat in a tiny restaurant and I said to Jethro, “I wasn’t expecting this… it’s like a little neighborhood here.  People live here.  I always thought of it like this big fabulous place where people go to… be fabulous.  But this is somebody’s home.”

Well obviously I knew people live in this city.  But it seemed so big and distant and maybe even cold.  There are just so many people here!  How can anybody live like this and not become so jaded that they can’t be bothered to look up at anybody else?   Wouldn’t your skin have to be so thick that you’d lose any connection to anybody else?

I’m somebody who tries to keep in mind that stereotypes are in place for a reason but are often exaggerated and probably a little inaccurate.  Like, I have this blog called Hick Chic, implying that I’m a country girl and I’m proud of it and I am totally working it and pulling it off.  I know why city people think of us hicks as naive and unsophisticated.  I myself am naive and unsophisticated.  But I’m not dumb.  (Okay I might come off that way in person, but really, I’m not!) I seriously have a hard time crossing a street on foot.  I’m not even kidding.  But I can drive down a gravel road at 100 kph with one hand on the steering wheel.  So we each have a different set of skills.  

It doesn’t do any of us any good to deal with each other with contempt, as tempting as it is when I get attitude from more urban folks who automatically assume that being from the country means I don’t matter.

As I’m finding out, those who treat me that way are the exception.

( maybe I really only get that attitude off people in Toronto?  Hmmmm….)

I’m writing this in the lobby of the incredibly chic stylin’ lobby of the Yotel.  A woman a big honkin’ camera and a Manfrotto tripod is taking pictures of the room.  The decor is amazing.  Everything is purple and white and grey with pale wood.  It’s so slick I’m just about sliding out of my crazy mid-century-modern chair.  I am totally digging this place - it’s fun to be here!  BUT.  I could not live like this. It’s too fabulous.  

I’m not fabulous.  

Fun, but not fab in a New York kind of way.

Today’s Hick-in-New York outfit:

Jeans (yep, Mavi from the Juno swag bag, good thing they fit)

running shoes

pink plaid flannel shirt

And because I’m totally doing the Big City Writer thing, I’m wearing my glasses.  

I am totally working this.  

I think I’ll head up to my room again.  Jethro’s at the conference down the road, talking with other engineers about soundwave displacement in an audiological resonance digital high fidelity aural 7.1 surround… thing…. while I do my thing here and somebody is up on the twelfth floor is cleaning my room and putting nice clean white towels in the glass walled-bathroom, and making the bed!  THAT right there, alone, is worth checking in here for!

Of course we’ll be paying for this trip for the next six months.

Okay, going back up in the purple elevator.  Catch ya later.  

ps- I totally crossed a street by myself!  Well, me and ten other people. But otherwise by myself.

I'm getting overwhelmed by the sirens, and it sounds like the predominant form of communication in this town is honking.  Other than that, I'm dealing quite well!

LITTLE HICK IN BIG CITY: My New York City packing list

Pink John Deere hoodie 
This is so important because the hoodie is one of the most versatile and necessary article of clothing.  Also it's pink.  And has a big green and yellow logo on it.  It's my favourite.

John Deere hat
I'll have to pick between the pink one with "I heart JD" or the green one with the logo.

I'd bring this whole totally bitchin' outfit but I don't think it'll be warm enough in Manhattan in October.

I'll just bring the hat.

At Lollapalooza this summer, a guy in the hamburger line up started yelping, "John Deere!" so I turned around like I was answering to my name.  Of course.  Obviously.  

He looked all happy that there was one other sweaty unwashed rock festival attendee who knew what a tractor is.  Wouldn't it be cool if I find a tractor person in New York City!  

Hey it could happen.  I mean it's not impossible.

Check out Bucky and me.  We go to a massive rock concert in our hats: him with his National Wild Turkey Federation and me with my John Deere.  We dress up well for special occasions.

Yoga pants   

Yoga pants, yes.  Yoga, NO.

The Mavi jeans I got for free in a Juno event swag bag 

You think I'd actually buy Mavi jeans?  No thanks.  I'd like to send my kids to college some day. 

