New Digs

Stephanie says: Boy, Kameron, you have a LOT OF SHIT!


Which the three of us hauled up two flights of stairs.


Yeah, that's a lot of shit.


And more in the bedroom.


Lots of shit.


But having the balcony was worth the stairs. Steph and the Old Man prob'ly don't agree. But seriously: balcony, people!


This morning: first pancakes in the new digs!

You know what I did after I finished eating? I piled all the dishes into the DISHWASHER and started it! It was a miracle!

Like CIVILIZATION OR SOMETHING!

More pics later today of the place all put together. I still have a load of stuff from Ikea coming in today. Those 30 years worth of National Geographics had to go *somewhere.*

In Which the Protagonist Falls In Love

It really is a very nice apartment.

Picked up the keys today, signed the lease, checked to make sure everything is clean and tidy and in order. Sat on the floor for a few minutes and let myself realize that I finally had a place of my own that nobody else was partially or wholly paying for (dorm rooms don't count!).

My own place.

It was a moment that put me in mind of how great it must feel when you finally own your own home.

I'm working on that next.

But for tonight, my bed is taken apart, my things are boxed up, and me, Steph, and the Old Man will be shlepping my stuff over to my new digs early tomorrow.

Welcome to spring.

A whole new year.

Curse of the Golden Flower

Pretty, but lame. Like a hot date you can just never get yourself to care about.

Goodnight

Work deadlines, project details, corp bios, film shooting, film scripting, worktime workout, apartment logistics (DSL, DP&L, adjusted paperwork dates), come home and continue to dig out the yard for patio project, catch up on Econ homework, eat, collapse.

Tomorrow: more of same.

Also, some writing in there. Um. Somewhere.

It'll be quiet here this week.

24-Month Theme Song

This has probably been the Kameron Hurley theme song over the last two years. Crazy does love company. Here's to hoping something with a little more sanity will come to represent the next couple of years.

I just hope that whatever it is has an equally catchy beat.

Gnarls Barkely - "Crazy"

I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that place.
Even your emotions had an echo
In so much space

And when you're out there
Without care,
Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough
I just knew too much

Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Possibly

And I hope that you are having the time of your life
But think twice, that's my only advice

Come on now, who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you are,
Ha ha ha bless your soul
You really think you're in control

Well, I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
Just like me

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them
Ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun
And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done

Maybe I'm crazy
Maybe you're crazy
Maybe we're crazy
Probably

Uh, uh

You Know....

... People who don't own books must have a way easier time moving around from place to place.

Just sayin'.

Ways to Finish a Saturday

Once the bush was out, we started digging the foundation for the new patio. With the extra dirt, we started filling in the old hole where the bush was and the low spots in the yard.




Then it was time for beer and dinner. We're headed out for some burgers and calling it a night.

Ways to Spend a Saturday

The Old Man has had a hankering to move this bloody fucking bush from out behind the kitchen window and park it in the back of the back yard.

He's been hankering to do this for a year.

I move out next week.

So it was time.

Three hours of digging and it's finally out!

The guys were really helpful!

It's all about leverage.

And pick axes.

And more pick axes.

And some more pick axing.


Prepping the back yard.

Mmmmm tasty prep work.

Pulling up sod was never so exciting.

Now comes the bloody fucking bitch part.

Up and out!

All I needed for incentive was the promise that at some point in the day, we'd have actually moved the fucking bush.

Eventually, it would move. Really.

Yes, we had to roll it. The truck kept getting stuck in the yard. No, I don't have an pictures of that. It was only mildly amusing.

This is why I work out, yo.

I think this is how I would look after playing rubgy.

At one point, I did move the bush by tackling it.

Really, the guys were totally useful.

The reveal!


Once we got it upright, it was all down hill from there. Literally.

I still couldn't quite believe we moved it.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh success!!

The boys housed each other down. We're down with that sort of thing here at Hacienda Dayton.

This is Stephanie's "Ha ha you're all muddy and I'm not!" dance.

To be fair, she did buy us pizza.

Yes, there's a gigantic hole now. These big rocks are how we leveraged that bad boy out of there.

Gratuitous gear shot.

The dogs weren't all that helpful.

My ass will never look the same.

Next week: MOVING DAY!!!

