Taming My Stella and Rising From Her Mudd

 500 Stellas Can Put Anyone In the Mud

In a discussion with my sister-friend Jamie several months ago, I was ragging on myself and refusing to see what Jamie saw as positives instead of just further proof of my failures and deficiencies. I kept insisting that what was done did not outweigh what was undone and even so it wasn't done right or wasn't done quickly enough or wasn't done often enough or wasn't done on time or wasn't done with a good attitude etc etc etc.

Jamie asked me whose voice was I hearing in my head when I took these thoughts to heart.  I said primarily my Mom's from childhood but also my Dad's, my brother's and my sister's and of course my husband's and my mother-in-law's.  Then she told me that another close friend of hers had a similar problem and she had found it helpful to name her haranguer so she could talk back to her.  I promised I would think about that and see if I could come up with a name meaningful to me.

After several days of contemplation I had zeroed in on the finger shaken at my face as was my Mom's practice.  And although her tone was much different it put me in mind of the Stella Mudd character from the classic Star Trek series.  My mom never yelled let alone screeched like Stella nor did she name-call.  She barely raised her voice.  But her words dripped with shame and disappointment.  Here are some of her favorite phrases that still haunt me today:

• Shame on you
• Mama's so disappointed
• How could you be so _______?
• Why can't Mama depend on you?
• Why can't you be more _____?
• When are you going to _____?
• How do you expect to ______ when you can't even ______?
• Are you ever going to finish that?
• Do I always have to remind you?
• No, no not that way, here let me show you (as she takes the tool out of my hands)
• That was nice but next time don't you think you could try______?
• How many times do I have to say _______?
• But don't you think a better way would be ______?
• But don't you think _______? (constantly on every topic under the sun and for which the only acceptable answer was 'yes' even if that was a lie)

Recently Jamie and I were talking about how it was working out for me talking back to Stella or telling her to shut up.  I was having minimal success and would often find myself experiencing waves of guilt and shame afterwards.  Jamie was insistent that i needed to get cross with her, defiant, even violent.  "Punch her out" she suggested.  Treat her like the bully she is.  But I am, by nature and training, very averse to violence and have never found that the response to a bully needs to be becoming a bully.  So I let it percolate for a bit and it wasn't long before I came up with a tactic that fit my personality and values.

I can't remember the source but not long ago I heard someone refer to the Southern Lady's FU and demonstrated with a honey-toned "Bless your heart"  Now that could work If I could get that refined tone of faux sincerity down.  And since one of my superpowers is story I was soon developing related lines along with gestures.  I see them as mini-movies in my head.

"Bless your heart." I say when Stella starts harping.  And if she doesn't hush immediately I reach out and smooth her hair back and say. "Don't fash yourself dear."  Or, "Hush now dear, you are overwrought."  Then if she is especially persistent I hold out a cup of hot chamomile tea saying, "There, there dear, I do believe someone needs a nap."  Or I will reach out and lay the back of my hand on her forehead and say, "Are you fevered dear?  How about a nice little chill pill?"

I've only been trying this for a bit under two weeks now but it does seem to be helping.

I wish I'd found it in time to help me thru the dark month of September that contained the death anniversaries of my dad, my husband and my MIL along with Ed's birthday and the second anniversary of the fire in Southern Oregon that burned out the trailer park we had lived in for over a decade near Phoenix.

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My Brain on Books XXVII

 

I am reading for The Office of Letters and Lights the folks who bring us NaNoWriMo today as I love what they are doing for literacy with their Young Writer's Programs and because I've participated in NaNo every year since 2004.  I have been blessed to have it in my life and would like to give something back if only kudos and link love.  I'm putting this plug at the top in hopes some who stop by will check out their site and see all the great things they do to foster love of reading and writing and story in kids. 

This post will be organized like a blog inside a blog with recent updates stacked atop previous ones. I may be posting some updates on Twitter @Joystory and the Joystory fb fanpage. But this is where I do anything more than a line or two.  Including mini-challenges that don't require a separate post..   

2:22AM - Been sitting on couch reading Game of Thrones on my Nexus since 11

I was falling asleep over it and I'm giving up.

8:00PM - Listened to entire Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Grace by Anne Lamott

When my sister dropped Thon food off for me earlier she brought in the Anne Lamott talking book cassette she and Mom had been listening to in the car suggesting that I might find it helpful in my current situation.  So I put my other reads on hold and popped the cassette in the machine that I'd set on the kitchen window sill and cranked up the volume so I could hear with the water running and set the speed to 1.5.

I listened as I emptied the dishwasher, loaded it again partially from what had been soaking in the sink, scrubbed the right side of the sink, wiped down appliances and moved them off the counter, sprayed and scrubbed the counter between the sink and the microwave and was startled when the book ended.  I'm not sure how long it was supposed to be tho I Googled the question and got the result 2hrs 53min.  So listening at 1.5 means it was probably around 2 hours.  In pages the tree book is 178.

I think it was helpful though I've already encountered the principles in other readings.  But her personal touch made the concepts come alive.  When I left the funde doctrine I was raised under it was the concepts of grace, mercy, compassion and love that I gravitated to as my spiritual path.  Thing is I was always seeing everyone but myself as worthy of it.

This is where Lamott spoke to me in ways I've been unable to speak to myself.  In truth, how could the mercy and compassion one says one feels for others be real if they hold themselves in contempt for falling short of their own ideals?

2:22PM - OMG I've been lost in Alice's Wonderland for three hours and I don't mean the book.

After I updated this morning I fixed my coffee and a snack and took it out on the balcony to listen to an audio while I drank my coffee.  I no sooner got the audio going and this woman from across the street climbed the stairs and I recognized her from times we had spoke casually when Ed and I were down in the parking lot or walking the sidewalk.  So she started chatting about Ed and the fact it was her that had called the wellness check.  

Twenty minutes later she was still talking and complained she was cold says 'let's go inside' and she pushed open the door and went in.  And then she wouldn't leave.  She kept chattering and wandering about the rooms, riffling through boxes and bags and pulling things out and keeping up a running commentary about conversations she'd had with Ed and most of it was completely bizzaro. 

Then she saw how i kept stumbling into things and was getting unsteady on my feet so she told me to sit down and then went in the bedroom and unplugged the fan so she could bring the chair it was sitting on and she sat and kept on talking and talking and talking and talking..

