Day Twenty-Five through Twenty-Nine

Apparently I am not very good at trying new things. If you've been following along, my goal this week was to try new things in small ways. That, unfortunately did not really happen.

Here's what did happen:

Day 25 : Trip to bookstore (with purchase) and then side trip to Maurices (with purchase). I DID try on some printed shorts I never would normally try on, and though they looked alright with the outfit, they didn't look alright on me. So the purchase was not the pants. It was actually a crop jacket.

Day 26: Told myself I was going to clean. I didn't clean. I wrote instead.

Day 27:  Told myself I was going to clean. I didn't clean. Also told myself I was going to actually cook something for dinner. I just had tacos—which, by the way, does not count. Instead, I took a trip to a different bookstore (no purchase) and picked up my pottery piece from my birthday (no purchase necessary). Then I went home and did some writing.

Day 28: Met up with Mom and my sister to do some grocery shopping (with purchase, obviously). Played with my nephew afterwards on their deck and found a little frog, which he thought was just the coolest thing ever. Went home, put away groceries. Did some cleaning (finally!) and I actually did the dishes!! I did not cook, however, like intended, and ate leftovers instead. Then I did some more writing.

Day 29: Went to Tuesday Mornings and bought a toilet brush (the fancy kind in the silver holders). Told myself I was going to go to Dillon's to get milk. I did not. Instead, I went home and wrote this blog post...after wasting time doing absolutely nothing for about an hour. And making nachos.

I will say, however, about this week that I have had a different music station on every night. Some of my station choices included cool jazz, 80s hits, Celtic music, and 90s country. I enjoyed them all. Currently, I am music-less. Mostly because I am being too lazy to reach two feet for the remote and turn it on. Pathetic, isn't it?

I simply have no motivation today. It's been a long week at work and yesterday I was pretty productive (I mean, I folded the towels that have been in my rocking chair for a week and did the dishes. Productive!) and today I am just...not. Right now, all I want to do is go curl up in my bed and go to sleep. I am resisting, however, as it is only six pm, and it would feel rather silly.

I thought I would come home and be all "wow, I can't wait to work on my story!" But when I opened the documents (yes, plural) I just stared at it, the stupid blinking cursor mocking me.

Then I thought, "Oh, I'll read a book! I only have like a million that are lying around waiting to be read. I'll do that instead!" I proceeded to stare at the cover of a book, not interested enough to actually crack the spine...

This is one of those nights when I would normally turn on Netflix and mindlessly watch episode after episode of whatever show I happened to be interested in that week (or day or hour. It constantly changes) until it was 10 PM (or even 9) and I would crawl into bed, thinking how uneventful my life was.

Likewise, tonight is a struggle against the lazy unmotivated-ness. I told myself "Its a beautiful day, you should go for a walk!" Then I got home and suddenly wanted to absolutely nothing. Literally. I don't want to write. I don't want to read. I don't want music. I don't want to move. I don't want to think. I don't even want to keep my eyes open. Without a TV to distract me and lull me into a vegetative state for the next three to four hours, I have no clue what to actually do.

I mean, I know what I could be doing. There are many—MANY—things I could be doing. Crochet that blanket I started last Winter. Write one of three stories I have going. Start a new story. Sketch. Go for a walk. Clean my house (Pick a room! They're all dirty!) Dance to some music. Cook dinner. Make my lunch for tomorrow. Fold more laundry. Take the laundry out of the dryer.

Et cetera....

But even as I write out the list of everything, each item I think "Nope. No thank you. Next. I'm not in the mood. I don't have the energy for that. I've got no inspiration."

It's terrible really, this Monster of Un-Motivation that is sitting on my chest. Even food is uninteresting to me right now. I stare at my fridge at the fruit and vegetables and whatever else I got at the store yesterday and think "I don't want that."

You know it's bad when I don't even want to eat!

I am trying to think of a clever way to tie this up, to bring it around to a point, a lesson I've learned, or something...but I can't seem to find it. The words are caught in the back of my mind, as un-motivated as the rest of me.

I guess this week is just the Quarterly Slump (being over 1/4 of the way through my challenge). I don't even want to think about the mid-challenge crisis that is likely on the horizon... Stay tuned around Day 50 (September 10th) and the week following to find out!

That's all for now folks... My fingers don't feel like typing anymore.... 