It's Funny

I need some kind of intellectual stimulation to get turned on. The person can be cute as hell, but unless there's some kind of intellectual engagement, I'm just not interested in any more more than cuddling.

I need someone who challenges me.

Smart, witty guys are really fucking hot.

The rest I could take or leave.

Not that cute isn't a great bonus, mind you, but the hottest sex I've ever had was with somebody who'd look me in the eye and take me on. Physically - in a literally powerful way in that we were pretty evenly matched in strength and the power of our desires - and intellectually - in his ability to question, challenge, and engage on every level.

And that's a really tough combination to find.

Song of the Day

.... the lyrics of which were IM'd to me by the Not-Boyfriend, for some brain-addled reason. Sometimes I think he doesn't make connections in his head about why he sends me stuff like this.

Oh well. It's a good song, in any case.

Buckcherry - "Sorry"

Oh I had alot to say
Was thinking on my time away
I missed you and things weren't the same
'Cause everything inside it never comes out right
And when I see you cry it makes me wanna die.

I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue
I'm sorry about all the things I said to you
And I know I can't take it back
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds
And baby the way you make my world go 'round
And I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

This time I think I'm to blame
It's harder to get through the days
We get older and blame turns to shame
'Cause everything inside it never comes out right
And when I see you cry it makes me wanna die.

I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue
I'm sorry about all the things I said to you
And I know I can't take it back
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds
And baby the way you make my world go 'round
And I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

Every single day I think about how we came all this way
The sleepless nights and the tears you cried
It's never too late to make it right
Oh yeah sorry

I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue
I'm sorry about all the things I said to you
And I know I can't take it back
I love how you kiss, I love all your sounds
And baby the way you make my world go 'round
And I just wanted to say I'm sorry.
I'm sorry baby.
I'm sorry baby, Yeah.
I'm sorry.

Conversations with my Coworkers

Coworker 1: "Wow, Kameron I like your new haircut! It's really... edgy."

Me: "Edgy?" If someone would have said this in any other place in the world but Dayton, OH I'd think it was a compliment.

Coworker 2: "No, it's really great! It fits you really well. I mean, you're not normal. I mean, a usual sort of person, so it really fits you. It's very hip and edgy!"

Me: ....?

Edgy. My haircut is "edgy."

General consensus is that the haircut is, indeed, a good one, but it does make me look a lot more like a young, hip professional. It's short and highlighted, and add that to the naturally curly crazy effect, and I look like I should be painting huge canvases with buckets of pain downtown or walking around at art shows with glasses of wine in hand.

Ok, so, I did go walk around an art gallery last night on date #3, but that's beside the point.

Yeah, I suppose the haircut suits me.

The Apartment Hunt is Over!

Got my new digs a few hops from the The Greene (no, not *at* The Greene as some of my coworkers believe. I can't afford to live *at* The Greene). I now have a "Beavercreek" address instead of a "Dayton" address, which I think also makes me feel better.

One bedroom, dishwasher, air conditioning, balcony, onsite laundry. The only drawback is that it's more than I wanted to spend and no utilities are included. My commute also goes from 15 min to 35 min.

But, yo: it's my own place! It's big! It has a walk-through closet!

The first month is free. I sign and pick up the keys on the 12th. Photos to follow shortly thereafter.

April

There have been a lot of seriously not funny April Fool's jokes today.

The one at work was the least funny of all.

Stop, people. Just stop. When you've had a lot of wacky, crazy shit happen to you over a very brief period of time, you're primed for more wacky badness. It's like mild PTSD.

I don't like it. I start getting jumpy and twitchy.

Please stop.

Thank you.

As the World Turns

My parents worked for a local PNW (Pacific Northwest) burger chain, Burgerville, for 25 years. They were both fired about ten years ago within 24 hours of each other during a big muckity-much shakeup.

For the last five years or so, my dad has owned a Pizza Schmizza franchise, also a local chain.

Today, my mom sent me this e-mail:

"Yesterday Figaro's Pizza bought out Pizza Schmizza and
today Starbucks bought Burgerville."

Damn.

It's a changing world, yo.

To Do

For today: Made a list of things I'll be buying from Ikea to furnish my new place. Suddenly an actual possibility now that I don't owe $1133 in taxes. Also, new workouts with Health & Wellness program at work started today! yay!

For tonight: another apartment showing!

