The “winter blues” got the best of me this year.

More so than ever before.

I’d never felt it this strongly. I spent about a month having ZERO motivation to do anything, and what sucks the most about the timing of it was that it started around the same time as the new semester. So, I did a few initial assignments and then got very behind. I’ve mostly caught up in one class, but the other… I’m still struggling. Luckily, it’s currently spring break, which means no new assignments to add on.

I think it started with the indecision about my financial aid, which I found out about a week before classes were to begin. And it wasn’t fully resolved until after they began. The week before classes, I usually read over the syllabi, get my textbooks, and get myself in the mindset of the assignments and subject matter. I didn’t have that this time.

Also, I was sort of forced into the classes I’m in. It’s my last semester, and I needed two 300- or 400-level courses. All that was offered for Journalism was Opinion Writing, and, out of the English creative writing courses, I chose TV Pilot Script Writing. Well, much to my dismay, that pilot script class was eventually cancelled due to low enrollment. The other options were Creative Writing, Writing the Graphic Novel, and Writing for a Living. I have no interest in graphic novels, but I considered it because it would mean focused creative work. The regular creative writing course wasn’t too appealing because I’d already taken that type of course the previous semester and a couple of times back in high school. I wanted something more specific, hence choosing the pilot script course. And as for Writing for a Living, it seemed more like the utilitarian class of writing curriculums. There would be no creative projects or soul-feeding writing. It would simply be about writing queries to publishers and agents. Ultimately, it’s what I chose because it seemed to be the most useful, and it’s been alright. It’s had interesting assignments that do make you think and figure things out.

As for opinion writing, I am less than excited by it. I think part of it is I don’t think my “voice” jives with the opinion style. Plus, I’ve learned that I’m not as interested in journalism as I once thought I might be. So, that adds to the lack of motivation.

But that’s why I went to school in the first place- to figure out which types of writing I would like most. And that’s what is happening.

I just have to get through this last part, and it will be in my rearview.

I already am considering taking a one-off screenwriting course at some point. NYU’s Tisch School offers one online, so maybe that’s in my future!

Well, I didn’t keep to the writing schedule I had hoped to maintain during school.

At some point, I realized that I couldn’t commit to it, so I let myself let it go. Temporarily, of course.

The good news about school is that I can graduate this spring instead of next spring! A whole year sooner! When I first found out, I was really surprised and only somewhat excited. I hadn’t planned for this news. What about the other courses I wanted to take and would now miss out on? What about the student loans I would now have to pay back a year earlier? Miss Advisor Lady, are you sure that I can graduate this year? Maybe you should check again. I panicked a little. I felt like I would soon be at the edge of a cliff and expected to jump.

I’ve over that now. For the most part. The student loan thing still scares me, but I’m doing what I can to prepare for it. And as far as jumping from the figurative cliff, I have a full-time job that I don’t hate, so staying in that while I figure out my next steps is fine with me. Not ideal, but acceptable for a bit.

The great part is that I will have a degree and be done with formal schooling for, presumably, the rest of my life. I’m truly not a fan of “school,” so it will be a relief to close this chapter up tight and throw away the key. And I’ll my free time back! I have several hobbies and interests that I’ve had to set aside during the last 2 1/2 years. It will be wonderful to connect with them again.

 

I have always loved New Year’s.

Both Eve and Day.

I’ve loved it when I’ve spent it with family, when I’ve spent it with friends, when I’ve spent it alone, when my dog was my midnight kiss, and as I’ve spent it with my Love for a few years now.

That moment when we move from the end of one period of time to the beginning of another… it’s a fully emotional experience for me. It makes me happy. It makes me hopeful and awakens my spirit. They say that the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest at Halloween. Well, I think there’s a thin veil on New Year’s Eve and Day too. A veil between contentment/complacency and wanting more, making changes and decisions. All you have to do is be open to it.

Happy New Year! 🖤🥂🖤🥂🖤

I might want to be a sports writer.

I started introducing sports into my journalism course assignments this week.

I think that may be the direction I’d like to go in, much more so than current events and politics or, like, “hard news.” As much as I like to stay aware and pass along important information about the world and government(s), if that were my job, I’m pretty sure I’d hate it. And that’s not what this college thing is about. It’s about doing what I want to do–what I’d love to do–every day.

I’m already hugely into sports. Mainly hockey. But I find it fairly easy to catch on to other sports. (They don’t call me the “sports guru” on my trivia team for nothing!) And I think I would be good at reporting on the results of games/matches and the goings-on in the various leagues and with players/athletes. My only concern is that I’m definitely emotional about the players and am not at all someone who brushes off disappointing trades or other deals with a shrug and “It’s just business.” I’m not one to complain about losses like they’re ruining my life. I’m a celebrater, if that’s even a word, of everything good and a consoler, same thing here, of everything sad. And that makes me doubt if I’d make it in the sports journalism world.