Then my computer started dinging message notifications and one was from my sister and i was trying to answer it and this woman came up and looked over my shoulder.  Finally i was able to message Carri 'She's here and she won't leave"  knowing Carri would understand it was the woman that James and Kevin had warned us about Wednesday when they cleaned up Ed's trash for me.  This is what she does striking up conversations then walking right in your place and refusing to take subtle hints.

So Carri messaged asking 'Can you message James or call him?' I messaged back 'i don't have his number in my contacts yet'  so i was looking for the paper he wrote it on and found it and managed to message it to carri so she called James and with her knowledge he came over and knocked but waited only two seconds before opening the door and saying brightly 'how's it going Joy?'  And the woman said 'I gotta go' and pushed past him to get out as I answered 'I've had better days.  Even yesterday was a better day.' 

Of course James wouldn't have got the context for that last as it was in reference to what I posted on last night about the emotional wreck I became sorting Ed's laundry.

James stayed about five minutes and then left and then i had to contact my sister because my phone had shut itself off after i unplugged the usb so I could carry it with me.  Apparently i can't do that unless i shut down the hotspot that my computer is connected with.  The phone system thinks it is draining the battery too fast or something.

By the time I was able to reach Carri she was already on her way over but she was going to be doing that anyway as that was what the original message from her was about.  She was wanting to know if I wanted her to bring over more Thon food. 

So a few minutes later she arrived and we chatted about what had just happened and she told me I needed to always have my key on me and lock the door when I go out on the balcony and she had me practice using both the key for the handle and the key for the deadbolt until I could work them quickly without fumbling.  

Then she gave me a couple of possible scripts for excusing myself firmly.  This is the kind of thing I need for even normal social interaction but this was not in the least normal.

Then when I got back on my computer I found messages from Ed's brother reminding me that he needed the remains and a copy of the certificate by Monday or they wouldn't be able to bury him with his Mother the day of her burial next week.  So I had to call the funeral home and found out, yes, both the certificate and the remains are ready to be picked up.  So then I arranged for Ed's brother to pick me up here on Monday to go take care of that.

And now I'm doing the update. I started it while my long overdue brunch was heating up in the microwave.  9 hours into the Thon and I have less than an hour's reading in.

i overslept and there went two hours.  I did my 7am update which took half an hour.  i read while I was waiting on my coffee water to heat and then I took my coffee and audio book outside and was listening for maybe five minutes before that woman came up.  There went four hours.  Then another two dealing with the fallout with James and Carri and finding the message from Ed's brother and dealing with that by calling the funeral home and then messaging Ed's brother about it.  And now another hour on this update.

Seriously I'm asking if I'm awake or not.  I still feel weirded out.  What do you do when the drama in your own life is too intense to let you engage with the drama on the page whether it's reading or writing?

7:00AM - OOPS

I got up at 4:44 as planned.  But it was too cold.  I couldn't go make coffee while shivering so.  

I"d never thought to turn on the heat all day yesterday as I was always so overheated from the exertion and was constantly going out on the balcony to cool off physically and emotionally and didn't think it made sense to be constantly releasing rooms full of hot air only to fill them up again.  Besides I prefer breathing cold air and getting warm by putting on layers.

Anyway.  I turned on the heat in the room I was sleeping in and crawled back into my nest on the floor with my cellphone and earbuds intending to start listening while the room warmed up.  But I didn't stay awake long enough to get the earbuds untangled.  Soon as I was under wraps and the shivering had stopped I blinked off.  Wish it had worked that way at midnight when I first lay down when I wanted to blink off but couldn't for over an hour.  I had to make myself stop checking on the time so I'm not sure when I finally did sleep.  

So, like so many thons before I'm beginning this one with a sleep deficit and now a reading deficit as well.

5:00AM - Opening Survey!

1) What fine part of the world are you reading from today?
    Kelso WA in my late husband's apartment sorting, packing and cleaning...

2) Which book in your stack are you most looking forward to?
    NF - The Thorn Necklace: Healing Through Writing and the Creative Process by Francesca Lia Block and Grant Faulkner

    Fic - The Bookshop of the Brokenhearted by Robert Hillman

3) Which snack are you most looking forward to?
    Chocolate Chip Cookie Protein Bar

4) Tell us a little something about yourself!
   

    Since the last Dewey Thon my life has been topsy-turvey.  Big Time.  Several times.

    First on June 7, I reluctantly walked away from my 41 year marriage.  

    Then on July 7 Mom had another stroke and spent the rest of the month in the hospital.  Her care has intensified since then.  She can no longer get in and out of chairs and bed without help.  She can walk only with the walker and then only with my sister right beside her.

She has resumed the weekend respite visits to my brother's home so I will be able to do way more reading than I could last April when we were in strict Covid shelter-in-place.

The latest blow was the death of my husband.  So I will be a widow rather than a divorcee.  Getting the news was like applying sandpaper to a healing road-rash.  Not that the healing had gotten all that far along.  I was mostly emotionally shut down all of June and then July was distracted by Mom's stroke fallout.  But when I got the news September 28 that Ed's body had been found in his apartment my emotions erupted and continue to alternately erupt or ooze like molten lava.

 I'm still in the fresh trauma of widowhood.  Ed died one month ago today.

The only thing that keeps the volatile emotions at bay is distracting myself with tasks that command my attention.  I'm sure the thon qualifies.  And if the tears come anyway, I've got audio books lined up.

5) If you participated in the last read-a-thon, what’s one thing you’ll do different today? 

    Because I can't loose a whole day on dealing with Ed's apartment I'll need to depend on audio books from the Library of Congress Talking Books and BARD.  I've used them in many thons but never as the mainstay of the entire 24 hours.

    Though I guess the really one different thing isn't the use of audio books it is the fact that I have to do major chores while reading.  I've discovered over the last several days that the only chores that are compatible with listening to a story is cleaning so I'm tackling the kitchen.  Anything involving reading labels, papers, book and music titles will not work.  And I learned on Friday that neither does sorting his clothes.

Then there is sharing brainspace with the grief.  That will be different.

4:44 AM - I'm setting this to go live at 4:44 AM but it may be as much as an hour before I check in.  Making coffee, Getting eyes focused.  Settling in at primary reading station.  But I will be reading via audio by 5AM.