And then: homework! My Econ and Marketing classes from Sinclair start today.

For Tues: catching up on all my novel writing

For Weds: Date #3!

Some weeks, I really love being busy.

The Benefits of Working for a Tax Company

I've done my taxes about four times, and went from getting back $900 to owing $1100. I had finally resigned myself to giving $1100 of next month's book check to taxes when I finally gave up staring down the cold, hard tunnel of multiple State returns and brought it in to work to take advantage of my free tax prep benefit.

I went from owing $1133 on Federal to owing $107, I'm getting $8 back from the city of Dayton, $80 back from Ohio, and $2 back from Illinois.

This means I went from owing $1133 to owing, all told: $17

I'm never going back to doing my own taxes.

Today's Song, Stuck on Repeat

"Coconut Skins" by Damien Rice
(this guy is lovely. See also here. Another of my favorites)

You can hold her hand
And show her how you cry
Explain to her your weakness
So she understands
And then roll over and die

You can brave decisions
Before you crumble up inside
Spend your time asking everyone else's permission
Then run away and hide

Or you can sit on chimneys
Put some fire up your ass
No need to know what you're doing or waiting for
But if anyone should ask
Tell them I've been licking coconut skins
And we've been hanging out
Tell them God just dropped by to forgive our sins
And relieve us our doubt
La la la la la la la...

Oh you can hold her eggs
But your basket has a hole
You can lie between her legs and go looking for
Tell her you're searching for her soul
You can wait for ages
Watch your compost turn to coal
Time is contagious
Everybody's getting old

So you can sit on chimneys
Put some fire up your ass
No need to know what you're doing or looking for
But if anyone should ask
Tell them I've been cooking coconut skins
And we've been hanging out
Tell them God just dropped by to forgive our sins
And relieve us our doubt
La la la la la la la...

Resident Evil: Extinction

There's no need to think at all during the course of this movie, and that's a good thing, too, cause thinking would much diminish the experience.

Instead, the filmmakers have happily allowed the viewer to forget all that plot nonesenese alltogether by making Milla Jovovich JUST THAT KEWL:



There are zombies, and some kind of council, and clones, but it doesn't really matter at all because, THERE IS MILLA JOVOVICH AND SHE IS JUST THAT KEWL!!!!!



No, look, there, Milla Jovovich kicking zombie ass!!!



OK, it needed more Jedi and less cloning, and, um, an actual plot and story BUT I DID NOT CARE. At least, not when I was watching it.



At some point, I turned to my date and said, "Someday I will be as cool as Milla Jovovich."



OK, actually I said this about three times. Why he agreed to a third date, I do not know.



Maybe because someday I will BE AS COOL AS MILLA JOVOVICH!!!!!



And yes, this is exactly what the God's War movie poster would so look like, only without the Las Vegas sign, and she'd be wearing a billowing burnous, and would be broader and buffer:



Also, the God's War movie would have plot and character and no lame clones.

And somehow, against all odds, all comprehension NYX WOULD BE EVEN COOLER THAN MILLA JOVOVICH!!!

Hard to believe, I know.

The end.

Date

Well, I'll definitely be seeing *him* again....

Pacing

I'm always curious to see how other people write books. Mainly because mine are always such a damn mess.

When I hit the 3/4 mark, I have to go back and hack apart all the pacing. It's all about timing action scenes and shuffling POV scenes into the right order. Putting in additional POV scenes where necessary, adding foreshadowing elements. I like to do this right before the last quarter because if I'm prepared for it properly, the last quarter flows like a dream. But you have to get the pacing right first, and everybody's plot threads, before you can tie them all up at the end.

Yeah, yeah: details.

And then there's chapter length, varying sentence length (there's a lot of rambling in this one. Cutting commas is going to be one of my biggest projects when I do the first pass of rewrites).

Books are like any other type of writing, on a grander scale. It's putting everything in the right order, in just the right way, to produce just the right emotional effect in your readers. Marketing writing is like like. Technical writing is drier, but you're still trying to take complex concepts and make them comprehensible to the greatest number of people possible.

And you do it in fiction, too. You organize it in a way that gets you the emotional reaction you desire. You want people to connect with your characters. You want them to care. You want to show them a complex but (mostly) comprehensible world.

And you do it all with letters and punctuation.

And pacing.

Fucking pacing.