Day Twenty-Two through Twenty-Four

There hasn't been a terrible amount of excitement since the spider-slaying incident. Mostly, it's been a lot of writing and sleeping and working. Not necessarily in that order, mind you.

I am the kind of person who usually needs background noise going—I get this from my mother. It doesn't have to be anything particular, but if I'm wanting to actually get something done, it can't be anything distracting enough that will make me want to stop what I'm trying to do to give it my full attention. Usually I turn on the TV to something either I have no real interest in watching or that I've seen a hundred times. Disney movies tend to work well for this, or the the show Friends. 

Being on my no TV kick, however, sort of takes away these as an option. So, option #2: music. Sometimes it is KLOVE Radio, other times I flip on Pandora and rock out to "Adele radio" (which includes way more than just Adele, by the way). Lately, however, I've been stretching my musical ear to other types to which I may not normally listen.

I'm trying to do this with all areas of my life, actually. I spent twenty minutes in the non-fiction section at the library (which is a big deal, if you know me at all). I try on new styles of clothes at the store or, if I'm feeling broke, pair up the clothes I already own in new ways. I try to cook new things every so often, or go to a restaurant I haven't been to in a while or I've always wanted to try. It's not a constant thing, but I do try to pepper in these experiences every so often. I mean, it was kind of the whole purpose of this challenge, right? Getting me to expand my horizons?

But, I thought, what if I don't want to go anywhere, but I still need a change from my routine? Because, let's face it, it has become a routine.

They say it takes 21 days or so to make a new habit, and, as I'm on day twenty-four, I would say I've made new habits. I come home, I check the mail, I greet Melvin. I turn on some music. I open my laptop. I work on some writing. Or I open a book and read for several hours. Sometimes both, although not, of course, at the same time. That has become my routine.

There is nothing wrong with this routine. I like it. I like that I can sit down and write and not feel obligated to make it perfect or spectacular or even good. I can just write—get out my creative energy. This is a good thing. Reading goes along the same lines. I become a better writer the more I read—and the more I stretch myself with both of these things the better I become at both.

But sometimes, I need a small change. The same show with a different theme song. It's refreshing, gets me to focus more, see things from a different perspective. That's kind of a deep way of saying I wanted to listen to something else.

It started with my Sunday Night Movie. It was the day after my birthday (woo-hoo!) and I was cruising Netflix... I shouldn't have been, but I let my curiosity get the better of me.

It's just for a movie, I told myself. It doesn't really count as watching TV if I'm just looking. Like window shopping. It's okay as long as I'm not spending money. Right?

I was SO close to pressing play on the first episode of Doctor Who Season 8. So. Very. Close. I had my finger on the button, staring at the little square preview of the episode, trying to simultaneously talk myself in and out of watching it.

It's like an hour, twenty minutes. It'd be like watching a movie. I'm allowed a movie a week. I could use it as my movie...

But then you'll want to watch the next episode too, which would be breaking the rules. Watching episode one is bending the rules as it is... you really shouldn't do it.

But it'd just be once. Really. I can control myself! Just one little episode.... It'll be okay. No one will know!!

I will know. It's cheating. You're not a cheater. Get your finger off that button and watch something else. Control yourself, woman! It's just a show! It'll still be there on November 1st for you to watch then!

Yeah, I know...you're right...

This was the conversation I had with myself. In the end, I did not give in and I pressed "back" instead of "play" and watched an actual movie instead. Bride and Prejudice to be exact.

This got me going on the "expanding my musical horizons" kick. If you don't know, Bride and Prejudice is a bollywood-esque version of the Jane Austen novel of similar title (Pride, not Bride, obviously). I've seen it before, years ago, and genuinely enjoyed it. It was recently added to Netflix, and so I compromised for a night of romance and bollywood musical talent. I'm so glad I did. The movie is truly a wonderful one, if you ask me, and when it was over, I didn't want it to end!

So I flipped to Pandora and searched "Bollywood". I spent the next several hours listening to the station I found while working on a new story. No, it has nothing to do with Bollywood or Pride and Prejudice or anything. It actually is a high school story. In case you wanted to know...