Ode to Dewey

by Joy Renee

vote, fav and share for Dewey

We Miss You Dewey

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Do I Have Samantha Stevens' Twitchy Nose, Or What? #ROW80 #Preptober

Here's the #ROW80 #Preptober portion of this post.
This is Ed's office after I got done creating my island of sanity before returning to work on Ed's mess.  I changed my mind about using this room as the sorting and packing station.  I needed someplace less public than the balcony to escape the chaos in between spurts of activity.  So I made my bed on the floor next to the wall adjoining Ed's closet.  I cleared all of Ed's things off his desk and made it mine. I set up a charging station for the many USB chargeable items--lights, power packs, earbuds, speaker, keyboard, androids x 5, mouse x 2 and more. With creative use of a tall chair and a couple cardboard boxes I made a second desk for spreading out papers and tree books and writing by hand.  I didn't advance any of my ROW80 goals since Sunday but by creating this environment I increase my odds of advancing one or more goals by Sunday.

The answer to the question posed by the post title is: Or what.

The photo essay I posted Wednesday morning was a walkthrough tour of Ed's apartment upon my arrival Tuesday afternoon. [Look at your own risk as they cannot be unseen] My intention to spend the night was thwarted by not being able to create a safe enough environment  before Carri had to return to Mom's coupled with having no phone or Internet to reach out for help if necessary.

If you haven't  seen those pictures yet, you might want to go check them out before proceeding as the photos below will be more meaningful and the meaning the title is referencing more poignant. Because the photo essay I'm about to commence shows the apartment conditions less than thirty hours after the first photos were taken.

I will caption the location of the shots briefly and save the explanation for after the last photo.

I tried to trace the same path with similar angles as I did Tuesday.  Keep in mind, the difference between the two sets of photos is under thirty hours.

Crossing the Threshold Facing the Long Wall Between Hall and Kitchen.

Looking Across the Living Room Toward the Kitchen.

Looking Toward the Far Wall of Living Room With Visual of Couch.
The trash bags against the wall contain only aluminum cans for redemption.  The rest of the trash has vanished.

Standing On Edge of Linoleum Facing the Kitchen Table.
The stuff on the table, all related to eating and drinking, came with me. 

Along the Kitchen Window Wall

Looking Across the Expanse of the Kitchen Towards Counter and Sink.

Including the Rest of the Long Counter Along With the Stove.

Looking Down the Long Wall in Living Room Toward Coat Closet and Hall Closet

The Bathroom Sink, Mirror and Cabinet.
That's all my stuff on the counter.  The cabinet is still all Ed's.

The Toilet.

The Tub

Standing in the Hall Looking Past Foot of Bed to Far Wall

The Bed is Now My Sort and Pack Station.

So if It wasn't my twitchy Sam Nose what accomplished this in under thirty hours?

The answer:  Two of Ed's friends from across the street.  The didn't get started until after my return approximately 24 hours after the first set of photos were taken.  So it actually took them less than three hours.

It happened like this: Because it was Mom's shower day we were unable to leave until after Mom's was settled for her after lunch nap.  It was after three and we had to make a stop at T-Mobile to get a SIM card for my RCA Smartphone.  I purchased a senior citizen plan that gave me unlimited data and ability to use as hotspot for up to six of my Internet capable devices.

By the time we arrived at the apartment Carri was already late getting back to Mom for her next potty break so she schlepped my stuff up the stairs and left it next to the door as I unlocked and then started schlepping it all inside.

She left as soon as I and all my stuff was inside so I could lock the door.  I commenced to work on my plan to create my safe haven in Ed's office.  The plan was to ignore the rest of the apartment until I had my safe place.  I meant to begin by removing all of Ed's things and all of the packing related materials and then set up good lighting before unpacking my electronics and setting up my computer workstation.

I hadn't got far.  In fact I had only cleared Ed's desk before realizing that I needed the lighting figured out before I could proceed.  My lighting plan included stacking empty boxes until the top was over my head and then set a lamp aimed at the ceiling 

I was working on that stack when there were footsteps on the balcony outside the window.  They stopped instead of proceeding to apartments beyond Ed's.  They knocked.  And I heard my name.  I hate answering the door nearly as much as answering the phone.

My first thought was it might be Carri returning for some reason.  But it was definitely a mam's voice. I head for the door deciding the fact they were calling my name meant it was probably safe to open the door on the chain.  Once I did I recognized the face as belonging to a man across the street that would often speak to us as we were coming down the stairs of crossing the parking lot upon our return from somewhere.

He introduced himself as James and his friend as Kevin also from across the street.  They had just been talking to my sister and she'd told them I needed help bringing trash down to the dumpsters. I let them in and showed them the six or seven tied off bags in the kitchen that Carri had created the night before.  While they were bringing the bags down I returned to my project in the office.

When they returned from their last trip to the dumpsters James asked if it was OK if they worked at clearing the big pile of trash and cans in front of the couch.  I said sure and showed him where I'd put the big role of Hefty bags I'd found on top of the pile of stuff on the couch. (Evidence to my mind that something had sparked some motivation in Ed shortly before he died.)

So I stayed out of their way by continuing my safe haven project.  

I had explained the 'rules' Carri and I had been using: Keep all aluminum cans in separate bags and do not take down to dumpster as we plan to redeem them at the dump.  Separate out paper, plastic and glass recyclables and set aside anything that looked like important papers or papers with information about Ed.  That meant going through all the loaded bags as Ed had not kept any of that separate.  And watch out for things that are obviously not garbage like dirty dishes and silverware, clothes, electronics, books, pens and pencils, coins and what have you.

In spite of the restrictions it sill took the two of them only about an hour to process the equivalent of what Carri and I had handled in six--the four hours I did without Carri plus the two with her.  When they called me in to see the three of us stood there in the living room chatting about Ed for twenty or so minutes.

For some reason I spoke of my ordeal the previous evening working alone between five and nine and how I'd had to step out on the balcony at least twice an hour to get some cleansing breaths as the stench from the bathroom was overwhelming.  'We saw.' Kevin said.  'We were keeping an eye on things wondering what was going on.'  ;But, I said I couldn't stay on the balcony for more than a couple minutes before I'd start to cry and would make myself get back to work to put a stop to it.'  'We saw.' Kevin said.

Then James who had been standing nearest the hall in the cross currents of air wrinkled up his face and said, 'We can't leave you here alone with that. It's not safe.'  So with my permission he set to work cleaning the bathroom and Kevin proceeded to do the same in the kitchen.  Except for a stint playing paper towel dispenser for James while sitting on the office chair in the hall, I continued work on my safe haven.