Peach Berskerk "I love Johnny Depp" hoodie

The one I ordered when we went to the Juno awards a couple years back.

long sleeve T shirt

Probably the one I got at the Juno awards a couple years back.

What? I get my clothes in four places: the feed mill, the thrift store, the Juno swag bag, and the merch booth at rock concerts.  

T shirts

Ozzy?  Soundgarden?  White Stripes?  Muse?  Ohhhh decisions!

something nice

In case we have enough cash to go somewhere nice.  I have no idea here.

ridiculous high heeled platform slingback black and white gingham shoes

The gingham qualifies them as country-girl-approved.

bandanna

Sometimes my ears get cold and need to be covered.  Or I have a bad hair thing. Either way.

favourite plaid flannel shirt

Dude, it's plaid, it's flannel, and it's got pink in it.  

I promise I won't walk around with a stick in my teeth.  Promise.  

belt

gotta have one.  My pants dun' stay up without one.  

(You can go ahead and read that line with a hillbilly accent.)

Posh spice shades

So I can pretend I'm somebody important in the lobby of whatever big building we're in.

arm warmers

Like leg warmers only smaller and with thumb holes.  A must have for a writer with cold hands.

Cute rubber boots with horses on them that I got at Canadian Tire

It's just wise to always be sure you can walk through anything.  I'm just saying.  

Running shoes

We'll be doing a lot of walking.  I might run the other way if there's a crowd.  Ready for anything.

flannel jammies

Hey hey, nice little getaway with the husband!  Flannel!  Whoo hoo!

Wellbutrin

I ain't leaving home without that stuff.  Let's keep the good mood going!

bag, toothbrush, comb

Got thirteen channels of shhhhh.... oh wait, that's a song.  Never mind.

workbook

In case a poem falls out of me.  I need to get it written down.

my specs

So I can see what I'm writing down.

Mac White

In case a novel falls out of me.  Also so Jethro can actually prepare his presentation on the plane on the way to the conference.  (It's how he operates.)

books to read

This could really be great.  While he is having long conversations with other recording engineers, I get READING TIME!  Yay!

cotton socks

as in, "rock my cotton socks" because I've had some time to think about it and decided I'm going to make the best of this trip.

Know what else I'm bringing?  The Funny.

Yep, you'll be hearing all about it! Right here!

Here's a weird thing about having an office job.

This week I get clean BEFORE going to work instead of needing a shower AFTER working.

Here's another weird thing: I'm getting paid to pick up the phone.  It took me until two hours into the first shift before I realized that I actually... kind of...hate picking up the phone.

But it's not calling for me and they don't want anything from me and I only have to push a few buttons to send the phone call to where it needs to go.  And they're paying me.  So it's okay.

Another weird thing: I'm answering phones while the salesmen are selling cars.  You know what?  I could do what they do.  I could sell pickup trucks.  I love trucks.  You might already know that about me.  I love all trucks.  GMC, Dodge, Ford.  All the trucks.

I could sell you an F-150.

One of the guys decided I'm his good luck charm because I referred to him as The F-150 Guy after he sold one, and then went and sold another one the next day.

See?  I'm good with trucks.

And here's one thing that I don't think is weird at all:

I am wearing platform wedge slingback black and white gingham shoes to work.

Now you might thing it's weird, because I wear boots a lot, and I feel like me when I'm in boots.  But I'm wearing high heels and I'm walking in them.  I am driving my truck in them.  I put 'em on and I leave 'em on.  Because you know what?  I COMMIT.

Also, they're GINGHAM.  What good country girl doesn't love gingham eh?

And they were only twelve bucks.  So I gotta wear them to justify that huge extravagant expense.

Well, that and we've only got a few nice days left before fall hits hard, so I'd like to be able to see my toes.  Soon it'll be woolly socks and I won't see my toes until, like, next May.

It's kind of interesting, doing this little temporary gig.  It's been about eighteen years since I had a job like this.  I do believe this could all come out in a book someday.  That's what happens with fiction writers. Everything in life becomes potential fiction fodder.