But the point is, I enjoyed it. I loved listening to something new. It was refreshing; it gave me new inspiration and pushed me to try new things in other parts of my life. The new story is actually told from multiple points of view, a writing style I haven't actively tried before. It will be interesting to see how it comes along... I also don't usually write about high school-age, but focus more on young adult/college age.

Anyway. My point—I'm trying new things in small ways. A step in the right direction. I am currently rocking out to "traditional folk music" which includes a lot of old songs like "You are my Sunshine" and some awesome guitar-only songs I love.

My favorite so far has been "Train in the Rain" by some guy whose last name is Cockburn (an unfortunate name, I grant you). It was amazing how he captured the sound of a train with his music. I was sitting on the couch with my eyes closed, picturing a train click-clacking down the tracks, a hobo sitting in one of the open cars, legs hanging off the edge while strumming a guitar, singing about life and pain and the rain. It was a wonderful moment for me. Inspiring even.

I want to keep up my streak. I want to keep trying new things in small ways, like music choice or what I eat for dinner. Or where I eat dinner. Maybe one of these days I'll have a little picnic in the park for one. Bring along a book or journal. Maybe I'll go for a walk, or try to meet up with a friend I haven't seen in a while. I don't know yet. But I think that's going to be my focus this next week. Small ways to try new things.

I'd love your input with this. I know ya'll are reading—at least a few of you! Comment either here on blogger or Facebook or wherever with your ideas—be they about music or anything else you think I should try! Maybe you want to take me up on the offer of meeting with an old friend. Maybe you just think I'd really love a certain musician. Share with me what you love, and what you think I should try and might love as well! And...GO!

(But seriously. I want your input.) 

Day Eighteen through Twenty-One

The dragon is dead! This was the chant in my head this morning as I carefully poked my head out my front door and looked around my front porch. If you follow my statuses (or is it supposed to be like octopus - octopi? stati?) on Facebook at all the past few days you will know exactly what I am talking about.

The last few days, a giant spider has been living on my porch. It set up camp between my mail box and the pole, which happens to be right next to the door, and, particularly, the doorknob.

The first day I saw it I may have yelped in fear and shock. I really hadn't been expecting to walk out my front door at 6 am and be face to face with a giant, beige spider. There was definitely yelping... Then I silently prayed and hoped and wished that it would be gone by the time I had to be home later that afternoon.

That day I happened to have a half-day at work, so I got home around 1 pm and--behold!--no spider! Upon looking around, I realized my landlord had been there--the trimming was done and the weeds pulled from the rocks in my front garden. He had also dropped a copy of the lease off--long story--for me and must've seen the thing. It's hard to miss, really. I was just thankful he got rid of it.

Or so I thought.... Alas, the following morning, the guy was back. I stood as far back as I possibly could to lock the door and darted for my car! The ugly guy was squatting right in the middle of the web, bouncing and wiggling and freaking me out! So I ran.

I thought about it all day at work--the spider I had to face upon coming home. I dreaded it. It made my skin crawl. (If you haven't figured this out, I am incredibly scared of spiders.) So I made a trip to Menards and bought a can of Raid (well, the eco-friendly, kid-friendly, pet-friendly kind. It was the only one that specifically said spiders).

When I got home, I stood several feet back and sprayed the whole dang can all over my porch, concentrating on the area where Mr. Spider had set up his home. Then I walked around my house to the back door, grabbed the broom that I knew was there, and came back to the front door, armed and ready. Just in case.

I swatted at a few smaller spiders, and swept some cicada carcasses off the porch, but there was no sign of Mr. Spider.... Then I saw him, crawling around the numbers on the side of my house, hiding behind the 2. I swatted at him with the broom, but he was out of reach. I couldn't get to him.

Eventually I couldn't see him so I hurried inside. I waited, looking out the window in my door to see if I could see him crawling around or trying to build a new web. I couldnt' see anything. So I got out the Ortho-max.

I have two front doors--a screen door and a regular door, both with windows. I opened the regular door and peered around again, then cracked open the screen door, just wide enough for my arm to stretch through and spray the Ortho around my porch-- again, concentrated where I'd last seen Mr. Spider. Then I grabbed the broom. I checked the handle to make sure nothing had crawled onto it since I'd last had it--getting super paranoid at this point--and swatted around the porch some more. But he was still there, crawling along the roof of my porch stoop, alive and well. I wanted to scream in frustration.