Sex Change

The fact that the two primary folks who put Nyx back together again are men really bothers me.

So one of them will be getting a sex change. I mean, not within the book (though that certainly would be something interesting to explore in this weird body-swapping world... hm...), but an authorial one.

Sometimes I think what the difference is between feminist science fiction and everything else is just being aware of what you're doing. I've got a lot of heavy cultural biases. I work hard at being aware of them when I'm building worlds, and seeing where they drive me off track. Not every world is like this one. I love reading about places where things are really different. Not just the gadgets, but *everything.* There's so much we just automatically assume, stuff that doesn't fit into the worlds we build. It's the Martian husband reading the paper and the Martian wife serving him tea.

Come on. Really?

Stupid things, like the assumption of a nuclear family (yes, I defaulted to a couple of these, too), the assumption of a supporting cast and background characters that are 95% male (it was a struggle to reverse this for GW, but writing anything else would have been portraying a totally different world than the one I built), het love as the penultimate in intimacy (reeeeeeaally trying to break out of this one, but it's hard), boys who move and shake the world while the girls hold their hands, one-way racism, and governments in total control (we like to think ours knows what it's doing; most governments, though, are pretty incompetent).

Things are a lot more messy (and a lot more interesting) than all that in the worlds I'm building (and, in fact, in real world; the world as assumed is much duller than the real thing). And yes, it's a pain in the ass to go back and fix it when you screw something up.

But the world is better for it.

My Own Ineptitude Sometimes Baffles Me

I'm applying for an apartment. I need my old landlord's phone number. Do I have her phone number? A copy of the lease? Why, no, why on earth would I have that information! Jenn handled all that!

Yeah.

This is why relying on other people to handle stuff explodes in my face. I tend to rend my personal relationships with an unforgivable sort of finality that bites both ways.

It's why I'm so terrified of trusting people. If they don't ruin it, I probably will. It's probably one more reason I'm happy to be moving out now instead of a year from now so I can actually stay friends with Steph and the Old Man...

Sometimes I think the person I really don't trust is myself.

Daytonism of the Week

Was at an apartment showing tonight, and the subject of Dayton and why I moved here and my job came up.

"I'm a copywriter," I explained. "It's really great, I love it. I write all of our brochure copy, promotional stuff, web copy, that sort of thing."

"Oh, you're kidding!" the bubbly leasing agent exclaimed. She was a couple of years younger than me, plump and pretty, with a daughter in daycare. I was kind of surprised at how much she seemed to appreciate what I did.

"That's really wonderful!" she went on. "I'm writing a children's book, and I'm trying to figure out how to copyright it. It's so great to meet a copy-righter!"

No, I didn't correct her. I neatly changed the subject.

All of my roommate's stories about people here are true.

Finally Caught Up

Finally on schedule again. I'm going to go collapse now.

Officially Through the Middle

I've officially passed through the Dreaded Middle of the book. This isn't so much a word count thing (I thought, until I did the word count) as a scene thing. The worst is over, and now we're going out to kick some ass.

This fact does, however, neatly dovetail with this afternoon's wordcount (still 2500 behind schedule):



Now comes the long pause while I clean up the first 3/4 of the book so I can write one long, smooth end-tying, ass-kicking ending.

Yes, this means line edits.

I'm slashing at least twelve pages and going back to get in some foreshadowing and more clearly tying folks and events together. I'd like to avoid dog-sized holes in the plot. Let's keep them roach-sized, please.

Strange Days

Why is it that the happiest scenes are always the hardest for me to write?

Maybe because, in my books, happy scenes always mean the worst is about to happen.

Back to School

I'm officially signed up for my first Economics class and my first Marketing class, paid for part and parcel by the company. How could I not take advantage of that?

I'm so thrilled to be in school again, I can't even tell you. The plan right now is to just go ahead and get the AA in Marketing Management. I mean, if they pay for it, why not? Helps me diversify and keeps my brain busy.

These two are online courses to start, since I have moving and wacky schedules and writing deadlines and most classes were full cause it's the last week to register. Next quarter I'll do one or two more, real-world classes this time. I need to socialize more, and school's a good excuse.

Gets me out and about.

Also, more apartment hunting today! I have three more lined up for the weekend.

Life: it's not bad, yo.

