Curiosity and the Kat

One month down. My first 30-day challenge completed. I think I’m going to keep the sugar out of my diet for the time being. It seems to be working for me. Tomorrow, I start a new challenge – one in which I will be adding something new rather than taking something away.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure…I wrote this yesterday. Today (maybe while you’re reading this) I am at the second round of interviews for the job I mentioned a few weeks ago. It’s both exciting and scary because what if I get it and what if I don’t. Electrified is a good adjective for how I’m feeling. That’s great if I’m a light bulb, but scary too because getting struck by lightning is also electrifying. It’s all in the delivery.

Anyway, I can’t write and interview at the same time AND I never know that the afternoon will bring. I am hoping that doubling up today will make up for taking off tomorrow. Just in case I need to.

Right now, I’m channeling my inner college student. I’ve met a beloved friend at a quirky local coffee shop – because it’s National Coffee Day and we both love coffee. We are sitting across from one another studying and writing and giggling and drinking our magic bean nectar. It’s even more college-y now than when I was in college because I didn’t drink coffee then.

Anyway…it’s good to get away from my office and out in the field. Too much of the same ole, same ole isn’t good for me.

On that front, I also ran hills yesterday morning for the first time in eons with another beloved friend. Hills are hard. My chest felt kind of like it was going to explode – all five times. That’s a weak heart muscle I think. I don’t love to run hills, but I LOVE – and had forgotten how much I love – the way I feel when it’s over. It’s a feeling that continues for hours and hours. Everything in overdrive…brain, body, metabolism, and, if memory serves, it all ends with a night of gloriously sound sleep. All of those gifts in exchange for 45 minutes of hard work? Seems like a good trade-off. And since I need to double up on writing today, the timing is perfect.

All of this is to say that it’s really good to get out of my comfort zone. I am scared to go there…outside the zone…even though that’s supposedly where the magic happens. The fact that I’m going rogue (for me) with some partners in tow makes it a little easier. New things are less scary in community. Interviewing for jobs…have laptop will travel where my writing is concerned…pushing myself physically…it all makes me feel younger than I know I am. It all makes me feel pretty alive.

And then I heard about the Meerkats.

See, there’s this Zoo and it has a meerkat exhibit. These meerkats reside in a lovely desert-like habitat close to all of the other zoo-type cats…lynx, jaguars, snow leopards, tigers, lions. And cheetahs, who are their across-the-street neighbors.

My daughter came home with a story about these meerkats last week that was freaky. As I tell you this story, there are two things I want you to keep in mind about Meerkats:

They dig tunnels. Lots of tunnels.
They do things together…in community.

There are also two things you need to know about Cheetahs:

They are the fastest land mammal.
They prefer gazelles as their source of food, but are not picky (apparently) when removed from Sub-Saharan Africa.

One day, the meerkats at this zoo decided to venture outside their comfort zone and proceeded to tunnel from their habitat all the way under the pedestrian walkway and into the cheetah’s lair. That’s the end of the story. It was also the end of those particular meerkats.

After I heard the story, I decided to < fact check > which is always a good idea when a 14-year-old tells you a story. First I googled it and found nothing. Just a bunch of articles about meerkats and a few articles about this particular zoo. I searched the zoo’s website and also found nothing.

At this point I assumed that someone was being punked – either me or my daughter. So I asked her where she heard the story and she told me it was one of her teachers. Feeling less punked, I texted the teacher and asked for the grown-up version of the story. Turns out my daughter had it right…except that she left out the part where it was five years ago. I had assumed that it was a recent occurrence. It also turns out that the zoo kept it quiet…pretty amazing in this day and time…which is why there wasn’t anything about it on the Internet. This teacher knew because a sibling had worked at the zoo when it happened.

Once confirmed the story disturbed me on many levels. First, I love the meerkats. They live in colonies of 20-30 and the females all take turns looking out for each other’s babies. All the members of the colony form strong social bonds with one another. Each colony has sentries who take turns looking out for everyone was they forage or play. It’s kind of like a village. Second they are cute. Cuddly – even with those tiny sharp claws. I know I should look at them like upright rats, but I don’t. And…food chain and natural selection be damned…I think we should save all the cute animals.

Then, there is the metaphorical fear that this story provokes.

Stepping (or digging) outside our (my) comfort zone always leads to the unknown. Whether it’s physical (can I run 26.2 miles?), emotional, (do I want to know what that dream means?), mental (do I have the skills to fill that position?), or spiritual (am I becoming who I am supposed to be?), it’s all at risk.

There could always be a cheetah waiting to devour me at the end of the tunnel.

But I think I have to do it anyway, because staying in my own comfy habitat carries with it the perils of stagnation and decay. Muscular atrophy…emotional immobility…mental torpor…resistance to change…all of these things sound like what happens when you give up. I’m too young to give up so I guess I’ll just keep taking my chances with the tunnels.

Sometimes the tunnels lead to freedom and ‘sometimes’ is good enough for me.

This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

I have two brief commentaries today both compliments of the interwebs.

First.

Does NO ONE use Snopes anymore? Do we just see things on Facebook and accept them as true? Do we just cut and paste statuses because our friends do it? Do we not FACT CHECK anything?

This. Which about 100 of my friends -- all of whom I consider to be pretty savvy under normal circumstances -- have posted over the last day and a half. AND MY HUSBAND who just checked Facebook for the first time in a few days and started to become incensed by it as I was writing this post. 

Now it's official! It has been published in the media. Facebook has just released the entry price: $5.99 to keep the subscription of your status to be set to "private". If you paste this message on your page, it will be offered free (paste not share) if not tomorrow, all your posts can become public. Even the messages that have been deleted or the photos not allowed. After all, it does not cost anything for a simple copy and paste
Better safe than sorry is right. Channel 13 News was just talking about this change in Facebook's privacy policy. Better safe than sorry. As of September 28th 10:56 am Eastern standard time, I do not give Facebook or any entities associated with Facebook permission to use my pictures, information, or posts, both past and future. By this statement, I give notice to Facebook it is strictly forbidden to disclose, copy, distribute, or take any other action against me based on this profile and/or its contents. The content of this profile is private and confidential information. The violation of privacy can be punished by law (UCC 1-308- 1 1 308-103 and the Rome Statute). NOTE: Facebook is now a public entity. All members must post a note like this. If you prefer, you can copy and paste this version. If you do not publish a statement at least once it will be tactically allowing the use of your photos, as well as the information contained in the profile status updates. DO NOT SHARE. You MUST copy and paste.