"The little devil just won't die!" I exclaimed. Melvin looked at me funny after that one.

So next, I ran to the bathroom and grabbed the hairspray. It was a little stunned from the ortho, so I was able to spray it with the hairspray pretty accurately, hoping it would at least slow him down or suffocate him or something. He just wiggled a little and then tried to hide.

Paranoid, frustrated, and freaking out, I stomped into the bedroom. This was war. So I had to get battle ready!

I had been wearing the dress I'd worn to work and sandals. But that, of course, would never do when battling dragons--er, I mean, spiders. So I donned my armor accordingly.

I put on black leggings (tight, so nothing can crawl up my pant leg) and black socks, pulled up on the outside of the leggings (again, so nothing can crawl inside). Then I put on my best spider-smashing shoes.

But I wasn't done yet. My dress was sleeveless, and I realized that something could still fall onto my shoulder or crawl up my arm. So I pulled out a long-sleeve shirt from the winter-section of my closet (it was pink, in case you needed to know) and put it on as well, pulling my pretty purple-and-yellow-satin-flowered dress over the top of all of it. THEN I dug out my winter gloves from my coat--black leather--which were at the bottom of a pile of jackets in a box. I put up my hair in a bun and grabbed the swiffer and I was ready to rumble!

You should've seen me in my war gear! It was quite a sight to behold! I was completely ridiculous, but at the time, I didn't want to take any chances! If I was going to battle a spider, I wanted to be prepared for anything! Every good warrior must be properly attired and armed for battle! Duh!

So, with a swiffer in one hand, a broom in the other, and can of hairspray on the table behind me, I cracked open the screen door one more time....

BAM BAM SMOOOOooosh. Got him! *victory squeal followed by a squeal of disgust*

Mr. Spider curled up (dead, I hoped) in a little hole on top of the pole, and I swept him away with the broom and onto the cement steps. I didn't actually see if he was dead or if he crawled away.... I reeeaaally hoped for dead. I set the swiffer aside, no longer needing it's skills, and brought out the broom.

Glancing up and down the street to see if anyone was around that would see me, I stepped onto the porch--cautiously, of course--in my war gear and swept off my front porch and steps, keeping an eye out for spider carcasses or other bugs and pests that I might need to kill. All clear. No sign of anything. With a clean, clear, and spider-free front porch, I was finally able to breathe easy!

Though, of course, I had the creepy-crawlies the rest of the night, jumping at every little hair that brushed across my skin. And there are spider guts on the bottom of my swiffer... but that's okay! I can deal with that! Because, as of this morning, there was no sign of Mr. Spider or his web of doom! I call that a win!

In other news, in mostly all of my spare time, when I'm not slaying spider-dragons, I have been working on my writing. I played with colored pencils and markers the other day and drew several versions of the same map (basic, geographical, and political, obviously) for a story. I also created a fun title banner for another story I've been playing with, along with some hard-core idea mapping. Whether or not any of these things end up coming to fruition, let alone completion, is another matter entirely....

The only downside is, while I've been away in my creative mindset, the dishes have sort of piled a little, as has the laundry...and I really need to vacuum... But its fair to say the writer's block is gone. And the spider.

Win-win!

Day Seventeen

Today has been a fantastic day. Completely serious, honest to goodness, best day ever (okay, well, in a long while, at least!) Being my birthday, this was bound to happen. I mean, really. 

Quick rundown of my day: Slept in. Went to lunch with Nichole and Melissa. Then to Straight Upp Studio. Then Orange Leaf.  I worked on some writing exercises. Had the BEST Chinese food ever for dinner with the family. Played with my nephews. Had the awesomest (I know its not a word!) homemade ice cream cake ever. Opened presents. Held my youngest nephew while he slept on my chest. Played with my OTHER nephew while taking videos.  Cuddled with Melvin. 

Us girls after our pottery painting! 

This, to me, is a well-rounded wonderful day of everything I love! I couldn't get a more perfect day than that. Really. I mean...I am quite speechless about it at the moment actually. (See Facebook and Twitter for pictures, videos, and other comments from my day.) 

What I really wanted to share, however, had nothing to do with the fact that is my birthday and everything to do with the fact that I am a writer. 