Things I Find More Than a Little Embarrassing

Standing in line at Chipotle tonight, the one right around the U of Dayton, minding my own business....

... and then!

Some jocky 20-something college kid gets in line behind me. I did not notice him at all when he walked up.

Oh no, I did not notice him until I smelled him. I recognized the scent immediately, not because it made me want to gag, but because the smell made me want to turn around and tear all his clothes off, just like in the commercials.

Yes, indeed: he was wearing Axe body spray.

Seriously. It triggers my crazy-attraction Kryptonite response like nothing else besides the Real Deal.

I find my stunning physical reaction to this body spray - so ridiculously like the commercials - to be incredibly embarrassing.

Seriously. I had to turn my back to him. I had to force myself not to turn and look, because I knew he was just some kid and certainly not All That, but gawd was I feeling otherwise... heady scent-drunk.

Sometimes I'm just so damn easy.

Yum.

Perspective

One of my coworkers announced today that he and he wife officially paid off their house yesterday. They've been scrimping and saving ever since they bought it to get rid of the payment.

He's 26 years old.

He's now doing research into investments.

DIE PUNY HUMAN!!!!

Um... next month, I'll pay off a credit card?

Damn.

Ridiculous Amounts of Writing

20 pages today, to catch up. I accomplished this by skipping some filler scenes and going straight for the good ones. Sadly, it means tomorrow I get to write a bunch of filler scenes.

Still about 2500 behind the schedule, but that ain't no thing. I'll have a draft of Black Desert by the end of April.

No, really! It's like a spring miracle!

Note I did not say it was going to be a *good* draft, but it'll be a draft nonetheless. My first drafts are always pretty wild.

What $425 Rents You in Dayton, OH

Really, it wasn't all that bad. The kitchen was smallish, the closet space was minimal, and the bathroom was the size of an NYC bathroom (ya'll from there know what I'm talking about), which gives me panic attacks.

But it was right down the street, reasonably clean, and the rooms were, well, adequate.

But that's all it was, really: adequate. It was like the apartment I rented in South Africa. It was... enough. Adequate. But wandering around, looking at the panic-attack-inducing bathroom, I realized it just wasn't enough for me.

I mean, hell, I'm 28 years old. I have a good job. I'm not a student anymore, and though I want to live frugally, do I really want to live like a cockroach? There's living frugally, and then there's panic attacks in the bathroom.

So I'm upping my limit to $525 instead of under $500. I want closet space, a balcony, and a decent sized bathroom in additional to my dishwasher and air conditioning. Call me high maintenance.

Call me old.

But you know what? It's about damn time I lived like an adult and not a college kid in a fucking dorm room.

The Contract Arrives!!!!!

Happy author~~!!!!!


Happy contract!



Description of the future goods to be delivered.... For those who can't read the smallish text, it reads: "Each work shall be a Middle Eastern-inspired fantasy novel featuring organic technicians, brawling mullahs, swarms of magician-trained locusts, and a former government assassin turned bounty hunter."

Yes, yes they will.

I love my job.

Results of My Fitness Test

As part of our health and wellness program at work, we do fit tests every three months.

The results?

My weight = the same

My body fat percentage = the same

Resting heart rate = improved

Pushups = 8 more than last time

Situps = the same

Measurements = lost almost two inches around my hips and half an inch around my waist.

The rest?

You guessed it.

About the same.

This is why I don't use a number on a scale to measure my progress. I measure progress by pushups and heartrate, honestly.

Another One of Life's Little Ironies

Since it looks like I'll have my own place May or June 1, I started shopping online for my old French perfume. Afterall, living on my own means that I can, once again, use scented products without slaughtering one of my roommates! Huzzah.

Arielle, my longtime favorite perfume since highschool made by Fragonard, the wonderful French perfumerie, has, sometime over the last year, been discontinued.

I had half a bottle left with Jenn at the old apartment. I'm sure it has since been pitched at some point during the horrific endgame that was our friendship (and yes, totally my fault. Much more was lost than half a bottle of discontinued perfume, but it's one more thing lost during that time in my life that cannot be replaced).

I guess I could get some Soleil or Capucine or Reve Indien, but... but... Yeah.

One more thing gone.

It's funny how sometimes it's the little things that get to you.

