Day 10: The week in preview

Here's what I did today instead of writing. Yoga class with Coraline. Church. (I know it's hard to believe I go to church, but there really are churches for people like me.) Lunch with Coraline and getting her ready to go swimming with her dad and other grandma. Nap. (Fuck me, but 4 hours of sleep isn't enough.) Texted. (Unlike talking on the phone, texting requires complete dedication. I used to get so much more done while I was talking on the phone. Nobody does that any more though.) Scrolled through Facefuckingbook  and felt like total shit. Three-plus-mile hike with Drake and Montana and the dogs over rocky terrain that was all uphill while listening to a marching band practice in the near distance. Washed the dog. Picked 200+ burrs out of the dog's hair. (A 90-pound poodle can collect a lot of burrs.) Poured a glass of chardonnay, popped some popcorn and sat down to write .... but turned on The Danish Girl instead because it's overdue from the library. Put clean sheets on the bed. Showered. Made notes for this week's blog posts. Nurtured the self-loathing that is endemic to all writers, regardless of their talent or output.

And here I am at almost 3:00 am finally writing. The Danish Girl was gorgeous, poignant, horrifying, tragic, and heart-breaking. I don't want to write any spoilers, because if you haven't seen it, I want you to rent it or check it out from the library and watch it for two reasons.

First, the cinematograpy is brilliant. I wanted to pause the action and just gaze at the screen as if it were a painting in a museum. And that's ironic, because it's the story of two artists. The colors are so rich and vibrant, you could watch this movie simply for the images. 

But there's also the tragic story, based on the life of Lili Elbe, a transgender woman who was born around the turn of the 20th century, and who was one of the first transgender people to undergo surgery. Of course it's terribly relevant today, not because such things are any of our business. Really, the gender of other people is not our business. But we have to pay attention because some people have made this an unsafe world for transgender people -- mocking, bullying, diagnosing, and even killing them -- and that's not something we should ignore.

I've known several people who were in various stages of transitioning, and here's what my experience has been: In every case, I could honestly say, "Now you are yourself. This is you. I can see this is the real you." It's like a terrible tension is broken. Something has been set right. The movie captures both the inevitability and the difficult journey most transgender people travel to get there. 

Lili's story is not easy to watch, even with the gorgeous imagery, but I highly recommend that you do watch it. And also read this article about the real Lili Elbe, which is possibly even more interesting than the movie, although not more beautiful.

And now that I've given you something to watch, here, in no particular order, are the posts you can expect to see here this week. Or maybe next, depending on what weirdness catches my eye.

• Art and Miss Serendipity
• More Coralinisms
• If we were sharing a glass of wine (or coffee or bourbon or name the potion of your choice)
• Why I don't go bare-chested in public, but I want to
• Shit I saw on Facebook
• The weight of a little girl
• Something about vaginas
• The disturbing world of the Craigslist platonic-only personals, and why you should check there before you go on a date (I know! I know! I shouldn't look there, but sometimes somebody sends you a listing that you simply have to look at.)

That's it. I'm out of here for tonight. Do make sure you see The Danish Girl, and let me know what you think. Or, if you have seen it, post your own review in the comments.

NaBloPoMo #24: Distractions

"Tomorrow's full moon is a special one, called a Mourning Moon, fyi.
'According to Pagan traditions, the Mourning Moon is meant to signify a time of evolution. As this moon rises in the sky, it is recommended that we let go of the baggage we’ve been holding on to. We must cleanse ourselves as we reflect on this year’s happenings. Specifically, we must let go of anything that’s weighing us down before the new year begins.'"  ~~ Facebook post

Dog shaming

All writers complain about how hard it is to put their butts in the chair and write. Many writers complain about all the things they do to avoid putting their butts in the chair and writing. I suspect I may be the queen of procrastination though, and my muse Dolores will testify. She's about ready to fire my ass. So this is my post of shame. It's the reticulated version of dog shaming, only I'm not going to put a sign in front of a photo of myself, because last time I looked I am not a fucking dog, although for some reason I bought a dog a year ago tomorrow, and he's just one more distraction from writing.

Here, in no particular order, are the things I do when I should be writing.