I don't have any Receptionist Clothes.

I'll have to fake it when I go answer phones next week.

Hey I know it's weird, me in an.... office... but they're paying me so, okay!

In my other job, I haven't started primer because I have to sand the sponge painting off the walls in the bathroom, which I'm still cleaning daily.  Just because.  The amount of nail holes in the walls is staggering.  What the heck was he doing up there in that apartment?  Actually I don't wanna know.

In my other, other job, my horses haven't been doing much this week.  I'm not sure if it's a good thing I had other work this week because I didn't have much for lessons, but I guess the timing's good.

And in my other, other, other job, I'm just burning away on my novel-in-progress like, one paragraph per day.  Okay that's not true.  It's more like one sentence at a time.  But it's in progress and I'm still fired up for it!

Also I apparently still have children!

Might not be able to blog much, but then again, I might surprise you.  I do that sometimes.

DIY DETOX DAY 29: Things I Learned While Suffering the Cold Quit

As of Day 29 here, I'm almost, almost normal.  Well considering this is me, "normal."  I can stand having the curtain open during the day, I can speak without my head exploding, and I don't get the shocks every time I move.  Just sometimes.  And the shocks are only in my hands and face now.  I can walk without feeling like I'm about to fall over.  This morning I woke up at 6 am and haven't gone back to sleep.  I'd like to.  Boy would I ever like to have a sleep.  But I'm awake.  It's kind of good to be awake.  Yesterday I went out to the barn TWICE and today I took the dog for a walk about a quarter of the way around the yard.  (It's about an acre of yard.)  Hey I even cleaned the toilet today.  Progress.

I'd like to forget how horrible days 11 to 13 were.  I'd like to never ever think about the physical agony and mental torture.  I don't want to know how awful I was to live with for awhile there.

I just want to get my strength back, get my horses back in shape too, and man, I seriously have a whole novel to write, I'm not kidding.

I don't think I ever will forget how awful it was.  I had my doctor's supervision, I prepared myself, I knew it would be bad.  But, and this is the whole reason why I did it this way, I won't be weaning off for six months of mid-grade misery.  I will have a summer.

So... while I was spending a week or a month or however the hell long it was up here in my dark quiet bedroom, I had to occupy my brain.  I couldn't read or listen to music or even look at a TV or computer screen.  It was just me and the pain and my brain.  Wow.  What a combination.

I have a few things I'd like to share.

1) SASQUATCH IS REAL!

 It's true, I saw him in a dream I was having.  I was walking down a dirt road through the bush, not anywhere familiar, just a regular dirt road with trees on each side.  I looked down at the hoofprints on the side of the road and wished I was riding instead of walking.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a big brown furry thing heading into the trees, so I did what anybody would do. I followed!  I had my iGadget out and I was ready to take a picture as proof because that's also what anybody would do.  As I was fumbling with it I looked up and I was face-to-face with Bigfoot!  And no, it wasn't my husband.  He was doing the deer-in-the-headlights look and I said, "Dude, I need a picture of you," and he said, "I don't wanna have my picture taken!" and I was all "But nobody believes you're real" and he was all, "I don't wanna be real!  You're not real either!  Or something!"  Frustrated, I told him he would just have to go on being imaginary, after which I drove somebody else's giant pickup truck into a snowbank, parked it at a house which my sister-in-law does not live in real life, then got lost, and stopped at a garage where they were doing free hoof trims while you wait.  So yes, Sasquatch is real.  You heard it here.

2) WRITING SONGS IN YOUR DREAMS IS REALLY UNPRODUCTIVE

Man, I had these words that just broke my heart and mended it back together.  They fit together beautifully.  I even had a melody to go with it and that's something I've never been able to do.  That's why I am not a songwriter.  I was going over those words, singing them to myself to try to remember them, and thinking, "I am not going to remember how this went when I wake up, and that's a damn shame cuz when I'm awake I'll be thinking about how I'll never know if these songs are actually really good."