As previously mentioned, I am working my way through Steering the Craft by Ursula K. Le Guin, a wonderful book on writing techniques and tips and all that good stuff. I am also reading through a few other similar books, including a book titled How to Write Compelling Fiction and another called Around the Writer's Block (There are subtitles, and subtitles to the subtitles for this last one, but I won't add them here). 

The background story: When I was still living in Nebraska (No, I'm not a Huskers fan now. Stop asking.) I had played with the idea of getting a masters degree in creative writing. Creative Writing, I figured, was what I really wanted to do with my English degree, so that seemed the next logical step. It wasn't really what I wanted to do, but I thought I had to do it because everyone else was going to get their masters degrees and at the time, I had no idea what else to do. It was an easy answer to the question what are you going to do with your degree now that you've graduated? Long story short, I've now realized that getting an MFA is NOT what I want to do. (This was realized before the library epiphany of this last week). 

But, that being said, there is no reason not to continue my education in becoming a better writer. Why do I have to go to a university and get a degree in it when there are so many free resources at my disposal? Books! The best weapons in the world! (to quote Doctor Who, roughly). 

I am not normally a non-fiction reader. But, if I am going to become a better writer, I must learn to expand my horizons on all fronts, including what I read (and write, but we'll get to that). So I started travelling over to the non-fiction section, looking for books on writing. Oh boy did I find some! 

There are so many books on writing, written from every angle and for every specific genre or technique or advice type I may ever need or want! I narrowed it down to two at first (the third I mentioned I already owned) and I am really enjoying it. I don't need a fancy school to learn about writing from other writers. I just need a library. 

So, slowly, I am trying to teach myself to become a better writer, and Ursula K. Le Guin is taking a large part in the beginnings of that journey at the moment. In one of my moments of downtime today, I opened up her book and read the third chapter, talking about sentence length and rhythm. How a sentence should lead to the next sentence, to advance and move the story (and the reader) forward. Prose writing should not make a reader stop and go "Oh! Wow!" with flowery, divine imagery--that is for poetry. It was a good chapter. 

At the end of her relatively short chapters (which include excerpt examples from other famous writers. See? Learning from the best!) she includes writing exercises. I love these because I make myself do them, even if I think I can't or it will be too hard. No one is going to see them, really, and it doesn't matter if its good, the point is I did it and I tried and I'm stretching myself. I can go back and do the exercise again later and might find I've improved. 

The point. Right. I'm rambling a bit. (I tend to do that when I'm excited about something.) The exercise for this chapter was actually two-fold. Exercise A: Write a paragraph or so using all short sentences of 7 words or less. Exercise B: Write a half-page (350 words) using only one, long sentence. 

The first part I was pretty confident about. How hard is that? Short sentences? Easy. Of course, she did say no fragments--they had to be full sentences. I was more worried about part b. One long sentence? Over 300 words in ONE SENTENCE? Madness, woman! 

But I did it! And honestly, I'm a little surprised how it turned out. I was certainly not expecting the voice that came out of it. 

Part A (Short Sentences): 

It was hot. So hot, the sidewalk felt like fire. I fanned myself languidly. Susan did the same. She hated hot weather. She was more of a winter person. I'm not a fan of snow. Too cold and wet in my opinion. But that day was hot as hell. A dog panted in the neighbors yard. Huff, huff, huff. I watched him, bored. A bee buzzed past my head. I swatted at it. It flew at Susan. She squealed in fright, squirming away. I laughed and she glared at me.

"Not funny, Piggly," she snorted rudely. I glared at her. I hated that nickname. She knew I hated it. She'd done it on purpose.

"I hope the damn thing stings you." I stuck my tongue out at her. I felt a little childish doing so. I didn't really care, though. It felt good. I stormed off, into the house. The screen door slammed behind me—SMACK. I heard Susan scream, frustrated. I only laughed again, harder, that time. 

For some reason, I got a bit of a Great Gatsby era vibe from this particular passage. Not really sure why, but it is an interesting tid-bit. Makes me interested in the rest of their story. You know? 