But maybe when I’m thinking of “sports journalism,” I’m mixing it up with sports commentary and analysis, two things I can enjoy listening to and weighing in on with my brother and our friends, but I wouldn’t be interested in officially participating in for the aforementioned reasons.

I’m not even sure that journalism is exactly the route I want to go in, but the sports area is the most appealing.

I saw my loves last Friday.

My loves being Hanson.

It’s kind of surreal thinking back over the last two decades that I’ve been a fan. It feels more like we’re friends, even though we truly aren’t. But there is a relationship there. They’ll even tell you.

The fans who have been with them since the beginning are everything to them. How often they thank us and how often they create special experiences makes it evident. I mean, they could simply not create special experiences, like the annual vacation to the Caribbean or the annual fan weekend (neither of which I’ve been to myself because, one, money and, two, the obligatory overly-obsessed and literally crazed fans that I don’t feel like encountering), and we would still be around. I am absolutely sure of that. It is about the music after all. Plus, we stuck around from 2000 to 2003 when there was that bureaucratically-induced music and touring drought. That was a long three years, let me tell you.

They do love us and appreciate us. And we—I—can’t get enough of them.

That weekend, their youngest sister got married. I remember the day they announced her birth! It’s things like that that remind me how long they’ve been a huge part of my life. My friend (and fellow fan) and I were talking about how it’s not just the three guys. It’s their whole family whom we’ve seen grow and change and whom we care about.

I tried to figure out how many times I’ve seen them live, and I’m at 15, unless I’m forgetting any. I have ticket stubs saved in a photo album, but at a certain point, ticket stubs became “print-at-home” pages or QR codes, which is a bummer because they’re harder to save. At least, for me they are. Anyway, tangent.

The show on Friday was at The Big E fair, and it was one of the best ever. I think it’s because there was seating. I didn’t sit at all, but it was nice to have the option in case you needed it. And the benches gave everybody their own space. Whereas, at general admissions, you’re all standing and crowded together. There’s no room to move around or dance really. Even no elbow room at times. But at this one, you had personal space. If only all the shows were like that. I think that’s a major gripe these days- we’re not 18 anymore. We need chairs! Hahaha

In November, we get to see them again. And it will be part of their String Theory tour, which involves them playing shows with symphonies! I’ve seen/heard a couple of clips, and it is beautiful. Some old songs, some new songs, and symphonies. I can’t wait. I’ll have to remember to bring a few tissues—I’m certain that I’ll cry.

The Story of the Roman Family

I’ve always wanted to tell this story. I’ve only told a few people, and even they don’t know more than that the family exists and minimally about why.

I am reluctant to share this because I feel like it makes me sound crazy. If you’re a writer too, I am going to trust that you understand where I’m coming from with this post. If you’re not a writer, please know that I do not have any sort of personality disorder.

So, the Roman family. They have existed, to me, in my imagination, for 20 years now. I realized that recently–Twenty Years. Such a wonderful milestone.

The main person in the family is a version of myself that, at the time, when I was 13/14 years old, I wished could be the real me. I made her have traits, both physical & character, that I wished I had, and I made her be a part of a large family. She is the 6th out of 10 kids. The part that I, of course, didn’t wish to be my life–she just had to have some sort of tragic back story–was that her parents had died. I think it was symbolic for me because that year was when I was moving and having to switch schools and, therefore, make new friends. I felt very alone and lacked self-confidence. I think this version of myself and her siblings was a coping mechanism. And they remained that for several years.

I wrote many a story, both short and long, chroncling her life. I have Word documents detailing each sibling’s individual family as everyone grew up. I have education information figured out. I have photos that I searched for online as a way to put a face to a name. A few celebrities are in there, which is funny to me, but they’re sort of-kind of what the character looks like in my mind.

About five years ago or so, I started working on the first story, the one that starts them off, the one that defines them. The one about the night their parents died. I know how each sibling reacted in the short-term and in the long-term and what it meant to them as a whole.

It feels like I know them and like they’re real. So much so that, when I considered the possibility of writing their initial story and self-publishing it, I had to change all of their names. It felt like I was divulging personal information by using all their original names. I felt protective of them.

Now that I’m in a writing course for which I have to write creative non-fiction and fiction, I wish I could use their story as non-fiction because it’s not fiction to me. I have to remind myself that it actually is.

Hopefully one day, I’ll see their story through. I think it would mean a lot to those who might read it.

I used to be the queen of used book sales.

I’m sure there are folks who frequent them much more than I ever did, but, in my social circle, it was something I was known for. I was good-naturedly teased because of it.