3) IF YOU LIE ON YOUR SIDE FOR A LONG TIME YOUR EAR GOES NUMB

Unpleasant.  Especially when the other side has already been numbed.

4) WHEN THE DRUG LEAVES YOUR BODY IT TAKES A WHOLE LOT OF EMOTIONAL CRAP WITH IT.

It's like the mood-stabilizer did the stabilizing it needed to, by suppressing a few things, and when the drug goes, it all comes flooding out.  It's good for the rest of the family to go see a movie when this is happening.

5) BOB DYLAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY IS AWESOME.

I was reading it when I started off on this little vision quest.  I finished up about Day 8 or 9 or thirty-seven or whatever.  Just as it was getting too painful to read.  Bob.  Bob loves music.  Bob thinks too much.  Bob speaks in poetry. Bob's memory for detail is stunning, microscopic, and vivid.

6) BOB DYLAN IS THE REASON I DISCOVERED... wait for it...

FINNISH TROLL METAL!!!!

Flow chart of discovery:

Reading CHRONICLES: VOLUME ONE

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Look up a few details on Wikipedia, on account of Bob having extraordinary details for some things but not so clear about other things, like chronology, which was fine but I was curious.

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Follow link to learn about Woody Guthrie, Bob's hero.  (Who, by the way, was stricken with Huntington's Disease, a horrible incurable evil horrible condition.  His second wife started what is now the Huntington Society, to help families and victims.)

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Woody Guthrie is like, the godfather of folk music.  

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What exactly is "folk music?"

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Well there are all kinds of folk music.  There's even, gasp! a sub-genre called folk metal!

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You think I see a link for FOLK METAL and I'm not gonna follow it?  

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(and yeah, this took all day, accounting for eyeball rest breaks)

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Wow!  Wow wow wow!  A link for TROLL METAL!

Well this is just too good to be true. Turns out there's this band called... ohmygosh this is brilliant... FINNTROLL, and it turns out this is a THING, and it's been going on without me knowing anything about it, which isn't shocking since I pretty much live under a rock, but still!  

So they're Finnish, but the lyrics are in Swedish, because the vocalist was from the minority of Swedish people in Finland?  In my slightly altered state this was just the best, funniest, heaviest, headbangin'est, craziest most rockin' and rollicking thing EVER.

Not only is this possibly my new favourite song, but it also proves that there are, in fact, a few less-than angelically gorgeous people in Scandinavia.  

Now I've got to share this around, because just as I was going into the worst part of the Cold Quit, this cheered me up like you wouldn't believe.  Sometimes I'd lie there with my jaw clenched and think, TROLLHAMMEREN!  Actually the one night when I was trying to explain this to Jethro and the kids I started laughing so maniacally I was in tears, like sob-laughing, and it sent sharp shooting pains all through my upper body but I couldn't quit.  They were borderline alarmed.  But come on.  Seriously.  They're Finnish, but the words are in Swedish, so now any future vocalist has to learn to growl in Swedish, and I still can't understand a friggin word of it!  It's BRILLIANT!  It is seriously brilliant!

Warning: if you are offended or grossed out in any way by dirt, cellars, rowdy consuming of fermented beverages, dreadlocks, windmill-headbanging, scowling, growling, or large angry looking hairy dudes dressed like Friar Tuck, do not watch this video.  But DO LISTEN because this is awesome.  

And that's how Bob Dylan made the whole experience just slightly bearable.  Thanks, Bob.

Last but not least...

8) BAD TIMES LIKE THIS CAN LEAVE A PERSON OPEN TO SOME TRULY WONDERFUL BRAIN EXPANSION.

...because what else was I going to do?  

I'm going to go do some more recovering now.  Catch ya.

The world didn't end! Great! On with previously scheduled barn chores, pirates and rock stars. As usual.

WARNING: This blog post contains regular digressions and subject changes which may be unsuitable for some.  This blog post will include pirates, legal drugs, and Beyonce.  Reader discretion is advised.