Part B (One long Sentence): 

There are few things a man, being of sound mind and able body, can consider himself lucky to hold; being sane, he must hold a wife of contentable beauty--that being, of course, entirely of his own designation whether he be satisfied with her—and likewise breed children of her if of able body; if this is failing to him, a man may substitute the woman for a dog—preferably a large one, with long floppy ears and the good nose of a hunting dog, but, again, it be entirely up to him which sort appeals to him—and live many years with the contented, happy companionship that a canine's unfaltering loyalty can give, unlike a woman's, who, bless their sex, can become moody and particular at certain times of their lives, especially if such a woman is carrying the man's child within her, at which time there is seldom a contentable or satisfying moment to be found until said child is grown with a family and babes of its own; likewise, if a man be of sane and able body, he may consider himself lucky to hold faith, both in conjunction and in direct opposition to the previously stated condition of marriage, this being of course, as faith is required upon the connecting of the two bodies in a church in front a priest but in opposition during the times when the woman, as stated, is contemptible enough to push the man to thinking and even saying things that are certainly not bred of a faith-centered mind—not meaning, of course, that either the man nor woman has no faith at all, but perhaps has only forgotten it or set it aside in that moment—which leads to the third item a man be lucky to hold, being the forgiveness of said contemptible or, in such a case, pregnant, woman he has so luckily and unluckily found himself holding as, man knows, the forgiveness of the fairer sex, though hard won, is a treasure finer than the diamond she wears on her finger and far more easily revoked, so, gentleman, if they find themselves holding such a rare gem as a woman's forgiveness, they must certainly consider themselves lucky and rich men indeed.

 This is, without a doubt, the longest sentence I have ever written in my life. It is also the only passage of anything I have ever written from the point of view of a male. (I'm pretty darn sure). I don't know why, but when I started the task of writing a long, complex sentence, it just came out this way. Male, Jane Austen-era-y, essay-type sentence. The fact that the subject is talking about marriage and relationships between men and women--and dissing women a bit!--is just hilarious to me! Again, I've NO earthly idea why or how this came out of me, but in that moment, it did. And honestly? I am loving it! Who knew stretching my writing boundaries would be so much fun? 

(Photo from +Goodreads via twitter)

Day Thirteen Through Sixteen

Yesterday (Day Fifteen) was my dad's birthday. 53 years old. We celebrated with a little pizza and ice cream and some family time. This meant, of course, more time with my nephews (see Day Twelve).  My only complaint from the night was the enormous amount of calories I am sure I consumed between the pizza, breadsticks, and cookie dough cyclone from Kreem Kup! Yikes!

Tomorrow is my birthday. (*squeals gleefully*) The plan is to go out with a couple of my friends for lunch and some pottery painting at Straight Upp Studio in Aggieville, and then my family and I are going to dinner for the best Chinese food ever, hands down, in Silverlake. I am super excited about both! Although, again, not so much about the calories. I feel like they should make a rule that calories simply don't count on birthdays and holidays. I'd be so much thinner.

Earlier this week I had a conversation with my coworker about dream jobs and "the next step". She is getting married next year, and so her next step is fairly obvious—move and marry. She knows where she wants to work—she's an ag major—and where she wants to live and who she wants to spend the rest of her life with. I feel a little bit jealous of it all, to be honest, as she is two years younger than me and has her life more in order than I do. Of course, if she were to read this she would probably laugh and say, "Ha! Yeah right!" But that is seldom comforting when you sit on my end of things. Just saying, Karlee.

It, of course, got me started on the age-old question: what are you going to do with your major now that you've graduated? I have hemmed and hawed over this question more than Hamlet in his famous monologue! To be or not to be? Oh, Hammy, that is indeed a very good question.

As we talked, I voiced some of the things I'm passionate about. Reading, writing, the increasing illiteracy of our world, and the decreasing interest in books in general. I declared that I am a horrible teacher, I have tried, and so I find myself a little stuck on just how I want to use my degree in a 9-5, real, adult, regularly paying job. I am not a journalist. I am not a teacher. I am a writer, but not of essays or articles. I write novels and poetry and the occasional short story (and blog post, obviously). That, in itself, will not support me. Not with rent and loans and all the other bills that are stacked on my coffee table right now.... So. It comes back to the million dollar question. What am I going to do with my major now that I've graduated?

Well, I can honestly tell you I have come a step closer to figuring that out! It was Karlee who helped me do so, actually. I had expressed my desire to inspire kids, especially teenagers, to find a love of reading, but had no earthly idea how to use that desire to get a regular paycheck. Then the magic words came from her mouth—"What about a library?"