If there was a book sale in my general area, I knew about it and was probably going to it. I would schedule time in my day, like an entire morning or afternoon, and, upon arrival, latte in hand, I would strategize based on the setup of the sale and genres. I sometimes brought friends with me too. And in the end, I’d come out with a bag or two full of tomes on travel, cooking, geography, history, poetry, and, of course, lots of fiction, both more modern and classic. Book shopping was my favorite. If I saw a book section at a yard sale, a discount store, or a thrift store, I would have to peruse it and see if anything piqued my interest. Most of the time, I would find something to take home. And I felt that I balanced out all the purchasing by selling and donating what I could stand to part with post-reading. It was heaven.

A few years ago though, my desire to go slowed down until it dropped off altogether. I started noticing just how full my large  bookcase was and how I was having to double stack my collection. I could hear my mother’s words, “You have enough/too many books.” I hung my head when I saw what she saw. I do have enough/too many books. So, I stopped going to sales and stores. The good stuff was always gone at the “early bird” days anyway. And they didn’t generally have a whole lot of variety, what with about 20 copies of The Help and The Notebook, hoping to be snagged by the last 2% of the population who didn’t already own them. (Truly, no offense to those books, their authors, or their fans. Just trying to make a point.) My mind kept going back to where I could possibly store any more. In fact, a couple of months ago, when I cleaned out my closet, I found two shopping bags of books that I had FORGOTTEN ABOUT for at least a year. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.

Nowadays, I still go to used book stores, but a lot less frequently. Maybe once a year I allow myself to indulge in my version of retail therapy, and you know what? It’s quite satisfying. Going less often makes the trip and experience that much more special. I see much more variety in the selection, and I get to check in with the building. To me, it’s a wise old man with little glasses, keeping watch over all the wisdom and knowledge. And shockingly, I don’t haul a giant bag of loot out to my car like Santa Clause going down the chimney on Christmas night.

One day, when I have more space, like an entire room to consider as a library and writing room, I’ll go crazy again. But until then, I will have to keep it simple.

Here we are. The last week of summer break before the new semester starts.

At one point, it seemed really far off, and now it’s like oh crap.

I crossed off a pretty good amount of things on my summer bucket list, plus some that weren’t on the list:

I got my nose re-pierced; that was number one. I tried to learn the Time Warp, the main dance from Rocky Horror. I read a lot during the first couple of months, not so much in the second. I watched new TV shows and a handful of good movies, including ones I’ve seen a million times already. But sometimes I just need to witness that story again. I finally went on a research trip for a project I’ve been working on for years. I met Holly Marie Combs (my twin, according to many of my friends) at ComiConn. I joined a writing group, a dream of mine for quite a long time. And I got to watch one of my best friends become a mother for the first time. Well, I didn’t see her give birth, but I saw her throughout her pregnancy, and then I met her precious little baby. Pretty wonderful stuff right there. My goal was to make the absolute most of my time off from school, to make it feel like a true break, and I think I accomplished that.

This week, I hope to wring out those last drops of freedom, which shouldn’t be too hard since I don’t have much going on. I’m thinking I’ll go to the beach if the weather cooperates. And of course, I want to spend some time reading. I feel like choosing a shorter novel and trying to read it by next week. Everything I’ve been reading for the last two months or so has been non-fiction, and honestly, that’s not my favorite genre, which is probably a big part of why I’ve slacked. And now that I’ve said that, I understand more why I hate reading for assignments—it’s all non-fiction.

Currently, all my books are boxed up due to a small renovation project going on at my house, but I’ll have to dig through everything tonight and see what looks good.

I couldn’t decide on what to write next.

I had an idea, but it wasn’t coming out right. It was sounding more like a persuasive piece on why one should do what I was talking about, not just my meandering thoughts on what I was talking about. And then, every idea I had after that was missing something.

My voice wasn’t there.

Everything felt forced, like I was painstakingly tryyyyying to maaaaake a blog post blahblahblah blahblah. And that’s not what this is. I mean, sure, in the most literal sense, this is a blog, and I’m making posts. But the material isn’t supposed to be so planned. It’s supposed to be sincere and raw and straight from my head, hence the subtitle.

I remind myself of that- Forget that there are readers. It’s only you having one of those mental soliloquies that you have so often because your mind never turns off. But still, nothing felt right.

Does this spell trouble for future posts? Will it be a struggle all the time? I grimace at the thought.

I do have a lot on my mind these last few days. Maybe that’s jamming up my creative channels.