I'm feeling wretched these days due to a medication adjustment.  Why is it that the drugs meant to make one feel better can make one feel slightly better yet also not quite right, and which will certainly make one feel ABSOLUTELY AWFUL during withdrawal?  I don't want to move, just in case the persistent low grade nausea turns into something urgent  If I hold real still the dizzies won't git me.

There is one upside to this situation. I can hold real still with a Mac in my lap.  WRITING.  And this is very, very good.  I feel super guilty about the work I'm not doing.  But I can give the brain-movies more attention.  I have like, two novels and a Hick Chic Guide on the go.  ADHD anybody?

Damn anti-depressants.  Can't live with em, can't be a rational human being without em.  Oh well.

Here's something else that makes my life bearable: I have teenagers!  Man I'm telling you, teenagers can be so helpful and useful!  They can be trained (if started early enough) to do various household chores like laundry, cooking (yay!) floor sweeping, and sometimes, putting away of stuff.  They can also carry out barn chores, which is wonderful.  They can operate the big lawn mower.  Best of all, they can be taught to drive!  Yes, I have MY OWN DRIVER!

My girl Annyong (Hello!  Annyong!  Hello!) took me out on Friday evening.  We ate ice cream cones while sitting on the wheel humps in the truck box.  While talking to two teenage boys.  It was like history repeating itself and was fun but strange.  (Do othermothers eat ice cream cones in the truck box with teenage daughter and boys she goes to school with????)  Then she drove me to the movies.  Actually before that she drove me all over town, put gas in the truck, and parked it in several locations.  Good little country girl.

We had to go see our beloved Captain Jack.  See what kind of trouble he's causing now.

Oh Jack.  You ARE trouble.

So was it good?  Pffft yeah!  You know I'm not gonna hate it.  The kid and I laughed all the way through it.  We cheered when Blackbeard showed up with his beard all lit up and smoking.

We squealed when Cap'n Jack got a talking to from his ol' man!  

We whispered to each other about the awesomeness of the unstoppable Captain Barbossa.

Also I have two words for you: KILLER MERMAIDS.

Vicious eh?

So that was fun.  We stuck around for the credits like we do.  Did you know this story is loosely based on a novel of the same title by Tim Powers?  Years ago I read another of his novels called The Stress Of Her Regard.  Freaky heavy.  Blew my brain.  Let's hear if for novels.  Yaaaay!




On Saturday I totally forgot about the whole world-ending thing.  Not that I was worried.  I figure if/ when Jesus wants me he'll come get me.




When he's darn good and ready.


Not when I am.


Have I mentioned The Corral Project?   We got some rain, which drained nicely through the gravel, followed by a good solid day of sunshine to dry everything.  Sunshine has been rare this year.

Just a couple squishy spots left, but that's understandable considering the weather.  My ol' man's lived here all his 68 years and says he's never seen it this wet.

I'll be describing in great detail the whole story of this Project.  I'm thinking a whole series of posts.  Those of you who are thinking about what your horses are walking around on will want to be in on this. I hope you like dirt.  I like dirt.


For the rest of you, how about some Beyonce?

(I got these pictures from Go Fug Yourself)




The Billboard awards happened last night.  Beyonce got some kind of Best Everything Of The Millennium award, and who can argue?

I mean, she's the girl from your high school that you would have, could have, should have hated because besides being drop dead naturally gorgeous, she's also super ripped fit, she can dance, she can act, she sings like an angel, as well as sings like the devil when she needs to,

she's totally sexy without being skanky, and she's smart.  She's no dummy.  Hate her yet?

Well you can't because she's also a cool chick.  She's actually kinda nice.  But not too nice.  Just nasty enough to be fun and get the dirty jokes, but probably wouldn't tell them because she doesn't use swear words.  So you can't hate on the girl out of jealousy, because she's not using all her talent and skill to make you feel like crap in comparison.  She just IS.

Also she works her ass off so you can't even chalk it up to luck.  See?  Unhateable.


After her performance, which had something to do with women running the world,  I said, "Wow.  I feel so empowered."  Jethro said, "Yeah, I feel... something...  too."





The rest of the show was weird but we made ourselves sit through it.  Annyong and I missed the first twenty minutes, which Jethro said was the best EVER because Britney and Rhianna did a thing and apparently it was the best thing EVER on TV.