Equilibrium

How come I'd never heard of this movie? It's worth it for the gun kata alone! Wheeee! It's like Gattaca meets the Matrix, with Christian Bale! I mean really, how could you go wrong? Or Maybe Harrison Bergeron meets the Matrix meets Gattaca meets Christian Bale.

Anyway, it plays with old themes, but they're old ideas I enjoy: classic SF dystopia. What happens when you try and make everyone the same? What happens when we all look the same, feel the same... or don't feel at all?

What it does do, however, is fall into a lot of old traps. This "new" and "revolutionary" society is still based on the nuclear family structure. Babies are still made and raised the same way, which seems a little silly when you remember that these folks aren't supposed to have feelings. Why raise your children? Out of a sense of duty to the state?

I'm always amused to find that the future looks a whole lot like the 1950s.

There are also only about 4 women in the future, apparently. Seriously, check out all the group scenes. I made the assumption, early on, that women and men were segregated. Turns out that wasn't the case, the filmmakers were just too lazy to find a reasonable number of women extras.

It also falls into an old trap that I'm trying to break in my own work. A totalitarian society is overthrown by... killing its leader. We just need to destroy the head and blow up the prozac plants and then people will be free!

Well, you know, fighting the Man with the same hatred and violence the Man uses against you... isn't all that revolutionary. You get another cycle of hate and violence. A small group of people chooses to "liberate" many through an act of violence.

Can't we think up different ways to build new societies? How effective is it, really, to kill a dictator and magically remake a country? Look at South America. Africa. Iraq. The US has been killing dictators for years, and it's made a hell of a mess. You don't just slaughter a dictator and expect things you change. It's a lot tougher than that. It's changing people. It's finding new ideas. And you can't do that with a bullet.

Killing people is easy. Real change is hard.

Slog, slog, slow

I think doing back-to-back chapters of Rhys-and-Nyx-expositing-over-tea to Nyx-and-Khos-expositing-over-beer is going to be just a little exhausting.

Time to break and re-group.

Building a(n) Different Alternative Femininity

Sometimes what I suspect I'm doing - the way I live my life, what I write - is building an alternate version of femininity.

I was at the coffeeshop today working on Black Desert, and at the the next table over three skinny, blond 14-year-old girls were drinking waters and frappuchinos, gossiping about boys and discussing the total calorie count on the container of fruit they were sharing.

And as I was sitting there, the old despair started welling up in me again. That certain knowledge that I never have and never will look like that or live like that. I spent my pre-teen and teen years trying to conform to that mold, and it didn't work. The problem with having one dominant femininity is that not only does everyone start looking and acting the same, but you've got this vast majority of women who - even with the help of loads of plastic surgery, strict diet control, and abstaining from all things non-trivial - will never, ever conform to that mold, no matter how hard they try. And they'll spend their lives hating themselves for it.

Note that I'm not about complacency. I'm not about giving up and hiding under your couch and eating bon bons for the rest of your life. I love watching succeed, find power. But most people can't get there by reaching for the 21st century American ideal of "femininity," or skinny blond bauble in heels. It's an incredibly transitory ideal (as all of them are). You can hit it from 16-35 if you're genetically blessed or spend loads of time and money on it, and then you're pretty fucked or very rich (and even the very rich will only get another 10 years out of it).

We have no Amazon ideal. We have no Tough Matron ideal. We have hot Britney. And when Britney has kids and loses her teen popsicle image and goes wacky and has real problems like most folks from her end of town, she's nothing. That's all of us: we're nothing. No worth; not worth looking at, not worth noticing.

Youth and beauty have always been sought out and valorized, but there are alternative role models, alternative ways to find strength. When did we stop worshipping heros and start worshipping youth? In fact, real strength can often be found only outside of our narrowly-defined version of femininity. Young, thin and air-headed only gets you so far. "Hot," if used in tandem with "smart" can get you called a bitch or send you right to the top... so long as you have the strength and financial ability to maintain it.

So what about all of us who'll never be blond, thin, and believe youth should be left happily behind along with bad sex and credit card debt? Cause honestly, there's very little I miss about being young. Perhaps I miss being invincible, but the bad sex and credit card debt? Yeah, that I could do without. I much prefer life on the downside of 25.