It’s been published. IN THE MEDIA. Well, hell…it must be true.

Except that it's not. It’s a hoax. Not even a new hoax. A 3-year-old hoax. It is the Secretariat of internet hoaxes. Like a 3-year-old thoroughbred, this hoax could win the freakin’ triple crown because it too has speed and endurance.

The Winners:

The guy/gal who fabricated it Ex Nihilo 3 years ago just to have a little fun. You know they get an ego boost every time it recirculates

The guy/gal who starts each recirculation. I’m sure it feels powerful to be a Facebook puppet master for a few days – especially when you can convince otherwise intelligent adults to act according to your whims.

Snopes…the only winner I’m ok with. Because those who do fact check mostly use this website. Every visit to their website is good for them. Which means they can keep fact-checking…even though not enough people care to check facts.

The Rest of Us:

The people who posted it believing that it’s better to be safe than sorry. Safe would actually be doing some quick investigating to see if it's true. Sorry is spreading misinformation – even when it’s unintentional. Good people do this all the time, even me...so let's be safe out there.

EVERY CHANNEL 13 IN AMERICA because it makes them look like they don’t fact check. Now…there are probably plenty of Channel 13s in the USA that don’t fact-check. And Channel 5s and Channel 9s and Channel 3s….you get the picture. But Channel 13 gets singled-out every time this thing resurfaces.

The people who have to scroll through the 100s of identical posts for 2-3 days until people realize that it’s a hoax and it finally stops.

Wisdom. Perhaps the biggest loser…along with its ally…

Good Judgment. They both take a pretty big hit. Right in the brains.

Snopes, friends. S.N.O.P.E.S If you’re posting without fact-checking, you may be doing other things without fact-checking…like voting or getting angry with your kids' schools or otherwise adulting and that is quite dangerous. Please stop and check before you post.

Second.

Wi-Fi assist.

This is iOS’s new “helpful” feature that determines ON ITS OWN if the Wi-Fi you are using is too slow and automatically switches to your cellular network. Using up your data. That’s right, you don’t even have to think about it.

Very helpful. Especially to your wireless service provider because you’re using up your data without even knowing it. Until now.

Now, I’m no conspiracy theorist…but this is clearly a conspiracy. There is, mercifully, a way to shut it off, but I only know about this because someone posted it on Facebook.

AND SO I FACT-CHECKED IT (really, you must do this, people), and it turns out it’s true. Click here for more info including how to prevent a $17,000 wireless bill which will result from your teenager using Snapchat for 30 days without Wi-Fi.

WHY is this feature necessary? And what is deemed “too slow”? Are we really sooooo desperate for our tiny hand computers to work sooooo much faster that we will allow our pocketbooks to be manipulated?

This was designed by a wireless carrier. I’m 114% convinced of it.

And all of this distraction makes me think of any movie where something takes us over with relative ease…

            Machines, Birds, Sharks, Spiders, The Borg…

Because we are distracted by things like slow internet and possibly having Facebook “steal” our posts or worse…having to pay for social media that didn’t even exist 10 years ago on our tiny miracle computer phones that have barely been around for 5.

Kind of makes a girl want to unplug.

But then how would you read this blog? 

Ex Nihilo

I have office hours now. 

They have evolved over the last month as I have been working to create this habit of writing every day. As you may recall, my “office” is actually my kitchen table. A space that is my nemesis (because its position just inside our backdoor makes it a landing spot for all kinds of crap) but also my creative space so I’ve embellished my end of the table with some objects meant to inspire…a candle, a bowl of random objects in a pottery bowl that I made. And some snacks because a girl’s gotta eat.

Having regular hours (9:00-12:00 on weekdays and whatever I can steal in the afternoon some weekends) has helped my brain become ready to write at the same time each day. It’s a trick a learned from Anne Lamott in her book Bird By Bird. I usually spend the earlier hours – the non-running hours between 5:00 and 9:00 am – on the internet and most days there are a multitude of ideas that pop into my head just from scanning Facebook. Today, I was sure that the enchanted Super Blood Moon last night was going to transform via alchemy into some sort of SUPER POST today. Muses love magic so my confidence was high as I plopped onto the sofa with my iPad.

No such luck. I just didn’t see anything particularly inspiring.  Nothing that maked my legs start twitching causing me to get up and walk over to my laptop. Not as single detail that made me feel like I had something to say. What I did find were no less than 25 pictures of the eclipse from last night. They were mostly blurry and frankly just looked like a regular moon. There was nothing that looked like what I saw.

We had pretty significant cloud cover for most of the evening as the earth moved in between the moon and the sun, so our view was obscured. My husband and I sat patiently (that’s unusual for me) just to catch a glimpse as it occasionally peeked through the clouds. The kids came in and out the back door to try and see it. My dad and I texted back and forth and he shared some of the photos he had captured through clear skies in Northern Virginia. I tried to take some photos myself and had no luck.

As the active eclipsing entered its final minutes, there was a large break in the clouds and my husband and I sat staring as the last sliver of light disappeared leaving only a faint outline on the lower right side of the moon. And then more clouds.

Lots of them.

In fact, as I scanned the night sky to the South, there was nothing but thick clouds moving toward the North…it seemed our view was going to be blocked for some time. I really wanted to watch as the left side of the moon started to emerge (because I was under the impression that things would just keep moving), but it was past my bedtime and I had a 4:15am alarm set for this morning. So I headed off to bed.

As I was lying in bed waiting to become sleepy, I glanced through my Facebook feed to see who else was watching and if anyone had captured any photos. Um…yes. Feed FULL of blurry smartphone photos and comments from friends all over the nation. In Connecticut, it was clear and someone got a pretty good picture. Friends in Texas could see clearly that it was indeed blood red – no picture though. Others in Northwest Arkansas, Florida, Atlanta…all of us watching the same thing through our own filters.

I briefly lamented not being able to capture such a moment on film, but then decided that my particular view had been just for me and I decided to be content with my unique gift from the moon. Then, for a longer moment, I recognized the significance of a single instant in which so many people – separated by so many miles – were all looking up into the same sky at the same object.

All of us contemplating something so rare that it hasn’t happened since I was 9 and won’t happen again until (God willing) I am 75.

I decided to check one last time to see if the other side of the moon was beginning to appear – one final grasp for my own view of this marvelous sight that everyone was looking at. I got out of my nest, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains aside. At first glance, I was disappointed to see nothing where the moon had been before, but as I scanned upward I saw it – because of course it had moved. All the clouds were gone and there was a red, completely eclipsed full moon.