I looked up pictures today.  It looks like there was a pillow fight involved and what's with men and pillow fights? We women don't pillow fight with each other in real life.  It's just in your heads, guys.  Sorry.



Rhianna is so beautiful it's like she's not from this planet. She can even show up in an outfit like this and still look pretty.

Later Ke-dollarsign-HA did a strange and slightly disturbing thing with red-clad male dancers with horse heads and machine guns, and then a big cannon with handlebars which she rode and blew confetti out of.  Also instead of pants she was wearing hot pants and fishnets.  Why are all these young pop stars afraid of pants?  I'm getting bored with crotches.


Also boring: Black Eyed Peas.


Later will.i.am declared that many new artists are "born in the studio" but can "barely perform live" which almost made me choke.  Instead I laughed bitterly.

Let me also mention that this is the guy who, in an acceptance speech at this show, thanked technology, and programmers, computers, blippy things with cool flashy lights, etcetera, or something like that, while at home in our living room with questionable furniture left over from the house we had to sell sold, we yelled at the TV, "WHAT ABOUT THE RECORDING ENGINEERS WHO RUN ALL THE BLIPPY THINGS AND ACTUALLY MAKE YOUR DAMN NOISE INTO SOMETHING THAT CAN BE LISTENED TO IN A RECORDED FORMAT?!?!?!?"

Or something like that.  While I chuckled bitterly.

Then he introduced U2 as his friends and inspiration.

Also he was wearing one of his awful Ken-doll robot helmet-wigs.




Britney was sitting with her outlaw-looking boyfriend and looking shocked and befuddled by everything.  Eyebrows up, mouth open.  Girl, I know it.  I looked and felt the same.  I just didn't get it.

Dude, CEE LO GREEN.  Love that guy!!!!  Just love him.  The giant rhinestone cloak, the silly sparkling fake piano, which floated and flipped, and man, his voice.

Is he the best?  Yeah he's the best.

Speaking of sparkly: Taylor Swift wore something sparkly.  Again.  I still hope that kid stays real and as long as she keeps on taking the high road she can spend her entire career in sparkly evening gowns and I'm okay with it.


You could tell who was singing live by the bad notes.  Hey man.  Props for singing live.  Lady Antebellum sounded genuinely great.  Mary J Blige was excellent as always.

Nicki Minaj, who I think is absolutely adorably cute (I LOVE HER HAIR)  was live but I generally don't get rap so I have no comment.  Although Britney got trotted out again to do a thing with Nicki and sounded... just like she does on the radio!!!!  Hmmm.

Here's the thing about Britney: she can schlump around in rubber flip flops, looking like she's been on the couch eating cheesies for two months, then show up to one of these with glowing skin, flowing hair, her body all fit and slammin' and I don't know how she does it.

Maybe she doesn't either.

I hope she's okay.  She seems like such a nice girl.



OH.  Then Neil Diamond.  Yes.  I have a soft spot for the man for several reasons.

1.  My Cool Young Auntie used to looooove him so I played her Neil Diamond records at Grandma's house.

2. Aging nicely and gracefully.

3. His voice, decades later, is as rich and perfect as ever.

So what did we get?  Singalong with Neil?!?  NO kidding... there he is grooving along to a totally unenthusiastic karaoke track, doing his best to bring the energy cuz he's a PERFESHNUL while the audience waved their arms and tried to stay excited about Sweet Caroline.  Gawd.  Robot music.  Doesn't Neil deserve better?  The man used to wear sparkly jumpsuits for crying out loud!  He's an ICON!!!  Actually that's what the award was for.  For being an ICON despite him saying he wasn't quite sure exactly what that meant.


So all bummed out about Neil being so great but the robot music sucking so bad, we got ready for bed.  Watched the lightning outside, the horses being loopy in the corral, and then gaped out the windows at the SIDEWAYS RAIN.  Thinking about Bucky who was camping with the youth group.  He's got an air mattress... maybe he could float... I hope those boys escaped their tent and hung around in a trailer.   And then there was hail.  And then by the time my teeth were brushed, all was reduced to chilled out little raindrops.