Turns out James had professional experience cleaning up extreme messes.  In his twenties he'd worked for a company that cleaned up after deaths both violent and peaceful and when significant amounts of time had passed before the bodies had been discovered.

Before they left James ran the vacuum cleaner over all the carpet in the apartment wherever there was room to maneuver it.  They had accomplished in under three hours what would have taken me at least three days.

There was plenty more to my evening and night but I must leave off here as I did not sleep last night and my intent to go to be early flew off hours ago.  It's nearly 2am already and my sister is going to bring me a bathmat on her way out of town to take Mom to our brother's in Portland.  That way I get to tell Mom goodbye.  But that goes down in just twelve hours and I could easily sleep that long after being awake more than 24hrs.

Oh, dear.  I just realized that I've severely sabotaged my chances of making the whole 24 hours for the Dewey read-a-thon which starts in 27 hours.

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A Sad So Big- ROW80 - Preptober

 

iz gonna haz a boo kwissmus wifowt U

I woke up Monday morning before dawn after less than seven hours of sleep and in spite of having taken a double dose of the Trazadone as I lay down hoping for a solid 9 or 10 hours to make up for the short, erratic sleep all weekend, I was still awake thirty minutes later and the tears were already flowing again as they had been doing all weekend every time I woke enough to remember all over again.  

With Mom now sleeping inches away I could not let the silent weeping devolve into the shuddering gasping sobs and the only thing I knew that could nip it in the budding stage was to find a distraction.  So I sat up in the dark and pulled out my DVD player which was already loaded with the third disc of Game of Thrones season one.  Just as the opening titles finished there was a load explosive CLAP that seemed to surround the room or even suffuse the room.  My ears felt as they do when a July 4th celebrant sets off an M80 yards away.

My first thought was it was the story but I immediately realized there were no explosive devices in Game of Thrones.  I paused the player and pulled out the earbud just in time to hear the loud follow-up rumble of thunder and the sky opening up.  I got up and went to the front room to watch the rain fall and was reminded of this LOLcat I created as the first Christmas apart from Ed approached in 2013.  I had set such store in the hope of being home for Christmas that year and again every year that followed.  And though he had returned to Longview in 2016 we still had not resumed living together.  Sleepovers in his apartment did not count in my mind and heart as 'coming home for Christmas'.

Now it will never be.

I knew this in June when I made the choice to break up to protect my self.  I knew this season was going to be rough as between his birthday in September all the way through the anniversary of our last sleepover in mid March just before Covid shelter-in-place rules took effect there are few weeks without a holiday, birthday, anniversary or strong memory attached.  I knew it with my head anyway.  And I had just made it through the week of his birthday with barely a blip in mood change and was congratulating myself on that in the four days before the phone call that shattered my world all over again.

Have still not begun to write in either my journal or other files.  This seems to be the only place I can make the words flow.  I think it is because in order to 'speak' to an audience I must stand back from the rawness of my emotions put on at least a pretense of objective reportage.  Also I've put up fences around certain topics that still feel taboo (inappropriate sharing) for blogging and it is exactly in those areas where the emotions are the rawest and the tears most ready.  I can see how that contributes to the post editor feeling like a safer place than my journal.

I was mystified all weekend as to why my emotional state had devolved so drastically from the initial days which I had thought at the time were really bad.  The last five days has been exponentially worse.   I came to realize in the last day or so that what changed was the infusion of anger into the grief.  

Unconscious anger until yesterday.

There are layers to this dynamic for me.  There is the fairly typical grieving process anger that's to be expected according to the stages-of-grief literature.  But as complex as that is it is greatly exasperated by the habitual suppression of anger that was ingrained in my psyche from toddlerhood on.  This too was at least two-fold because both of my parents family of origin were quite stoic and did not condone any expression of strong emotions from exuberance to exasperation.  

But anger was in a separate category all its own.  According to Scripture, we were told, God equates anger with murder.  There is a verse (I'm too tired to look it up right now so I'm paraphrasing) that claims that being angry with your brother is the same as wishing him dead and he who holds anger in his heart is as guilty of murder as the one who sheds blood.

Contrary to the Scriptural teachings of my childhood, psychological principles declare anger a natural, normal and even healthy response to the violation of ones boundaries. As much as I loved Ed, (love him still) there was a great deal in our relationship dynamic that was a trigger for anger. Not all of it could be blamed on the alcohol.   But I was not allowed to express such a response either outwardly or inwardly.  I could not most of the time even allow myself to be aware of it.

It wasn't Ed that forbid expression of anger it was my training and I was a very good enforcer of the rule in spite of the fact that he and his entire family were loud and rowdy with what seemed to me unfettered emotions running the entire gamut from glee to rage.  Sometimes just being around strong emotion even if it wasn't directed at me was enough to trigger my goto reactions.  First anxiety revving up from mild to panic attack level unless I was able to suppress or release the emotional charge.  

Guess how I did that?  

Tears!  

No matter what the strong emotion that was the only safe way for me to express it.  Safe for my psyche that is.  It's not like I got any positive feedback from anybody subjected to my tears from at least age five on. Not even in my family whose rules and attitudes set the framework up for my particular coping method .And I did get plenty of negative feedback.  Just not enough to override the 'rules' against expressing strong emotion.  

Complicating all of that is two more layers related to being female.  There is the western cultural zeitgeist that considers anger unfeminine and that would be plenty all by itself to flummox a woman from blushing bride to grieving widow.  Add to that the doctrinal demand that I was raised under that a wife must submit to her husband in all things.  A wife could no more say 'No' to her husband than a daughter could say 'No' to her father.

Now consider all of that in the light of the fact that I had consciously felt and acknowledged my anger last May when Ed froze me out again.  Two weeks in I not only acknowledged it I used it to fuel my determination to draw a line, to say 'This I will not accept!' 

I used my anger to name his withdrawal as abuse. 

I used it to stiffen my spine.  

I used it to dry up my tears.  

I used it to feel strong.  

I used it to give him a tongue lashing in the middle of his apartment complex parking lot.

I used it to accuse him of abandoning his disabled wife and dying mother.

I used it to amplify my outdoor voice on a summer day with an array of open apartment doors and windows, putting his and my shame on display.

I used it to stay resolute all summer.

Then I got the call.