1. Watch Netflix. Currently mainlining The Girlfriends' Guide to Divorce. Because I didn't get enough of that particular brand of hell the first time around. It's a lot more interesting for women who are rich, gorgeous, thin and sophisticated than it is for real people like me. So far the only parallel is that the sex is disappointing, even if the characters don't know it. PiV only, which we all know isn't going to get the job done.
2. Read other people's books. And articles. And other people's blogs. I read a lot.
3. Yoga.
4. Drink wine and gobble self-hatred any food I've sworn not to eat: chocolate, potato chips, peanuts, chocolate, bread. 
5. Scroll through Facesuck, rarely stopping to read anything. No offense. How much shit about Donald Trump can one person read, anyway? Shut the fuck up about him already.
6. Message with friends ... on fucking Facesuck.
7. Write clever status updates on Facebook, and then check every 30 seconds for comments. If you only knew me by my Facebook, you'd think my life was perfect. It's not. Today I opened my recycle dumpster and saw smelled that someone had not only dumped a bunch of beer cans and trash, he'd also thrown up in there. Thanks a lot, asshole.
8. Sex. Think about sex.
9. Take Crow Cocker to the dog park. In my defense, I do get some exercise there too. And exercise is supposed to stimulate creativity. I'm not sure if picking up 3 dog shits with a little plastic bag over my hand every time we go helps though.
10. Clean the kitchen.
11. Play my guitar.
12. Play my piano. I should be a concert pianist by now.
13. Play with my purple microphone.
14. Karaoke.
15. Go to open mics. Just to listen and drink pear sangria. Not to play. And not to pick up married men, although if I were so inclined, that too could be a distraction.
16. Dote on my granddaughter. She's with me a lot, and honestly, it's hard to switch gears to writing about vaginas after I get her to bed at 10 or 10:30.
17. Cook.
18. Travel.
19. Nap. I dearly love a power nap in the afternoon. I rarely get 8 hours of sleep, so I can justify naps on those days when I can catch one. Hell, I can justify a nap if I slept 9 hours. I'm a fucking adult. I do what I want.
20. Parties, at my house or at other people's houses. I can't say no to a party.
21. Cruise Amazon and put things on my wish list. Sometimes I even buy some shit, and then I'm excited when I get a package in the mail, because I've usually forgotten what I ordered. Like that zucchini spiralizer I so desperately wanted. Still haven't used that.
22. Sit on the porch and rock and think about what I should be writing.
23. Go out with friends and make notes on cocktail napkins about shit I could write about. I've got a stack big enough to be a fire hazard.

I could probably make this list longer, but I've made my point. Stephen King claims he writes 8 hours a day, 7 days a week. Obviously he under-reports his hours. The man must have made a deal at the crossroads he's so prolific. I, on the other hand ..... I am not Stephen King. And so far, the devil is just as disinterested in me as I am in him.

I really love writing, so this list makes me kind of sad, because I really love doing most of the things I listed here too. What are your distractions? Do they prevent you from going after a big dream? Can I borrow a couple? I can always use one or two more.

Unpacking dating .... eventually

When I asked what I should write about this month, a significant number of people wanted to know when I was going to get back to 10 Dates, 10 Men. In fact, I can't remember the last time I went to a party that somebody didn't remind me that I've slacked off on the 10 Dates, 10 Men project ... and I am also reminded every time I subtly deny giving a guy my number that I'm not really pursuing this dating shit very hard.

It's not that I don't want to but .... well, I have reasons. I always have reasons. I suspect they've turned into excuses by now, but semantics don't replace actions.

So tonight I was going to write about that. No, really! I was! I even picked up a book on dating at the library yesterday and skimmed two chapters. I had every intention of writing about it and getting it going and making a fucking commitment! ... But when I started making notes on a big sheet of paper while I watched The Voice, I realized I didn't have my shit together yet ... not enough to write about it.

But I will. I mean, I am .... taking notes, I mean. Looking at it through the lens of my word for the year, unpacking, along with my epiphany about my "5" years, I really have to consider breaking through my resistance to dating.

I've bought the new house, and I'm unpacking it. I started a new job teaching creative writing at a nearby magnet school for the arts. I'm unpacking a new curriculum and leaving behind academia for an entirely new culture in a public school. And it fits me much better than teaching at the university did.

Much as I'd like to avoid it, dating seems like the next thing to unpack ... which may be why I'm unpacking my house so slowly, because I really can't date if I can't bring a guy home with me. I mean, right?

And yet, when it comes to dating, I feel like I'm sitting on a pine cone. It's time to let loose the spring fever and either get a dog (please don't recommend a rescue. I only live with standard poodles) or date somebody.

So I'm working on a post about that and why it's so fucking hard for me .... and yet seems so easy for other people. I still need to unpack 1 of 10, who has been ridiculously resistant to leaving the suitcase.

And I need to lose 20 pounds and get some blonde highlights in my hair, because isn't that what every woman does when she decides to date?

Stay tuned .....