I remember throwing my first punch and how amazing it felt. All of a sudden you realize that this big clunky body that you thought was worthless by virtue of its so-not-hotness is actually *good* for something. You channel 200 lbs of strength into knocking over a 200 lb punching bag, and for the first time in your life, you feel strong. You have worth. Worth not measured by the width of your ass.

If fact, there were all sorts of things my body was good at. I just never had the courage to give it a try. If I wasn't worth looking at, what kind of worth did I really have, as a bag of flesh and blood? Oh, sure, I had a brain. My dad always told me I was the sort of girl guys married, not the sort of girl they fucked around with. Problem was, I didn't really want to get married. And I had a real problem with my worth as a person being decided by what it was guys wanted or didn't want from me.

How about the world? How about, what can I, physically and mentally, as a whole person, give to the world? What am I worth to myself? What can my body, my mind, do for *me*? .... Besides attracting or repelling a bed partner?

And when I sit down to write I write about women whose sense of self-worth is defined by what they know, what they've done. Asses and breasts and hips and legs are tools, body parts, stuff you trade off and shuffle around, shit that gets you from here to there. It's not who you are. It's not what drives you.

In my world, you look for a friend and/or bed partner based on what they are, what they can do, strength and reliability and skills and flat-out usefulness. Beauty is lovely. Beauty is fun to look at. Beauty can stop your heart. But it's a passing thing, candy, no more permanent than its component parts.

I build worlds where strong, scary women build and control the world. That's not to say that there's not a place for other kinds of women, for men of all stripes, in those worlds, but the people running the show have a different set of values. There's no cult of youth and beauty there. There's no 24-hour news channel. There's no roadside advertising. There's nobody in your face telling you to measure your worth by the width of your ass.

Thick or thin, doesn't matter out there.... question is, when the shit hits the fan, will you stand and fight, or cower and die?

That's the real question out there, the only one that matters.

And with those kinds of odds, nobody gives a shit about how many calories are in their goddamn fruit cup.

Med Expenses Paid Last Year:

$2620.73

This is the amount I actually paid out of my own pocket, not how much I was charged or what I still owe. As of last count, I owe about $1700 more, $700 of which has been tied up with my insurance company and which they should hopefully pay.

If we counted how much insurance paid, the number is easily twice that. Easily.

Writing

Seriously needs to happen tonight. I'm behind 5500 words again. Blast.

A Train Wreck of a Day

God, today was awful.

It has to do with a lot of stuff, including the fact that my health insurance doesn't work and I have to run around the office begging for money. Then there were loud coworkers, fighting down hysterical responses, being asked to get coffee for one of the IT guys (it was an innocent request, it just brought up my lingering animosity toward being a useless secretary), first official meeting with a new supervisor in a new department. It was a poor to terrible performance during our Zumba class (I move like a stone; the only part I felt confident with was when we punched). It was waiting too long for meds at the pharmacy. It was being overbudget on fun money for the month. It was not enough workouts. It was moving departments. It culminated in me spending an hour waiting for an apartment showing... in front of the WRONG apartment complex. By the time I called the guy a second time and sorted out that I was in front of the wrong place, he'd gone home, and I felt so stricken and stupid - it was so much the perfect end to a perfectly shitty day - that I just walked home and cried the whole way.

It's change. It's terror that I can't actually hack it on my own now, after getting sick. It's terror that in fact, I am crazy and incompetent, and once I'm on my own, that will become abundantly clear. I have a lot of really fantastic stuff going for me right now, and now I have to bring it, and after failing to fucking find the right apartment complex absolutely killed me tonight. Look at the level of my incompetence! I can't even show up to an apartment showing! What if being sick has permanently fried my brain? What if I can't make it?

I hate relying on health insurance to live, and relying on an employer for health insurance. I hate being so crazy-busy that my brain just... stops. That I can find the right apartment place, circle the block and *stand outside the wrong apartment a block away because they look alike for an hour.* I should have, at the very least, re-called after half an hour. I should have - duh! - seen that I was now standing in front of a complex that was in the middle of a street, not a corner lot like the one I passed while doing a loop around it. What the hell? How did I not see that? I just stood there like a sheep, like my brain saw it, and clicked and all reasoning power turned off.

And this is who needs to hack it. This is the one who's corp copywriter, building sales projects, has a three book contract, and lives or dies by how well she can calculate her insulin/food/exercise percentages four times a day each and every day. And, of course, that's the rub, isn't it?