The anger fled and grief took over for a time.

But now the anger is back but it is no longer making me feel strong.

Only wrong.

Tho I was not thinking about it at the time I knew that shame was his most potent drinking trigger. All I was thinking about was getting away, breaking the spell he had me under. I got back in the car, slammed the door and rode my anger across the river, leaving him with nowhere to hide from the public shaming except inside his apartment gripping an aluminum can.

It is almost as if some supernatural storyteller just wrote Joy's story to prove the truth of the 'biblical principle' that anger is the equivalent of murder.

What am I to do with this?

____________________

As for my goals below? The first six are satisfactory.  The rest--zip.

Backstory highlights and high and low notes:

2013 Piles of Painted Echoes

2013 Our Broken Valentine

2013 Together We Are Amazing

2015 My Heart is the Lake of Fire

2020 Who Am I Without You?

2020 Sunday Serenity - Sorting My Stuff

2020 Of Truth and Words and Rude Epiphanies.

2020 Sunday Serenity - Sads & Hugs - LOLcat Therapy - ROW80 Check-in

2020 In Memorium: Go Forth Ed and Be in Peace

2020 Sunday Serenity - Wallowing - ROW80 & NaNoWriMo Goals

A Round of Words in 80 Days
Round 4 2020

The writing challenge that
 knows you have a life

NaNoWriMo 2020

2020 Round 4 ROW80 and NaNo goals:

Sleep 7.5 hours Daily Minimum --  This used to be a major challenge for me but I've got it managed since mid March.  Or at least I had until this past week.  Grief has taken a toll.

Move/Breathe/Meditate 15 min Daily minimum  -- proven to provide a high yield return on investment as whenever I've practiced any of them it stimulates creativity, memory, and insight; lowers anxiety, and increases energy, stamina and a positive mood.

Storydreaming with note-taking tools at hand. 15 min Daily MInimum -- This is a technique I learned from Robert Olen Butler in the book From Where You Dream.

Read Fiction 30 min Daily Average

Read/Study Craft 15 min Daily Average 

Social network activities 30 min Daily Minimum (writing Joystory posts doesn't count only social reaching out like reading/commenting on other blogs, guest posts and posting to fb, twitter, pinterest etc) -- something I've a strong resistance to.  The autism diagnosis helps explain this but doesn't let me off the hook.  If anything it makes it more important.  Plus this is preparing the ground for future promotion once I'm ready to publish

30 min Daily minimum engagement with a scavenger hunt though all my creative writing files including Joystory looking for better than shitty first draft scenes, sections, stories, poems and essays and edit, organize and make hard copies. --  It's been years since I've made clean copies of manuscripts in my portfolios and for most of the noveling writing challenges I've never printed hardcopy.  That is a lot of words to mine as between 2004 and 2015 I participated in more than one such challenge per year-- Nanowrimo, Junowrimo, Camp Nano, ROW80 and Sweating for Sven.among them.  That is a lot of novella length WIP just gathering electron dust.  A conservative estimate is over 20.  I've been wondering for sometime now if the neglect of these stories after the challenges were over is at least partly responsible for the storyworld's elusiveness over the last several years.  I'm hoping that this exercise in honoring their existence will cure my character's recent shyness.

To prep for self-pub: Gather all my poems into a single Scrivener file. Minimum one poem per day until all accounted for.  Adding new ones encouraged.  This will take most of the Round as there are over 80. See Poems by Joy Renee Portal.  Another exercise in honoring old work to encourage new work.

Via the above mentioned Scavenger hunt: Collect everything resembling personal essay into a Scrivener file.  Either this will be added to the self-pup poetry ebook or will become the second ebook.  Or a combo of those options.

Personal Journaling 20 min or 500 words whichever comes first Daily Minimum -- This is the heart of the writing challenge.  The preceding provides the structure and the nutrients that nurtures and honors the work which I've learned over time must exist to ensure that this becomes more than just dabbling.

NaNo Novel 1666 words per day on average. Am going to rebel a bit and bring back a previous NaNo WIP and rework it.  It is fitting because it's premise was rooted in the dynamics of my own marriage. I'm hoping this can be an exercise in grief processing. It's title is The Storyteller's Spouse and it was an exercise in 'unreliable narrator'.  The wife in my story is a YA novelist and the husband is a life-of-the-party natural born storyteller aka raconteur aka tall-tale-teller. I think the reason I got discouraged with the effort after that NaNo ended was because I had tried to lay all the unreliableness at the feet of the husband not realizing how much the wife's denial about the extent to which his storytelling was not confined to social gatherings put her squarely in the same camp. Older and wiser now.
   Am tweaking this goal to combine Storytellers Spouse with another story.  I had forgotten that I've made it a tradition since 2008 to write my election year NaNo in the same storyworld as Mobile Hopes which is set in a mobile home park called Hope Estates.  Each of the novels is set during its election year and the families in the park are living the issues that dominate the campaigns: health, jobs, housing, immigration, women's rights, law and order, climate change, race relations and so on.  Alll I have to do is have the characters move into Hope Estates and share the novel with several other families and I don't have a reworking of an old NaNo but a new story in the Hope Estates series. 

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I'm Sooo Ready! The Dewey Thon Is Almost Here.

Dewey's 24hr Read-a-Thon Fall Edition 2020:
October 24

Reader Sign-Up

 I am so ready for the Dewey Thon!! 

I definitely need the distraction of a read-a-thon.  It would be a lot more productive and healthier than binge-watching videos and playing video games to keep my memories and emotions from swamping me.  

Reading has been hit-or-miss since I got the news of Ed's death.  My attention span would fit in Thumbelina's Thimble.  And tears are not substitutes for reading glasses and they still just spring up out of nowhere any odd moment of the day or night.

I did have a couple of stable days earlier this week when I kept the tears at bay for most of the day and only got a bit weepy towards bedtime when fatigue had worn down my resolve.  But then on Friday--yesterday--I had to talk to the coroner again and then the funeral home to make arrangements for Ed's cremation.  I've felt like Alice in the lake of tears ever since.

Bedtime is the worst time of the day.  No matter how tired.  To keep the tears at bay I have keep myself distracted and the quietest way to do that is binge watch videos with earbuds or play silly match three video games until my eyes are crossing.  But even if I'm falling asleep over them by the time I've put away the device and settled among my nest of pillows and blankets with the light out I end up watching the video of my life on the back of my eyeballs and if I don't want to devolve into the silent head-ache inducing ugly cry, clutching my waist in the fetal position I must nip it by sitting back up and pulling out a distraction or getting up to wander from room to room or sit at my desk and fiddle with aps or aimlessly browse websites from my overloaded bookmarks or cull my email inbox...or...or...