I don’t think the sight itself was particularly extraordinary. I wouldn’t say that it took my breath away or made me want to take a picture of it. It looked like the moon…without the light…tinted red…as with a sepia filter. It certainly was different, but it paled in comparison to the filtered professional photos of blood moons (sans eclipse) that are a dime a dozen on the Internet. Nevertheless, I continued to stare at it…I couldn’t look away.

After lying back down, I actually got back up twice more to look at it, not really knowing why. Was there comfort in this moment of solidarity among all the people who were looking up and seeing the exact same thing? Is that what drew my attention? Was the real magic in the reality that we were all looking at it together? It was a solidarity virus that would spread across the planet overnight like a wave of unity that swept everyone into the same upward gaze.

And it wasn’t everyone watching the same thing on TV at the same time – like a royal wedding or coverage of a disaster. There’s a difference between a large number of people watching a program that is being televised on millions of TV screens and a large number of people in the same room watching the same TV screen. This eclipse was like millions of people in the same room watching the same show on the same gigantic TV screen. We all had different perspectives, but we were all looking directly at the same object with their own eyes.

That’s pretty extraordinary in a world where we are all so focused on what separates us from everyone else.

And it continued throughout the night and into this morning. In North and South America, we saw it at sunset last night. Africa, Europe and the Middle East all awoke early to view it just before sunrise. Everyone gazing upon the same moon, each with a different perspective on it. In some places it was cold and in others, hot. Some places had clouds, others had clear skies. Some were unable to see it at all because of the weather, but still gazed upward toward the moon hoping to join us for the show.

Unanimity. Harmony. Human consonance…Ex Nihilo. Out of Nothing.

Sort of like this blog post. It turns out I did have something to say. 

Ghoster-Busters

I love language. I especially love watching it evolve. My favorite linguistic evolution of late is that of nouns evolving into verbs and vice versa.

We used to have a friend or be a friend. Now, we friend and unfriend. Thanks, Facebook. Instead of being an adult (behaving like an adult). We simply…adult. It’s an action now. We also used to like things or follow people. In 2015, we collect likes and follows as a way to gauge our relevance.

Yesterday, I read a New York Times article about yet another part-of-speech conversion. A ghost is no longer just a spectral being from beyond the grave, it’s something you do to people you don’t want to date anymore. You just…ghost. 

Poof.

You ignore texts, emails, voicemails – cut off all contact. It’s like turning on the Do Not Disturb function on your phone.

Forever.

Charlie Theron apparently did this to Sean Penn…just stopped responding to all forms of communication. Froze him out. This made me laugh because I’m not really a fan of his. He doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor – takes himself way too seriously – and I don’t have much time for that. I'll bet he can't laugh at this either. I hope he doesn’t sue me.

The article compiled some stories from people who had been dumped in this manner.They also interviewed a couple of people who were ghosters themselves.They attempted to explain it…not really offering excuses, but also not apologizing.

And though it may sound like a uniquely male method of ending a relationship, one informal survey suggests that women employ it more often than men. Of course, I question this “research” done by Elle Magazine, because right or wrong, I assume that most of their readers are female. Not exactly a random sampling. Another poll suggests 11% of the 1000 adults surveyed admitted to ghosting and ex.

That seems low to me. I think there are lots of people engaging in advertant ghosting.

But that may be because I am a ghoster myself. And this may be where my pro-social psychopathy is most evident. In my 20s, I never said no to a date*. Ever. Just figured, hey, a girl’s gotta eat. But I said no to almost every single second date and almost always did so by ghosting. I didn’t have a name for it. I just moved on and didn’t think much about it. And I didn’t just do this to people I dated…I could phase in and out of all kinds of relationships if necessary. I was a professional.

It’s interesting that the NYT article suggested that this practice is easier and more prevalent today because of our technological connectedness. I disagree. There are just more varied techniques for a person to do the ghosting and more varied platforms for the ghostee (see what I did there?) to realize what’s being done to them. It's kind of easy to figure out what happened when your ex updates his relationship status on Facebook from “single” to “in a relationship”. Of course, he could just block you altogether. Unless you’re not so good with social cues, being blocked is a pretty good sign that there’s not going to be another date, right?

Anyway, as I like to point out early and often (mostly as a reminder to myself), I am an adult and I don’t behave so badly anymore. But I’ll admit I’m fighting my deepest instincts when I don’t ghost. Obviously, the dating thing isn’t an issue anymore because I’m married and I don’t date other people. (I know that’s not the case for all married people, so I thought I should clarify.) I don’t ghost my kids…unless you consider hiding in the bathroom, closet, or car a form of temporary ghosting. I think that’s just self-preservation. And I always return. That’s more like a poltergeist.

The only time I ghost now…and it’s only if I feel it won’t leave a gaping hole…is at social functions. For instance, if I was seated at the bride and groom’s table at a wedding reception, I’d stick around. My kids will be pleased to hear this. If it’s a Super Bowl party…I might be there one minute and gone the next. Most people won’t notice and if they do, they’ll remember that I didn’t care much about the game or the commercials and it won’t be a surprise.

I just leave. I don’t say goodbye. I don’t make eye contact. I take my potluck dish and spoon (if it's empty) and I'm gone. Poof.

In truth, my closest long-time friends have known for decades that I am an expert ghoster.   Most of them tolerate me anyway.I sit at the perimeter of most large, crowded rooms so I can jettison myself quickly when and if the time comes. For the record, my parents did not teach me this behavior. They would not approve of my ghosting. And my kids are never permitted to ghost a party or a friend. You say goodbye and you thank your host before you leave. Period. But sometimes I say goodbye and thank you a few days later. Or via text. 

When it's time to go, I go.

Whether it’s maturity or a developed conscience (are those the same thing?), I try not to ghost in relationships anymore. And if I do, there’s guilt where 20 years ago there would have been nothing. So at the very least, I’m progressing.

Well that’s my Friday confession. How comical that the NYT thinks they scooped a story about something that’s been going on for centuries. I guess when you are the first to name something for that broad an audience, you get to take credit for it.

Whatever. 

Speaking of…I may be ghosting for the weekend. Unless I can sneak into my closet office under the stairs undetected.

Peace Out. I'll get my casserole dish from you next week.

