BRAIN DUMP: writer’s block and fartleks

I can ruminate with the best of ’em, question beliefs, rant vigorously, and meticulously indulge in reminiscence. It comes in waves. Sometimes effortlessly, ofttimes taking its sweet time, and every now and then… writers block swoops in. It is a real thing. Like a really real thing.

Ideas of what to write about typically just present themselves; a throwaway comment from a friend, a predicament, even a dream. The actual setting down of words might start as a simple phrase or a relatively unfocused idea. A good title often stirs up memories and I have a bunch of those kept in the notes app on my phone.

Waking up with a head filled with full sentences happens less often, but when it flows like that there is no hurry up and wait. It’s a race to my computer – nobody get in my way!

My initial drafts are more stream of consciousness. Then I edit. And edit. AND EDIT. Although I am both grammatically and punctuationally (word??) creative – I do try my best. (Are you silently correcting my grammar?)

I throw in some commas, an occasional ; and an overabundance of ellipsis. (I really like those three little dots…). So… sue me.

Finally, after posting, I am convinced that I’ll have nothing to write about ever again. That my “famous last words” have been penned. Which, at present time, is leading me to write about yada yada yada and blah blah blah and yes, some this and that. Because… writer’s block.

MY RANDOM RAMBLINGS

letting ‘er rip

Lately I’ve been made well aware of “fart walks”. EXTRA, EXTRA!!! (As if, I am unaware of the triggering of said action by a mere step). No kidding. And it’s all over my Instagram… “a short walk after dinner, while letting ’em rip, aids in digestion”. How lovely.

Well, in the midst of all this toot-talk, as I am seeing ‘fart walk’ everywhere, an email shows up with my word of the day:

Fartlek (färtlək)

Stop giggling… “fartlek” is a word borrowed from Swedish, in which fart means speed and lek means play. (As in, “Sally does long fartlek runs on Sundays to keep her training routine varied”). With that in mind, I will do fartlek-fart-walks post dinner to keep my training practice fluctuating. Or would that be flatulating?

Making music while sauntering, striding, and shuffling along? Loving the positive spin!

a wise doctor once wrote:

Why do doctors try to trick us? They ask us to do things like… draw a clock and recall a bunch of words several minutes later. They hit us up for the day/the month/the year, and as the years pile on might add – do you know where you are?

First let’s deal with the clock – because I already dealt with that circle of a nightmare – you can read all about that -> here. The three words predicament is not that difficult (yet) but while my doc is explaining something that could be important, I am only focused on, “coffee-blue-taxi”. (Now I’ve completely forgotten what the ‘something important’ was.😭)

The only reason I know the day of the week is because it’s written atop my MTWThFSSu pill box. The actual date? Fuhgeddaboudit.

As far as, “knowing where am I” … well, if I showed up (as in, not forgotten the appointment I noted in my calendar yesterday and swiftly forgot the next) then I damn well know where I am!! Now what was I saying?

over – under

Please note that if I am graciously invited to your home and the need to use the toilet arises, I WILL judge you. It’s not what you think. I am not about to go through your medicine cabinet, nor will I test your very expensive creams, lotions, and miracle potions. I am not a monster.

So what will I be assessing? Well, as the CEO and head honcho of the OVER society it is my duty to blow the whistle on those installing TP rolls with the paper emerging from under rather than over. Who does that?

Whether you have endorsed this shameful installation yourself or an unsuspecting guest has shockingly pulled it off… I will step in. It’s just wrong. Toilet paper must always be hanging in the over position. End of discussion.

shot-gun

Sometimes I write about my husband. Or as he likes to say, “sometimes I throw him under the bus”. In this case, to be clear, I am only trying to avoid being hit by the bus.

He likes to drive. He likes to drive long distances. He is a very good driver. HE DRIVES WAY TOO CLOSE TO THE CAR IN FRONT OF HIM. HE GLIDES HIS WAY THROUGH STOP SIGNS. HE SEEMS TO THINK IT’S OKAY TO DRIVE WITH HIS THIGH. HE LIKES TO FIDDLE WITH THE RADIO AND OCCASIONALLY CHECKS HIS PHONE. HE NEEDS ME TO REMIND HIM TO STEP ON THE BRAKE.

HE LOOOOOVES WHEN I AM IN THE PASSENGER SEAT. I don’t know how he is able to drive when I am not seated shot-gun. He has actually said that. And he was not being sarcastic.

Right, honey?

I take measures to offer him self-sufficiency by busying myself with various word games on my phone. Closing my eyes seems to work well too – he approves.

make your bed, change the world

Sometimes I make my bed at 5pm. Procrastination, dawdling, or big deal? According to Admiral McRaven, “If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed. If you make your bed every morning, you will have accomplished the first task of the day.” I guess I have a problem with tasks. Sometimes. Give me a little credit (5pm).

what to do with a mom

I bristle every time I see that commercial for, A Place for Mom. First of all… it’s not actually a place. So, false advertising. A Place for Mom makes you think you are able to scoop up your mom and “put” her there. What an awful name for a company that purports to help by insinuating that mom needs to beat it. Lastly (and most disturbing)… what about Dad?

As of late, I’ve instructed my children to either ‘put me’ with my beloved girlfriends or purchase a plot of land big enough for their homes and mine. Cozy.

I should be close enough to go back and forth by ebike or golf cart. Granny pod.

just because

If I had a British accent I’d never shut up.

POST-DRAFT PANIC

Clicking “publish”.

Exhilaration?

Euphoria?

Hunger?

A brief moment of confidence… and immediate regret.