Those last listed activities are not as unproductive as it sounds as they are part of the sort/organize project that has been the theme of my year. There are the bushels of physical belongings that I've blogged about but there is also a lot of electron belongings: files of manuscripts, notes, graphics etc and my email from inbox to archive and thousands of browser bookmarks.  But late night after a long day with morning on its way and no way I can just sleep in with Mom's wake up ritual my responsibility...is not conducive to efficiency.

Distracting myself from the grief this way is also keeping sleep at bay and putting my whole sleep hygiene program at risk which puts my mental health at risk and would lead inevitably to having to go back on meds.  And I don't want that.  I don't want my thoughts and feelings wrapped in cotton candy and marshmallow cream again.  But I can't let sleep depravation take over my life again either.  So I've struck a compromise.  I'm taking the Trazadone at night for the days Mom is at home (Sunday night through Wednesday night and optional Thursday night as she leaves before lunch) but I'm not taking it on the weekends she spends at my brother's.  

Those two calm days I had this week followed 8 hour sleeps induced by the Traz.  And yet I won't yet let that tempt me into a daily regimen as I refuse to be addicted/dependent on it again.  It messes with my vision which I cannot afford. It takes my eyes several hours after waking to be at what passes for their best.  It's not just my vision.  I'm clumsy also for hours after waking.  I'm sure the vision issue contributes to this but it isn't just eye-hand coordination.  It's like my brain isn't mapping where my body is in space and in relation to other objects and this includes muscle memory not just sensory input from my eyes.

Which means productivity is down.  Waaaay down. Because mornings between Mom's wake up routine and lunch have been my 'office hours' so the work I had been doing then gets pushed back until Mom is in bed at 9 and when I've finally started getting productive work done on my WIP or the sort/organize projects or blogging I am tempted to push back the time for taking the Traz until it's nearly too late as I must give it nine hours to clear my system enough I can manage my morning duties with Mom by 9am. 

But I can't call these weepy, wallowing weekends sans Traz productive either. At least not regarding WIP or sorting stuff.  This may not be sustainable long term but I'm hoping that giving the emotions permission to exist and express themselves will pay off in the long run as this is after all just another sort/organize project:  memories and emotions.  It is the repression of them that is often at the root of clinical depression and I know that has been one of my issues.

Here's hoping that I can do without a wallowing weekend by the 24th.  Weepy I can tolerate for the read-a-thon as I have plenty of audio options.  The ugly cry and the choking sobs and gritted teeth, hiccups and hanky honks and tear soaked neckline and hugging pillows in the fetal position and burping swallowed air are all things I hope I'm ready to be done with by then or if not at least able to be distracted from for 24hours.  

The Dewey Thon has been an integral part of my life since 2007 so I think in two weeks time grief can take a holiday for 24hrs.

It will also be something I can do to honor Ed's memory and memories of some of our best times together.  It was in the high school library we first started hanging out together and developed a friendship around reading and philosophical debates.  One of our favorite activities was sitting side by side reading. He even participated in the first several of the Dewey Thons with me tho never for the full 24 hours he was very partial to his sleep he was.  

So if I can set my mind to hold the space of the Thon as a space I'm sharing with Ed the way I knew him when he was still himself that could be a healing experience. 

Backstory highlights and high and low notes:

2013 Piles of Painted Echoes

2013 Our Broken Valentine

2013 Together We Are Amazing

2015 My Heart is the Lake of Fire

2020 Who Am I Without You?

2020 Sunday Serenity - Sorting My Stuff

2020 Of Truth and Words and Rude Epiphanies.

2020 Sunday Serenity - Sads & Hugs - LOLcat Therapy - ROW80 Check-in

2020 In Memorium: Go Forth Ed and Be in Peace

2020 Sunday Serenity - Wallowing - ROW80 & NaNoWriMo Goals

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I Want to be a Woman of Courage Using My Words Like This -- ROW80/CampNaNo

The power I felt coursing through me as I listened to Congresswoman AOC is what I had been hoping to find in myself via my writing this round of ROW80 and July Camp NaNo.  This is why I chose journaling and editing my poetry portfolio as my project for these summer months and thus my goals for the writing challenges.  

Instead I find myself woefully lacking in courage, my jaws locked and my throat spasming as I choke on the words I won't let myself speak or write. I find that a good portion of the fear blocking my words is fear of being found out by those in my life with similar attitudes toward women as that of Congressman Yoho whose verbal abuse of AOC was caught on camera on the grounds of the congressional buildings and whose later inadequate and insincere apology on the floor of Congress sparked this retort by AOC.  

There are many still in my life from the 'church' I was raised in whose relationships I don't want to loose but whose respect I can only keep if I keep quiet about how far my personal philosophy has deviated from that I was raised in.  Many would be shocked to learn that I consider AOC my heroine, that I find the platforms of feminism and progressivism completely compatible with my concept of Jesus and that if not for my disabilities I would be out on the streets with the protesters demanding dignity and justice for all.

Oh, none of those I'm thinking of would speak to me with the crass words and obnoxious tone that Congressman Yoho spoke to Congresswoman AOC but they would ground their exception to my beliefs in the same doctrine and in the name of the same God and express their 'disappointment' in me and they would pray for me that God would show me the error of my ways and thoughts and they would 'share' their concerns for me among each other via conversations, phone calls, prayer chains, text messages and emails.  When I've found myself the focus of this form of 'love' bullying in the past I have felt like I was smothered in marshmallow cream and as unable to resist as I would have been if subjected to a choke-hold or the weight of a body kneeling on my throat.  

Thought police come in many forms and some of them apparently live inside you.

It has been less than two months since I ended my marriage of four decades because it was no longer physically or emotionally safe for me to remain in that relationship and now I'm faced with the prospect of risking nearly every other significant relationship in my life or voluntarily smothering my own soul.  

No wonder my words are rotting in my craw.

I want to be a woman of courage using my words with power and conviction like AOC.

Or so I say.

Why can't I follow thru?