THERE'S NO CRYING IN DEBATE

When I was in high school, I was in a class called Forensics. No…we did not study crime scenes or visit autopsies. It was the name for my high school’s advanced speech and drama class. I took it for two years. It was my favorite class for the things that I learned (all about theatre, how to speak in public, how to improvise, and how not to take myself so seriously) and for the other people with whom I shared that time (the teacher and my classmates). We would go to Forensics competitions periodically preparing acting scenes, speeches and other presentations and honestly, the memories of those experiences would provide enough material for a completely new blog.

Maybe next year.

Anyway, one of the competition categories was debate…but we never entered anybody. My teacher hated debate (his own words). We just didn’t cover it as part of the curriculum and, frankly, that was fine with me. I don’t do intentional conflict.

During my junior year, we had a student teacher in Forensics and her specialty was debate. She loved it. And for a few weeks while our teacher prepared a one-act play with 4-5 other students in our class, the rest of us learned about and participated in team debate boot camp.

Real boot camp would have been more fun and far less stressful for me. 

I’m pretty sure I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat before every debate (even the ones that I wasn’t participating in). Once again…I don’t do intentional conflict, which is what I thought a debate was when I was 16. And you know what, all my fears turned out to be justified during my very own debate which devolved into something that one might have expected from teenagers (two of whom, didn’t particularly care for one another) when given the platform to fight.

There was name-calling and crying and people taking sides. I was the crier.

I don’t remember the subject, all I remember is that it became quickly heated and personal between two of the four of us. Most of the details are fuzzy which is a shame, because I’d love to remember what I said and how I spoke and, of course, the path of escalation that resulted in one of our opponents calling my partner a bitch…and me collapsing into a weepy blob on my desk. I mean, really, what on earth could we have been debating?!

The student teacher was not equipped to handle it (though what a great lesson it was about understanding class and personal dynamics before you assign partners and opponents). Our teacher had to intervene and I'm sure his number one thought (thought he kept it to himself) was..."THERE'S NO CRYING IN DEBATE!" 

But hey, we were in high school…teenagers do stupid stuff and still turn out ok. My former debate partner is a journalism teacher now. Our opponents are both respectable adults…and engineer and a scientist – neither of whom have probably ever called a colleague a nasty name to their face. And I’m happy to say that I haven’t broken down crying as the result of an argument since at least July.

My main occupation right now is raising teenagers, remember? That’s 365/24/7 debate and sometimes I suck at it.

In short, we’ve all grown up. We know how to treat other adults. We may not have to engage in professional debates on a regular basis, but if we live in the world and not under a rock, we do have to learn to disagree with people in a civilized manner. That’s just what grown-ups do.

Or do they? I watched part of the last presidential debate…just until I felt nauseated. And I’ve seen some clips here and there. (Don’t worry, I’ll educate myself better when we are closer than FOUR HUNDRED DAYS to the election. For now, I’m easing myself in…it’s like inoculating myself against disease…a little bit here and there and by the time there’s a pandemic, I’ll hopefully be immune to the vitriol.)

What I’ve seen during my minimal exposure resembles high school debate -- though that may be an insult to high schoolers. It’s really more like middle schoolers or even 5^th graders fighting over who is going to be the King of Four Square on the playground. But even that might be too generous.

A question is asked…one that addresses a very real problem that affects very real people and a candidate is given the floor. He/she answers with something that resembles a thoughtful position. They express it for 2 minutes and then the other candidates are given a chance for rebuttal (or agreement – HAH!) but instead of talking about the issue at question they attack that person for something unrelated to … anything. I’ll use that game of Four Square on the playground to illustrate:

Mindy: I think I should start off as the King, because I went and got the ball for us and I had just knocked Michael out as the King when recess ended yesterday.Michael: You didn’t knock me out, I was just distracted by how ugly your sweater was.
Matthew: Yeah and anyway, I was the queen so I wouldn’t have moved into the King space if the bell hadn’t rung.Maddie: Matthew, you don’t have any business even playing this game because your mom is the worst room mother our class has ever had. And also, you make C’s in school, shouldn’t you be over in the corner studying? Idiot.

And we are congratulating them – some of us revering them – for their juvenile behavior. Since when are we looking for a president who equates name-calling with statesmanship? At first blush, perhaps it seems refreshing to hear someone just saying what they think (I use the word ‘think’ very loosely) without tact or diplomacy. But is that how we want a president to deal with foreign leaders? Is that who we want representing us on a world stage? Is that how we want a leader to deal with citizens who disagree with him?

This isn’t a reality show…it’s actual reality. You may enjoy watching Jerry Springer or Maury Povich at 3pm on Wednesday afternoon, but think about how you view the guests on a show like that. That’s how the world will see us if we elect a president who treats a presidential election like a game of Survivor or Big Brother. 

There are those who think me naive for expecting maturity from presidential candidates. Why? Why are we content to accept leaders who don’t even behave as well as our own children? Who refuse to talk to one another? Who call each other names? Who belittle US? Why do we have such low expectations of people with such critical responsibilities? Have we really devolved into a society who values a witty comeback over a reasoned argument? 

I’m not talking about where candidates or elected officials stand on various issues, I’m talking about how they talk to each other and to us about those issues. I’m also talking about how they tear each other down and encourage us to do the same to one another. When did the line blur between someone’s policy positions and their character? If you disagree, say it and say why. Yes. That’s discourse. If you disagree with someone’s policy position and decide that the best way to express it is to personally attack your opponent (their religion, their race, their sexuality, their gender, their family) and everyone who supports him/her that just tells me you are too lazy or too ignorant to form an intelligent argument.

Knowing your own position on an issue of policy and articulating that position is presidential. Knowing your own opinion on another person (or their hair, or their body, or their clothes, or their personal choices) and articulating it – that’s just gossip. And it’s a dangerous form of deflection when we are choosing leaders.

In my heart of hearts I believe we will come to our senses and probably the best candidate will emerge in both parties. But what will be the cost to our dignity with each passing day that we don’t demand more from people who want to lead – at all levels of government?

I'm not an expert on politics or policy or governance or leadership. I'm just a mom...a mom who wants her children to have thoughtful, intelligent, and compassionate leaders to model. So as a mom, I'm going to model leadership by giving some unsolicited advice to anyone who will listen. 

DITCH THE ENTERTAINER, FRIENDS. And anyone else who treats an election like a selfie they hope goes viral.

Look at me, Voters! 