How many things can you keep in your head? How much can you do until your brain shuts off what it considers non-vital? How much until you just overload and have to shrug everytime you blow a gasket and go, "OK, well, shit, I guess that was one thing too much."

I hated almost everything about today.

Tomorrow will be better.

I can do this, but I'm scared as hell, and until I prove to myself that I can do all this in the face of... all of this, everything I carry along with me, I'm going to be a little freaky about it all for the next couple of months.

Man, I want it all to come together.

Man, I want to shine.

The Crazy

I'd never realized what a powerful thing it was to take control of your own emotions and reactions to things. What's the quote? "Life is what you do with what's been done to you."

You can't go back and change how things went. You can't change people. You can't change the past. What you *can* change - right now, this minute - is how you react to those things. How much or how little you allow them to eat you up, consume your life.

It's hard. It's fucking unfair, especially when you feel you were in the right, or you were the one abused, or you were the one treated unfairly or fucked over.

Yes, you were.

Now what are you going to do about it?

Because I can't change other people. I can't change their reactions to me. I can't be more loveable. I can't be more than me. All I can be is the best I can be. The only thing I'm in charge of is my own reactions.

Life is what you do with what's been done to you.

There's this bitter, cynical guy at work who comes in every day and every day there's some new way that he's been screwed over, that life is unfair, that his life is crap, that it's not going his way.

In fact, he's pretty successful, I think. He has a spitfire wife he seems to get along with quite well, two absolutely gorgeous children, a great opportunity with this young company, great health insurance, tons of friends around here and back on the east coast where he's from. He owns his own house. They have two cars. I'd bet they have an IRA, too. They're in a good place. His life is in a good place.

But that's not how he chooses to take it. He comes in and everything is hell, everything is bad, everything is doom and gloom. It's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And you know, though I have some fear and trepadation about losing everything in the back of my mind, I don't live that reality. I don't have nightmares all night about losing everything (OK, not usually!). Sure, sometimes I'm afraid I'll lose things, but what drives me is hope. Hope that I'm building toward something more. Striving to be better. Hope and faith.

I've done some terrible things to people the last couple of years, and I've had crappy things happen to me, but you know what? Shit happens. You can hate somebody for breaking your heart and scream at them to fix it, or you can fix your own damn heart. You can patch it up yourself. No one's going to do it for you. You can choose to figure out how to live the life you want - chronic illness and all - or you can lie in bed all day screaming at the unfairness of the universe and sit around feeling sorry for yourself. You can bitch and moan about losing your job and being stuck in Dayton or you can thank your incredible friends for giving you the opportunity to start over in a new town.

You can drive yourself with hate and fear and a deep sense of persecution by God or the Universe or whatever. Or you can say, "OK, this is what I've been dealt. Now what the fuck can I do with it?"

I think the thing that pisses me off about it is that it tends to "absolve" others (or the Universe, or whatever), for their actions. It's like saying, "So what, you were mugged in the street, get over it!" But what's the alternative? Sitting around waiting for the mugger to apologize and give your money back or watching him strung up for theft?

In this scenerio, whose actions/reactions do you have control over?

You're damn right I want the assholes to get their just desserts, but when I'm sitting around waiting for that day, on those nights when I'm not out campaigning to get them incarcerated or trying to change gun laws or whatever, what am I doing to take care of myself? How am I looking out for my own emotions? Cause nobody else is, especially not the person or external force that hurt you.

One of the things I hate the most is being dependent on other people. I hate having my well-being so dependent on the actions of someone else.

There's something incredibly freeing when you stop yourself, when you clutch at all the hurt and pain and say, "This isn't about that crazy fucked up person who hurt you/fucked up thing that happened to you. This is about how you choose to handle it."

Some people do things to you that are hurtful because they're wacky or crazy or completely fucked in the head. And that's something they have to deal with. What can you do about that? Just run after them, screaming?

So I work hard to let it go. I remind myself that all the stuff that changes is going to change within me, not inside of someone else. I can't change other people. I can't change situations. I can't change screwed up genetics.

But I can change how I deal with it.

I can take control of it now, this moment.

And that's how I live my life.

That's how I keep going.

That's how I succeed even in the face of catastrophic failure.

Fall down seven times. Get up eight.

Tomorrow

Cthulu is on Second Base