A Round of Words in 80 Days
Round 3 2020

The writing challenge that
 knows you have a life

Camp NaNoWriMo July 2020

2020 Round 3 ROW80 and July Camp NaNo goals check-in:

* Sleep 7.5 hours Daily Minimum --  Satisfactory effort

* Move/Breathe/Meditate 15 min Daily minimum  -- Satisfactory effort

* Storydreaming with note-taking tools at hand. 15 min Daily Minimum -- This is a technique I learned from Robert Olen Butler in the book From Where You Dream. -- Unsatisfactory

* Read Fiction 30 min Daily Average --  Above and beyond

* Read/Study Craft 15 min Daily Average --  Above and beyond

* Social network activities 30 min Daily Minimum (writing Joystory posts doesn't count only social reaching out like reading/commenting on other blogs, guest posts and posting to fb, twitter, pinterest etc) -- something I've a strong resistance to.  --  Satisfactory effort

* 30 min Daily minimum engagement with a scavenger hunt though all my creative writing files including Joystory looking for better than shitty first draft scenes, sections, stories, poems and essays and edit, organize and make hard copies. --  Unsatisfactory

* To prep for self-pub: Gather all my poems into a single Scrivener file. Minimum one poem per day until all accounted for.  Adding new ones encouraged. --   Satisfactory

* Personal Journaling 45 min or 1000 words whichever come first Daily Minimum -- This is the heart of the writing challenge.  The preceding provides the structure and the nutrients that nurtures and honors the work which I've learned over time must exist to ensure that this becomes more than just dabbling.  --  Unsatisfactory

For an explanation and links to backstory see the ROW80/Camp NaNo Goals post.

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Sunday Serenity -- Writing Matters -- ROW80/CampNaNo

Abbie Emmons of Writers Life Wednesday.
One of the ways I fulfill my Read/Study Craft goal.
These short vids are so upbeat and info rich.
They are a joy to watch.

It's a good thing ROW80 is about flexibility as much as it is about accountability and effort as much as it is about metrics.  And as its motto says it's the writing challenge that knows you have a life.  If not for all of that I might be getting fixated on all the ways I'm not measuring up to my goals and putting my focus on punishing myself rather than on acknowledging the successes and accepting as legitimate the need to adjust to real life events that were not put into the original calculations when I wrote my goal post.  I was unaware for most of a week but the day I was writing m goal post was the day Mom had her stroke.  The first check-in Wednesday was the first time they took her to ER when she was told it wasn't a stroke but then last weekend she was back at ER and then checked into the hospital where she stayed until Friday afternoon.  It was a stroke and everything is going to change for her and those of us caring for her going forward.  My calculations for my goals no longer apply to my current situation but that situation is still in such flux that I can't really calculate new metrics that I can be sure of being in control of.  So for the time being I'm going to leave them as written and consider them strong aspirations that I will work towards as we figure out our new roles and responsibilities with Mom going forward.  Some things might improve for her over time and if so I may still have reachable goals here well before the end of the round.

Mom can not currently get herself in and out of beds and chairs nor walk unaided even with walkers.  She can not dress or undress herself.  She can't feed herself with utensils.  She takes much longer to get a thought expressed. 

So far my new duties include feeding Mom since that is a sit down job and doesn't put me at any extra risk due to the obstacle course the front rooms have become after moving stuff around to make room for the walker and the transport chair. 

I suppose I could write a whole sitcom episode featuring the follies involved in the blind feeding the blind.  The first couple meals were spooned food and I had little trouble getting comfortable with it but the first time we added fork food to her meal I almost balked.  With no peripheral vision and one eye of little use at all I also have no depth perception and Mom is worse with both eyes than my worst eye.  I was quite intimidated by the idea of pointing a fork at Mom's face and pushing it at the general vicinity of her mouth.  But we figured it out.

She keeps biting her own lips and I told her to tell her teeth to watch where they are going.  She laughed and had trouble stopping for the next bite.  So her mind is still quite capable of enjoying a pun.

It has been my job for years to fix lunch everyday Mom is home and that won't change.  It has also been my job to fix dinner two to three times a week and those duties will likely continue. The new time consuming task is in feeding her.  I used to crochet or read or listen to talking books or pod casts while she ate.  I can still listen to audio.  Maybe.  I can also imagine how that might not work.  You know, my focus issues.

The other big difference in my new role that impacts my writing goals is the need to be alert for a call to drop everything to come help my sister with one version of transport or transferring or another.  She occasionally needs me to spot from behind when she needs to be in front, from the left when she needs to be to the right or from the front when she needs to be in back of Mom or the chair.  Primarily it is about coming when called to set the brake on the transfer chair once they have the chair in position and to unlock the brake once they have mom seated in it again.  This is because the paths and doorways are too narrow to allow anything but the chair and Carri needs to be on the same side of the chair as Mom to help her in and out.  The brakes are in the back.

The way this impacts my writing goals is due to the way my mind refuses to focus if there is the slightest anticipation of interruption.  And the way I tend to never get back to a piece I was writing when I got interrupted.  I am trying to decide if the best way to go forward is to identify a time slot where interruptions are very unlikely or to figure out a way to fix the focus issues or the 'return to task' issues.  Or if not 'fix' them to learn to write anyway accepting that interruptions are inevitable and even incomplete sentences (thoughts) are better than none at all.

Time slots where interruptions are least likely are the hours Mom is in bed approximately 9pm to 9am but my own 7.5hrs needs to be in that same slot.  Which means I either write after she is in bed, as I'm doing for this post, or make sure I'm ready for lights out at the same time as she is and plan to write for an hour or two before 9am when my sister begins the getting up routine for Mom.  I'll be feeling my way around these conundrums this coming week looking for insight.  I know writing itself will help with that very thing. 