And the world did not end.

We're still living with the grandparents.... still not sure if we'll have work in a few months... don't know if there will still be a music industry by then, or if it will rain all summer and nobody will want to ride horses... never know when nature will take out your whole township.... but the world didn't end.

So.  I'll be taking my fuzzy head and pukey belly out to pick up horse poops in the corral eventually today.

FIRE BREATHING FISTS!!!!

You know what is the only thing that actually goes away if you ignore it?


A celebrity.



But when said Famous Person goes off on a rant of epic and delusional proportions... I'm sorry.  I really am, but I must watch.  It's the old Trainwreck thing.  You gotta watch.  You can hate yourself for it, you can feel the full impact of the shame while you fuel the attention grabbing, but you can't tear your eyes away.  It is literally spectacular.

I mean, the guy is eloquent, I'll give him that.  I recommend you read this link.  It rivals Kanye.

Also, great timing there Carlos.  It's awards show season and I have work to do, and readers to provide for and I don't have time for this!!!  sigh.

Along with farm&family related things, I'm preparing my incredibly comprehensive, humourous, eye popping OSCAR REPORT!  I don't know when it'll be ready.  Tomorrow I have a doctor visit, a hay run, and then taking my boy Bucky to a physics lecture.  All in one day!  I might attempt as well to chop firewood and dictate my memoirs while announcing that I am actually a rock star from Mars.  Heck why not.

A whole bunch of stuff that has nothing to do with anything. Or might.

It's like this: Horses Rock Stars Awards Shows Pug Novel-writing and Stuff.  Where do I start? Well, the water in the barn is frozen again.  I HATE when that happens but at least the trough is full.  Let's cheer up by looking at some barnyard winter pictures:

We're not working these days - which I think the horses might actually miss! - but they're getting lots of hay and pats and smooches.  

A reader sent me an email a few days back (Hi Lynn!) asking about good footing for an outdoor riding area.  The short answer is... I'm not sure.  I've been thinking about this for a couple years.  Next week I'll write a post about what I've come up with so far.  

Who watched the SAG AWARDS last weekend?  

No?

Heck that's okay.  I DID!  

I watch the awards, so you don't have to.  

It's just what I do, no need to thank.

DISAPPOINTING ROCK NEWS Part 1

Robert Plant was in Toronto 2 weeks ago.  And I was not.  Oh Robert.  When, when, will our paths meet again?  I can't friggin' believe I didn't catch this.  

Dang it.  

I won't give up hope!  As long as he keeps doing His Thing, which we can clearly see, He's Still Got IT, there is still a chance I'll get to see him!  And like, remember it this time.  

DISAPPOINTING ROCK NEWS Part 2

The White Stripes have called it quits. 

They're going to end on a good note rather than crank out a few crappy boring albums worth of dreck, then give up out of frustration. Good decision guys.  But nevertheless.

WAAAAAHHHHH!

SO glad we took the kids to see the a few years back.  That was worth it.  Two freaks on a stage making a lot of noise- that is just what a couple of pre-teens get into.  

I will miss their special brand of weirdness!  

At least Jack has other things going on, and always will.  

But yet again, waaaahhhhhh!

Ok, what else happened this week?  I bought pants.  They fit.  It snowed and now my Pug has to jump through the snow drifts, which is hilarious and darn near indescribable.  Trust me, it's funny.

I got rid of some more junk.  Why the hell did I think I'd need those glass jars after I moved?  Seriously, there's not a worldwide glass shortage happening.  Buh-bye junk.  

And the cat is taming up a little but she's still psycho. I adore her.  

Also I'm rewriting.  AGAIN.  But it's okay, and I'm actually... enjoying it!!!  From now on I shall introduce myself like this:

"Hello.  I'm Heidi, I'm a horsewoman and a re-writer."

On that happy note, I've worn my computer down to 11% battery and my butt's numb from sitting so long.  Git outta here and go do something!  Git!