  1. School starts up again in exactly 2 weeks. I feel slightly panicked because of how much work it is, but I’m excited because it’s the start of my “senior year.” And that shows me that I’ve made progress. Two years down; two to go!
  2. Work is stressing me out. I work in an industry in which sales is a large part of the job. We’re supposed to try to get people to open accounts and sign up for services. Our performance reviews depend largely on how well we each meet our quarterly goals. And not only that, my manager’s performance depends on how our branch performs as a whole, which also affects how I perform and my subordinate performs. AND my subordinate’s performance affects mine. It’s this huge web. So, while I’m having to sell crap to people, I’m also having to pretend that I care about it when I really, truly don’t. I couldn’t give two shibbity doops. We’re having to make lists of people who we can sell things to when we see them next. And honestly, it’s just not the line of work I belong in. Finishing my degree is supposed to solve all of that, but that’s still two more years of being this underling whose value depends on other people’s choices.
  3. One of my best friends just had a baby.
    • That may not seem like something to be overwhelmed by, and I’m not. It’s so great, and I’m happy for her. And I visited them at the hospital when her baby wasn’t even a whole day old yet, and it was wonderful. I’m planning to be as present as I can be and happily so, but it’s kind of worrying me. Will I be present enough? Will I be a good enough friend during this time? I really freaking hope so.
    • It’s making me feel like I’m severely behind schedule. I’m older than she is by a couple of years, and I don’t have that many good childbearing years left, maybe one or two. They say that, as women age, they have less and less chance of conceiving, and I’m pretty sure there’s something about the older the mother, the more risk of certain health issues for the baby and difficult pregnancy. I’m very concerned about that. It weighs on me a lot, to the point of tears. I think about how I have two years of school left, and then I’d prefer to establish myself in a career that I love before I have kids. But by then I could be 40. So, I don’t know what to do about it. Have kids first? Put a career on hold even longer? That doesn’t seem fair.
    • And then of course, my friend’s experience with giving birth wasn’t the best and makes me even less excited about that part than I already was. And she’s a labor & delivery nurse, so she knew what to do for herself. I, on the other hand, am more than skeeved out by anything medical. But I’m thinking about going to some kind of therapy for that because it’s kind of a problem.

Maybe this is what I needed. To lay it all out there. I would say it’s pretty sincere and raw. And it’s definitely straight from my head. Success.

And now, I can go to sleep.

So, I’m actually not new to the blogging thing.

I’ve had a few over the years, plus online journals. Each served its own purpose, such as chronicling the goings-on of my teenaged and college-aged life, giving me an outlet for creativity, showcasing my work, and simply being a conglomeration of reposts and some original posts to facilitate various obsessions (Yeah, I’m looking at you, Tumblr.).

This one is much different.

It took a while for me to finally start it. First, I wasn’t sure which platform to use or if I wanted it to be free or to pay for it. I probably read about five different lists of “the best” sites that all said WordPress was the way to go, and, of course, there was the .com versus .org lesson to learn. Then, I wasn’t sure what to call the blog or what it would be about. Blogs are supposed to be focused on a main topic, like crafting, cooking, or traveling. Would my broad personal narrative idea be good enough or interesting enough? And third and possibly most important, I wasn’t sure I could commit to it. I didn’t want to go to all the trouble of setting it up if I made a post or two and then forgot about it for the next year. I already have a very full life with work, school, a relationship, family and friends, and hobbies that I don’t have enough time for. Could I make room for a blog too?

Well, I decided that, if it’s that big of a deal to me, I would make room for it. I would just have to rearrange some things. I also am pre-planning a little. I jotted down ideas for posts and themes to explore. And, as a writer who feels the guilt of not writing more often, now I have an objective, and, therefore, a reason to write. So, really, I can write at any time, like I’m doing right now during a lull at work.

I am a little concerned about how I’ll manage once school starts though. School is a huge part of my life that I am determined to successfully finish, and, while I have lots of free time now, I won’t in about three more weeks. (Ugh, summer vacation is almost over…) Not to mention, most of my assignments involve writing, so I’m worried about burnout and feeling like keeping up with the blog is a chore. But if I can post at least once a week during the semesters, I’ll be happy. Plus, I want to challenge myself to maintain a continuous personal writing project. And it’s not like these posts are particularly arduous to write. They’re fairly off-the-cuff, and they might end up being an escape from my assignments.

We shall see where this takes me.

I’m kind of a mess.

Not a “hot mess” though because, quite frankly, I’m not too fond of that saying.

Just a mess. A mess of ideas and hopes and desires. Some of which I actually follow through on. Others are forgotten. And many more are totally unrealistic, something I struggle to admit to myself. They can’t be worked into my life, so they fall by the wayside. But if I’m lucky, I’ve written them down.

Speaking of writing things down, I am a writer, which either intensifies my mess-being state or explains it. I haven’t decided which. Maybe it’s both.

I’m also a dreamer. I’m the girl with her “head in the clouds,” constantly contemplating the possibilities and the options. What would it mean to take this chance or that? Or to not take this chance or that? Where will that leave me, and will I have enough money?

And lastly, I’m an eternal optimist with a side of nagging realist. Optimism is my natural mindset. I understand the most logical outcome and that it generally has the best chance of occurring, but I love to leave the door open for the most sought after outcome.

Even if it’s not so logical.