A Round of Words in 80 Days
Round 3 2020

The writing challenge that
 knows you have a life

Camp NaNoWriMo July 2020

2020 Round 3 ROW80 and July Camp NaNo goals check-in:

* Sleep 7.5 hours Daily Minimum --  Unsatisfactory

* Move/Breathe/Meditate 15 min Daily minimum  -- Satisfactory effort

* Storydreaming with note-taking tools at hand. 15 min Daily Minimum -- This is a technique I learned from Robert Olen Butler in the book From Where You Dream. -- Unsatisfactory

* Read Fiction 30 min Daily Average --  Above and beyond

* Read/Study Craft 15 min Daily Average --  Above and beyond

* Social network activities 30 min Daily Minimum (writing Joystory posts doesn't count only social reaching out like reading/commenting on other blogs, guest posts and posting to fb, twitter, pinterest etc) -- something I've a strong resistance to.  --  Above and beyond

* 30 min Daily minimum engagement with a scavenger hunt though all my creative writing files including Joystory looking for better than shitty first draft scenes, sections, stories, poems and essays and edit, organize and make hard copies. --  Unsatisfactory

* To prep for self-pub: Gather all my poems into a single Scrivener file. Minimum one poem per day until all accounted for.  Adding new ones encouraged. --   Satisfactory

* Personal Journaling 45 min or 1000 words whichever come first Daily Minimum -- This is the heart of the writing challenge.  The preceding provides the structure and the nutrients that nurtures and honors the work which I've learned over time must exist to ensure that this becomes more than just dabbling.  --  Unsatisfactory

The reason sleep got unsatisfactory is because I fudged it during the last several days before Mom's return in my efforts to get the sort project cleared off her bed and then get my other household chores done before her return as well.  I ended up not getting to sleep Thursday night until well have the windows were full of grey dawn light and I still got up at 8 because the timing of Mom's discharge was not known and I needed to be available to receive messages and I still had chores to do including a shower/shampoo.  So I made sure to be ready for lights out along with Mom Friday night and slept most of the same twelve hours she did.

Storydreaming itself is easy.  Its the note-taking part that I keep slacking on.  I fall into storydreaming easily while crocheting unless I'm listening to an audio of some sort.  I fall into storydreaming my storyworld as I'm falling asleep but there is no note-taking nor should there be if I intend to sleep!

The file scavenger hunt and the poem collecting project got interrupted late last week when my computer did a restart and closed all the aps.  I didn't lose anything it is just that having tabs and aps open is one version of my to-do list and I'm more likely to work on a project if all the tools are at my fingertips.  I was so busy with the preparations for Mom's return I didn't have the mental bandwidth to get those projects set back up--open aps, tabs, windows and files and size and position windows just so.  Some of the aps would open back up the way they were when closed but not when the computer shuts them down for restarts.

I really can't conclude anything other than pure procrastination regarding the journal writing that is suppose to be the core of Round 3 goals.  I was soooo committed to that goal when I set it two weeks ago.  All the other goals are designed to foster and found that goal.  I can still remember how positively I felt about it and how motivated I was to get started the day I wrote and posted my goals post.

For an explanation and links to backstory see the ROW80/Camp NaNo Goals post.

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ROW80 - Life Happens

Mom with her friend/caregiver wearing the crocheted tunics I made them

A lot of mental bandwidth as well as time messaging back and forth with family has been commandeered by the ongoing events around Mom's stroke.  She is still in the hospital for at least another day but they are already warning us that the insurance could come back with denial of further hospital stay any day.  They still haven't decided whether they are going to send her to in-patient rehab before sending her home.  They say she isn't exhibiting enough stamina for it.  But as of yesterday she still needed two people to assist her in transferring in and out of bed and chairs.  I can't imagine how that is going to work at home going forward. But the other option is worse in the new reality.  If she has to go to another living situation the rules for most of them don't allow visitors.  Please pray for her and our family.

Meanwhile, to help me keep my mind from zooming race-track circles I continued the sort project.  This is also something I could be doing to contribute to the new reality as my stuff has been overrunning Mom's room.

So it is to some extent understandable that I haven't met all of my writing goals this week.  But on the other hand, journaling is something that would help this situation and yet I've been avoiding it.  I did manage to get the poem collection project started.  And I did open the journal file today.  Since one of my issues is initiating, I need to give myself some points for both of those things but there is no way I can call it satisfactory.  At least I'm not entertaining ideas of giving up 'because I've already failed' as I once would have.

A Round of Words in 80 Days
Round 3 2020

The writing challenge that
 knows you have a life

Camp NaNoWriMo July 2020

2020 Round 3 ROW80 and July Camp NaNo goals check-in:

* Sleep 7.5 hours Daily Minimum --  Unsatisfactory

* Move/Breathe/Meditate 15 min Daily minimum  -- Satisfactory effort

* Storydreaming with note-taking tools at hand. 15 min Daily MInimum -- This is a technique I learned from Robert Olen Butler in the book From Where You Dream. -- Unsatisfactory

* Read Fiction 30 min Daily Average --  Above and beyond

* Read/Study Craft 15 min Daily Average --  Above and beyond

* Social network activities 30 min Daily Minimum (writing Joystory posts doesn't count only social reaching out like reading/commenting on other blogs, guest posts and posting to fb, twitter, pinterest etc) -- something I've a strong resistance to.  --  Above and beyond

* 30 min Daily minimum engagement with a scavenger hunt though all my creative writing files including Joystory looking for better than shitty first draft scenes, sections, stories, poems and essays and edit, organize and make hard copies. --  Unsatisfactory

* To prep for self-pub: Gather all my poems into a single Scrivener file. Minimum one poem per day until all accounted for.  Adding new ones encouraged. --   Satisfactory

* Personal Journaling 45 min or 1000 words whichever come first Daily Minimum -- This is the heart of the writing challenge.  The preceding provides the structure and the nutrients that nurtures and honors the work which I've learned over time must exist to ensure that this becomes more than just dabbling.  --  Unsatisfactory

Sorta Sorted

This is the sort project on Mom's bed as of Sunday.  I don't want to take time to take, edit and upload a pic of what it looks like today but it is now a full layer deeper and part of a third as I left the nine 11 gallon Ziploc zipper bags in place and spread more boxes and bags over them to sort.  It was easier on my back to have the added height.  Since Sunday I've sorted through at least another dozen boxes and bags, eliminating at least 50% of their volume.  I have several more empty boxes and bags to show for it.

I'm getting better and better at letting go.  The sort project has become my therapy as it is helping me sort my mental and emotional stuff as I sort my physical objects.  And it is giving me something to OCD on to replace the tendency to OCD on Ed.  I've nearly broken the habit of keeping a running narrative in my head of all the things I plan to share with him in our next chat.  I've nearly reached peace with the understanding there will be no more 'chats' no more casual sharing of thoughts and emotions, pitfalls and triumphs.  Future communication will be utilitarian for the purpose of separating our respective belongings and proceeding with the legal divorce.

For an explanation and links to backstory see the ROW80/Camp NaNo Goals post.

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