Realize what’s at stake, please, and quit congratulating people for being what your parents spent your entire childhood raising you NOT to be. Some of these people don’t really want to be president anyway…they just want the title, the fame, the power and/or the notoriety that goes with it. Like the Kardashians. I’ve got to believe we can do better than someone who views an election as a path to immortality rather than as a path to service.

We are better than that.

And if I’m wrong…I see more crying in my future – during debates and just in general.

Mirror Mirror

You know what I don't like?

I don’t like when people over the age of 40 (my peers) say, “I weep for the future,” when they see a millennial doing something they don’t understand. This world is now, has always been, and will forever be run by people who once were teenagers. This is an indisputable fact.

Maybe you think that the people running the world suck at their jobs and, in all honesty, you would find no shortage of evidence to back up this claim. But the people running this world are a tiny percentage of the population on earth and plenty of regular people make a difference every day. You just don’t hear about them because they don’t make good sound bytes, memes, or 140-character witticisms.

My guess is that there must be someone out there that you look to as a hero…someone you admire…someone you look to as a moral compass. I hope that you have more than one actually…because there is plenty of goodness if you’re looking for it and if you’re not looking for it, well, what’s the use in getting up in the morning. Anyway, those people you revere? Guess what, they were once teenagers too.

It used to make me so mad when I was in middle school or high school or college…doing the very best I could with the imperfections I was gifted…and I’d hear those words with regard to Generation X.

“I weep for the future.”

They were talking about me and I knew it. And when we say it about millennials, they know it too. I’ve got news for you, folks, millennials are going to run this world while we are still in it, and they are going to do their best, just as we have, and just as our parents did, and their parents did.  And they’ll do it based on what we teach them.

Oh...and they won’t just run the world. They will be caregivers at your assisted living facility. They will be first responders in your community. They will be pastors at your church. They will be plumbers, sanitation workers, teachers, doctors, and judges.

And they will remember what you said about them. They may even wave proof of your words in front of your face because you probably posted it on Facebook or Twitter without thinking twice. Because sometimes even you ignore your own reminders – the ones you say out loud to them – that the Internet is forever. Like Twinkies and cockroaches.

If your still not convinced that today’s teenagers really will be ok…if you’re just certain that millennials are a bunch of loafers who just sit around taking selfies all day, you don’t know any competitive swimmers and I feel sorry for you. I know about 25-30 who could kick our asses into next week, finish all their homework, ace a test or two, make their dinner, do their own laundry, and still find time to sit around and take some selfies now and then. They will change your mind…and they’re not alone. They are all growing up and growing smarter and growing stronger. They are all learning how to be adults each day and they are doing so in the face of challenges (division, distraction, and misdirection that we created and exposed them to, incidentally) that we couldn’t have fathomed when we were teenagers. And they do not navigate their worlds any better or worse than we did at their age.

And if you’re still not persuaded, and you still believe that the entire world will fall apart when left in their hands.

Just remember that you are part of the village that’s showing them how it’s done. 

They don’t do what we tell them.

They do what we show them.

Not Trying to Sugarcoat, But...

It occurred to me that I haven’t written much about my 30-day challenge in a while. 

Honestly, there hasn't been much to write. I'm doing it. It's not so bad now. I guess it's good that sugar isn't always on my mind because that leaves my brain free to think deep thoughts. And though I feel pretty free to write about what I want  -- because it's my blog -- I decided that today might be a good day to discuss what 22 days without sugar has been like so far. 

First, full disclosure on what I am and am not eating.

I do eat fruit. No more than 2, ½-cup servings per day because I know that sugar, regardless of its source, affect my brain’s reward center and I'm trying to alter that. I eat lots of vegetables and nuts and seeds. I eat meat…all kinds. I try to source most things locally, but  our economy, unfortunately, is not designed to make these things affordable so I fill in with grocery-store beef, chicken, and fish as well. I don’t eat any grain (since long before I gave up sugar), but I do eat dairy because, well, CHEESE. I also eat beans because I like them and they are great fuel for running. I also eat lots of eggs. And have you noticed they are more expensive lately? 

I have enjoyed alcohol on one occasion, though enjoy might be too strong a word for it. Don’t misunderstand, it tasted great and I certainly enjoyed the company, but I did not enjoy the aftermath. It took a shockingly small amount of bourbon to make me a useless blob for 18 hours. So I’m not doing that again. For a while. Until October 1. At midnight.

In short, I’m just eating real food and drinking 32-64 ounces of water a day. (I know 32 isn’t enough, but I will tell you that 64 is tough. I feel like I'm just drinking and peeing all day long.) For the last 22 days, I haven’t eaten anything commercially packaged* except for coffee, frozen vegetables, meat from the grocery store, and that stuff which was bottled by a very fine distillery in Kentucky. That’s the food plan.

How do I feel after 22 days? Somewhat different. I don’t want to over-inflate anything because I’m not selling it…just reporting on how it impacts one person. I have a little more energy. I think a little more clearly – mostly I’m able to think faster and I’m remembering things a little better. I wish I could say that I have more patience or tolerance or that I’ve grown more generous or more...well, something that would ultimately benefit humanity…can’t really say that’s happened. But that could just be because I'm a sort-of-psychopath.

How do I look? Pretty much the same, if you ask me. Of course, I look at myself everyday so how would I notice a difference? The only noticeable physical difference is that my skin looks great (which could be the water). I’ve gotten on the scale once and I’m two pounds lighter…not particularly impressive as “diets” go, but I’m not watching calories nor am I exercising more or less than I was before.

Speaking of exercise, I had a particularly good run yesterday – the best in about 6 months actually – but there were too many variables in play for me to attribute that to sugar. The weather was cooler, my companions insisted they were exhausted (so I didn’t have to struggle to keep up), and I had been up for 45 minutes longer than usual because I had to take my daughter to her first morning swim practice of the year. Also…knowing that a whole bunch of teenagers are starting their day at 5:00am with weights and swimming because they want to is pretty solid motivation to not be such a slack-ass.

In general, I would say I feel like a better version of myself than the one that started this journey on September 1. Not magically different, just a little better. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe my desire for huge, fast change (and my inability to achieve it) is what keeps me from changing at all. Overnight growth ends at the same time puberty does and I am way past that. Maybe working to change is part of what changes us. I know you’re thinking that brain fog has set in again, but before you tell me to go eat a cookie…

Why should anyone expect an overnight fix…or even a 30-day fix…for a habit, condition, or problem that took years to establish? We shouldn’t be shocked or disappointed to learn that it's going to take some time and effort. It’s intuitive. I do believe that practicing self-discipline and really tapping into free-will (or in this case free-won’t) plays a valuable role in change, and once you’ve “mastered” it in one area, it can be easier to access that mind-set in other arenas.

I also believe that relying completely on will-power is a recipe for disappointment.Taking the time to become an educated consumer has also been helpful. I’ve done some research and as it turns out, there is actual science to back up the notion that sugar itself may work against us when we make decisions. It not only impacts what decisions we make (what should I eat for breakfast? what route should I take to work?), but how we make them (efficiently or impulsively?)

Here are three (of many) sources that explain this far better than I could hope to.

http://www.iflscience.com/brain/here-s-what-happens-your-brain-when-you-give-sugar-lent

http://ed.ted.com/lessons/how-sugar-affects-the-brain-nicole-avena

http://neurosciencenews.com/diet-gut-bacteria-cognition-2147/

With all of this to consider, the obvious next question is will I continue this past the 30 days? That’s not easy to answer, I mean, forever is a long time.

Let’s see if this helps:

PROS	CONS
Not having that headache again	Ice Cream tastes good
Not having cloudy brain again	Chocolate tastes good
Good skin	Cookies taste good
Substantially fewer sugar cravings	Peanut M&Ms taste good
Less hunger in general	Coconut Cake tastes good
	Ok, that’s enough, I think we get the idea
	Peer Pressure/Temptation
	Requires constant vigilance
	Difficult to eat out
	Always explaining/defending

On the face of it there are quite a few cons working against this as a lifestyle choice, but the quality of the pros…they are high quality and they grow in number daily.

Evaluating the cons:

• Things taste good for a few moments. And then, I want more. And more. 
• If I’m 42 and can’t handle peer pressure to take that first bite, I have bigger problems to deal with -- as do the peers applying the pressure
• I only feel tempted after the first bite and then for the following week, so if I ignore the peer pressure, temptation isn't a factor.
• Reading packages is time-consuming and inconvenient, but avoiding packages altogether isn’t – especially now that I’m in the habit.
• Eating out less is better for the wallet anyway and we never go anyplace where I can’t at least find a salad and some plain balsamic vinegar.
• I am 42 and I don’t have to explain or defend the choices I make about my health to anyone. And also, those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind, right?

So I am leaning toward keeping the sugar out of my diet for the foreseeable future, but you never know…there are 8 days left and who knows what the future holds. If there’s some sort of apocalyptic catastrophe and the only thing standing between me and starving to death is a Twinkie, you better believe I’m going to eat it.

Because, you know, Twinkies are forever.

*I do use spices and oils (olive and coconut) that are in packages too, because I can’t grow anything and I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to go about making oil.

Taking to the Streets

We consider ourselves proud consumers of our community. In this vein, we often attend street festivals around the area to support local artists and to just be with our fellow Memphians. One of the most popular and well-attended festivals in our city was Saturday and we decided to go. I've lived here for 17 years and it was my first time so I was pretty excited.

Hey, remember that time I got all excited about going to a street festival and then spent 15 minutes in hell trying to escape the crowd?

We parked about 4 blocks away (which was as close as we could get) and walked to the gate. It wasn't a particularly hot day...not for Memphis, anyway, but by the time we got there I was warm and there was already sweat dripping down my back.

I should mention that we went straight there after picking our kids up from swim practice. So they were hungry. Let me rephrase...they were very hungry and in order to stave off the hangriness (hanger?), I made it my mission to get them fed -- or at least watered -- before we ventured too far. Just trying to minimize the whining.

We wandered in the gates at the South end of the main drag and were immediately enveloped by humanity. While desperately clinging to the backs of each other's shirts, we managed to maneuver through the throng in a single file line until we found a place to get bottled water. And then, we started to make our way down the street.

I have a threshold for the number of people I can tolerate in my immediate vicinity. It can be measured in people per square meter and this crowd exceeded that threshold by about 10. There was no walking. Our slow forward movement was more akin to shuffling, bobbing, and weaving as we attempted to avoid people who were walking in the opposite direction directly in our paths. They apparently had the right-of-way -- I mean, they must have because pushing us aside gave them no pause. I was amazed at the people who were perfectly happy to walk 3 or 4 abreast with their companions showing little regard for anyone else who was also trying to move around.

Now, normally at a festival in our city, I love to stroll along the edges admiring the arts and crafts, the photography, and the food that our gifted citizenry have on display. This city is a treasure when it comes to that. Yesterday, there was no edge -- except for the metaphorical one at which I was teetering. There was only careless movement and impatient people with a sense of entitlement about where they wanted to be.

And everyone else was just in their way.

About 5 minutes in, my husband glanced over his shoulder and made eye contact with me...bringing up the rear of our family's single-file line. He mouthed the words, "I'm getting us out of here," and a brief sense of relief washed over me. Just enough for me to relax my shoulders away from my ears and take what I'm pretty sure was my first deep breath since entering the crowd. That's when my heel was clipped from behind by an impatient dad pushing a jogging stroller. When I turned around and smiled so he would know that I was ok...he glared at me as though the collision were my responsibility.

So that was fun.

We finally found an open space to wait while my husband and son went searching for a funnel cake to go. I stood there in the blazing sun...thankful for a square meter just for me and my daughter. Once the funnel cake had been retrieved and scarfed down on a nearby curb, we headed home. The entire "experience" lasted no more than 30 minutes from car door to car door. Longest 30 minutes ever.

I love our city. I'm not part of the population that spends all it's energy complaining about how bad it is...wishing they lived in Nashville or Dallas or anywhere but here. I have no desire to contribute to the inferiority complex that has plagued this city for years. Fortunately that segment of the population seems to grow smaller every year either by conversion (they figure out there is more good than bad) or migration (they pack up and leave). Whatever the reason, the percentage of proud Memphians grows daily. Thank goodness!

I think this weekend's festival proves just how many people are willing to go out and enjoy what our city has to offer. I'm happy that so many people were out enjoying the weather, their friends, and our fine community. I had every intention of celebrating with them.

It just turns out that I prefer the idea of a crowded street festival to the reality of one.

The bad news is that might mean I'm turning into a curmudgeonly old hermit. The good news is that there are plenty of people who can tolerate a mosh pit or the trading floor of the NYSE or Disneyworld in June. I'm confident that I can leave this particular community experience to those people next time.

I will stick to things with perimeters where I can maintain my personal bubble, my sanity, and all of the skin on my heels.

Finding Available Space

If you could only see me now.

I’ve had to get creative. I don’t have an office right now and I can’t really change that fact. But I do live in a house with some spaces that aren’t being utilized the way they could be. I have landed in this spot just as I tend to land in most of my good spots…by accident. Or maybe through providence.

Yesterday was rough…lots of feelings about things and lots of nervous energy to release. In uncharacteristic fashion, I burned much of that energy cleaning the guest room. When I was finished and my neurons were still sparking, I started tackling piles of paper around the house.

I have a minor phobia of throwing away junk mail. I’m always worried that if I don’t shred every piece, some identity thief will dig out the one slip of paper that some stupid credit card company put in an envelope and they will open up an account and ruin us financially.

Both credit card companies and identity thieves have established records of success in this regard.

This fear results in piles of junk mail accumulating on various surfaces in my house. I tackled a few and once everything was at least ready to be shredded, I realized I needed a more active chore to adequately combat my anxiety. Sitting in front of piles of paper was not working for me.

Under our stairs we have a large coat closet which extends all the way back into another shorter enclosed space under the landing. It’s about 3 feet wide, 7 feet long, and 3.5 feet high. I think it was designed for storage of valuables because it even has a door that blends in with the wall at the back of the coat closet. It shuts and locks and there is a separate light switch. When the coats are spread across the closet, it’s virtually undetectable.

We don’t have many valuables to hideaway so it’s mostly empty. Until the tornado sirens go off and then the whole family squeezes in with a flashlight and the battery-powered weather radio. That’s been its primary use since we bought this house. The coat closet portion in the front gets messy over time. Really messy when we take time to “straighten up” for company. We basically just throw stuff in there to hide it. It’s also where we store toilet paper and paper towels from Costco. I clean it out when bad weather is forecast so that we will be able to get back to our shelter if necessary. But since we’ve been very fortunate in that regard lately, things have been piling up for a while.

What a perfect opportunity to clean it out. So I did. The entire closet. I took about an hour for me to fold all the gloves, scarves, and hats that littered the floor. There were at least 7 bags or backpacks that had been tossed in haphazardly (and not cleared of the contents). There were flags and blankets and games and two giant rafts. It looked like a yard sale in a box. I organized all of it, threw away all the garbage, and went to sleep feeling satisfied in the knowledge that this largely unused and completely unseen space was now fit for recluttering.

Fast-forward to this morning. I had a text conversation – don’t laugh, I have real conversations with this friend via text. She lives 1000+ miles away from me and if we want to talk, we have to make digital communication work for us. And we do. 

Anyway we shared amazing incites on everything from yoga’s power to improve our psychic energy to the wisdom it takes to reach out and grab ahold of grace as it floats by. Real conversation…entire paragraphs, in fact, with no abbreviations. 

And then she said something that made all of this writing feel so much more important to me. She said that reading this blog makes her feel closer to me…which is powerful.The miles between us make me sad sometimes. The miles between me and so many of my friends make me sad but this forum can be a love letter to them and about them…from me. Words are magic.

I know I’ve claimed not to care what anyone thinks about what I write…and I still feel that way…but mostly, I just don’t care if some people hate it. If you don’t like it, I’m probably not talking to you anyway. I have boundaries so there are deeply personal and private matters about me and my most important people that you will never read about in this blog. I know there are some people for whom complete and utter vulnerability is cathartic. I’m not one of those people. And when it comes to sharing someone else’s deeply personal and private concerns, that’s just selfish. The people in my life are more than just characters in my story…they are the people I love and their stories belong to them.

As our conversation wound down this morning, my extremely wise friend said she was sure that the most important thing she could be doing right now was to love her people and allow them to love her.

I responded that I believe that is the best way for us to become who we are meant to be. I recognize that writing is part of that process for me.

And then I realized that I had a blog post for the day…but I lamented in the unlikelihood of it getting written inside my house while the family was present.

She said…you have a pretty big closet you could hide in.

Indeed I do.

And so I am.

I guess I've learned to never ignore an urge to declutter. Also, never underestimate the capacity of your people to help you become who you are meant to be.

Tango Bravo Hotel

Just In Case

This is really hard. Or…I’m really making this really difficult on myself.  Or there is a cosmic conspiracy to prevent me from writing today.

And by cosmic, I mean teenage.

It’s Friday. My kids are home from school. Again. This time for a teacher in-service day. That’s the second 3-day weekend in three weeks for those of you who are keeping count. I’m not sure what type of real-world work schedule this is preparing them for, but what do I know? Goodness knows their teachers need time to plan and organize their thoughts too and if they had to do it with a whole bunch of teenagers around they would fail because I have only two teenagers and they are a constant distraction.

I still don’t get how my favorite writers…the ones I know work from home…do this day in and day out. I mean, are they spiking the morning juice with Benedryl? Do they have a better office than their kitchen table? Are they using sound-blocking headphones? Do they just scream at people a lot? I really want to know their secret. I need to know.

Once again, my muse showed up out of sorts today. She wasn't angry this time, but definitely discombobulated. Of course it was 6:45 in the morning and who the hell isn’t discombobulated then? I knew if I wanted to write uninterrupted today, that would mean doing so immediately following my run. So, what I imagine must have happened is that my muse, knowing it would be an early day, laid out all of her inspiration at the foot of her bed last night so she could just grab it as she headed out the door at the crack of ass. But when the alarm went off, she was startled and confused. So instead, she bolted out of bed, enveloped all her shit in her arms, and ran like a crazy woman to my house before she was fully awake. Upon her arrival, she dumped her giant clump of unfolded, knotted-up inspiration in my lap. Normally she hands me individual pieces on hangers or on really good days I get a whole ensemble complete with shoes and accessories.This morning she was all "Here ya go," then she curled up in the fetal position and passed out on my kitchen table.

I ended up with all of these thoughts about power (not energy power, but the kind one might have over someone or something) just swirling around in my head and I was going to write about it, but it was all just too much and none of it seemed to gel. I had about 3000 words with no end in sight. There was nothing to edit or organize...just idea overload. Then before I could finish getting everything down or make sense of what I already had, everyone in the house converged on my space. The writing bubble popped and I gave up.

Several hours later, I’ve just returned to my laptop to try again because everyone seemed to be occupied. And, I kid you not, like moths to a flame, everyone converges again. Talking, singing, turning up the TV, wanting hugs and kisses. Teenagers wanting…needing hugs and kisses right that very moment. This never happens. I asked if they were ok. Like, do we need to go to the hospital?

It’s wrong to complain and it would have been really wrong to reject this affection from my beloved offspring and I absolutely did NOT reject it. But I kept thinking…

Whisky Tango Foxtrot.

I don’t interrupt your homework time with demands for immediate affection. The only reason I would do that is if there was a meteor headed for the earth. That’s when it’s appropriate to demand instant affection from a person who is clearly in thinking/creating/producing mode. It’s not like I wasn’t sitting over in a chair playing Candy Crush 30 minutes ago. You want a hug then, you can absolutely demand it. Hugs are always more important than Candy Crush. And where were you when I was upstairs (when we were all supposed to be upstairs) cleaning out the guest room/junk yard for 2 hours? There was not one interruption demanding a hug as I focused on that task and let me tell you I would have welcomed it. As a matter of fact, I had to summon you both on at least 5 different occasions just to come hold a trash bag for me. No one seemed too interested in popping my decluttering bubble.

Whisky Tango Foxtrot.

And what’s with all the questions about things that aren’t happening until next month? Or in 3 months? Where is this sense of urgency coming from? Can you maybe just wait 30 minutes before you take my computer upstairs to work on your Christmas list? I’m thinking it’s not so urgent since it’s still summer. And didn’t I just throw away at least a dozen oh-my-gosh-I-have-to-have-this-or-I’ll-die Christmas gifts from previous years while I was upstairs cleaning?

Whisky Tango Foxtrot.

I really struggle with some of the advice that child-rearing experts give in parenting magazines and on blogs. You want to know why I struggle with it? Because I can’t figure out how they got it written at all!

If they have kids, when/where/how in the hell were they able to put thoughts on paper? Were they locked in a closet somewhere? I really want to know.

As far as the advice I struggle with most, though, it's this idea that you should give a teenager your undivided attention on their terms. The idea is that you’re supposed to be flexible and when they need you it’s best to just drop what you’re doing and give them some face time. They appeal to our parental sense of guilt by pointing out that we get fewer than 1000 Saturdays with our children before they go off to college and once they’re gone we will wish we had given them more of our time.

That is a load of crap. Teenagers don’t always know what’s important or when it's relevant. They place equal significance on the quest for world peace and their wardrobe choices for the Homecoming dance. Whichever lobe discerns urgency…theirs just isn’t fully-developed yet. And anyway, today is Friday not Saturday. Can I ignore them today? Or least ignore the stuff that is complete garbage? I promise I’ll make tomorrow special. I’ll sit and stare at them for a solid hour tonight if I can just have 60 consecutive minutes today.

And as it turns out, only 30 were necessary because after their father took them both to swim practice, I churned this thing out like a champ. I’m done and they could have had me much earlier if it hadn’t been for all the interruptions to determine how we will spend each of the remaining holidays in 2015.

Sierra Mike Hotel

Remember That Time My Muse Showed Up With Her Panties in a Wad?

Today, I sat down to write with not one single idea in my head. I watched a couple of episodes of Falling Skies this morning. I recorded the final season this summer and I’m just now getting around to watching it. I really enjoyed it but I’m also glad it’s ending because it means I’m really close to my goal of not having any episodic TV shows (that aren’t on PBS) that I care about watching. I’m not adding new ones…too much boob tube stifles my creative process. As it did this morning. I should always write first.

Anyway, I sat and stared at my laptop with a pretty empty brain. I would start thinking about things I needed to do…unload the dishwasher…organize a dozen or so swim meets…recruit some volunteers. You know, same ole same ole. And then suddenly, my muse arrived and she was pissed off. Maybe she watched the debate last night or she had to drive here via Poplar Avenue. Or maybe she just didn’t feel like being there for me at that particular moment since, as I mentioned, I took my sweet time showing up.

Whatever the reason…she had plenty to say. Too much to say and, as it turns out, that’s almost as bad as having nothing. 

Because it all just floods my brain. 

Eventually my head was filled with all of these negative thoughts about humanity. And while we can and do suck from time to time, I really didn’t feel like unloading on everyone today because we have more than enough angry rants from Talk Radio, TV pundits, and pretty much the whole internet. So I walked away and told my muse to take a hike. A real hike…in the woods. Breathe some fresh air. Wade through a stream. Chill. Out.

I was starting to worry that there just wouldn’t be anything to share today because I really let that damn muse piss me off too. And then…

Sirius XM 80s on 8 happened. And you just can’t be angry when you’re listening to that. Well…maybe if it’s Hall and Oates…but most of the time you just can’t be angry when you’re listening to 80s music.

I’m just so grateful I can still remember the 1980s. It’s so long ago that now I’ve forgotten most of the bad stuff so now it’s all just Journey and Wham and Karma Chameleon and Thriller. And freedom.

I’m convinced that’s why the music of our youth imprints on us. It’s so that when you become an adult and you JUST CAN NOT EVEN...all it takes is Oh Mickey you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind. Hey, Mickey! to transport you back to the time when all you were responsible for was your own (reasonable amount of) homework and getting yourself and your bike back home before the street lights came on.

The 80s music calmed my down for a time. But then…there were the slow drivers in the fast lane. Twice. And the music just wasn’t enough when I encountered that second one...or maybe it was Hall & Oates, I don't remember, but...

He was going 15 mph below the speed limit and he was helping himself to two lanes. I started to pass him…on the right…and he sped up which brought us to a stoplight at the same time. I looked over at him half-expecting for him to be laughing at me. I was sure he was just being a jerk on purpose but instead he had a Bluetooth mike on his ear and he was screaming into it. His lips were moving so fast, I thought we was singing along to Hook by Blues Traveler. I mean he was going to town on this person and I just burst out laughing. Because he looked like an idiot.

Then I remembered that I have a habit of talking to myself...a lot. And I began to wonder if at any point during my day I had looked like that in my car. Talking to no one. I figured there was at least a 50/50 chance. And I sure hope someone had a good laugh at my expense. Because I probably looked like an idiot too.

The rest of the drive to the grocery store was uneventful and there was even a parking spot close to the door. While I was inside saw two women greet each other in the aisle with a big hug. And then the Sargento guy gave me a big grin as I was picking out some mozzarella. And then there was a mom with her four children trying to grocery shop and I was so grateful to be by myself. Basically, just some regular people doing regular things made me forget about everything that sucks.

And that was pretty much my day. Tomorrow, my muse will need to show up extremely early so I can be finished writing before my people wake up. 

Guess what…no editing. Zero. Just pushing publish.