I was iffy about it at first. Not because it wasn't a fantastic idea, but because I've worked at a library before. Years ago (Wow, ten years now??) my first job was working at the Wamego Public Library.

I was so excited about it, obviously, as my love of reading often brought me to the hallowed aisles of the local library. I had been bugging the poor librarians for months about openings and applications and finally I was interviewed and hired! I worked for a few hours after school every day and every other Saturday. I shelved books, tidied shelves—the books do not just magically line up at the front of the shelf!—and checked books in and out to patrons. It wasn't always the most interesting of jobs, but it was fairly perfect for me. As a first job went, being fifteen, it was pretty good. Way better than flipping burgers.

It did not last long, however. A few days after Christmas, I went in for my shift and was called into the boss's office and, long story short, fired. I had been fired. From my first job. At a library. I was devastated!

I won't go into the reasons why—I still disagree with them—but I will say it turned me off of going back to the library for some time after that. At least WPL. I turned in my keys and went across the street to where my mom was working at Wamego Drug. We stepped into the back room and I bawled my eyes out to her, telling her between sniffles and tears what had happened.

My sister was called to pick me up and take me home, at which time I realized I had left my purse at the library. I remember it was my pink purse I'd gotten for Easter that year. I was too devastated and embarrassed and all kinds of other things to slink back inside to ask for my purse back, so my sister did it for me while I waited morosely in the car.

I did not go back into the library for several months. Probably, I'd say, until Summer when, being out of school, it became necessary to have access to free borrowed books. The first time returning to the library was incredibly hard for me. I felt like my pride had been stomped all over and my dreams ripped from my hands. I loved books. I loved libraries. And they had fired me!

I ducked into the library, hardly acknowledging the clerks at the desk, and slunk behind the shelves of the adult fiction section, near tears as I pretended to be nonchalant about the entire thing. I felt like my ex-boss was staring at me the entire time I was there, and like everyone else was judging me, thinking how horrible of a person I must be to get fired from the library.

I will say Lucille was always nice to me. Every time I came in after the firing debacle, Lucille, the elderly woman in her eighties who had been working there since I could remember, always had a genuine smile on her face for me and kind words, asking me how I was doing and all that. I never felt weird about it with Lucille. I don't know why, but she was the one person it was never weird with after that. Everyone else, to this day, if I see them I am immediately reminded of that time and it gets awkward. Despite appearances.

So, when Karlee first suggested "library" to me, my first reaction was, "No way. I'm not doing that again!"

But then I realized it had been nearly ten years since that had happened. I was not the same person I was then. I've had so many other jobs, and learned so many things about life and work ethics and everything, I couldn't hold myself to the same person I was then. It was my first job, after all. It's not like I knew what I was doing. And "library" did not necessarily mean "Wamego Library". As my coworker pointed out, it could be the Manhattan library, or a school library even. 

The point was, if I wanted to work closely with kids and encouraging reading and literacy, a library was probably the best place to do so! Suddenly, the possibilities were swimming through my head and I got really excited. Because she was right! She was SO right!

Immediately after this epiphany of mine, I calmed down and declared that I would just wait for whatever opportunity God put in my path, whatever it might be, and try to follow his lead.

Then I got on the computer and onto the Manhattan Mercury website where a position was posted for Manhattan Public Library for Tween/Teen Coordinator. Basically, the dream job I had just finished discussing. I followed the link to the website and immediately printed out an application. Surely, I thought, this is a sign from God! I mean, what are the chances that the day I talk about it at work is when I find the exact job posted online? And right across the street, nonetheless! I filled out the application and turned it in over my lunch break, incredibly happy and excited about the possibilities.

"But I probably won't even get it," I told myself—and many other people. I mean, I'm not really qualified, and they're probably looking for someone with more experience. You know, in libraries and such. I am just some 24-year-old with a reading habit. It probably won't turn in to anything.

But when I said those words to them today (not for the first time) two of my coworkers (one of them being my boss, actually) replied with "why do you say that? Of course you could get it! You have supervisor experience (my current position) you have an English degree, you know all about books and stuff" (to paraphrase their comments). "you could totally get it!"

This got my head turning. Maybe I could! Maybe I could get this job! How awesome would that be? Landing my dream job? Using my degree and my passion AT THE SAME TIME? I would literally spending my days inside a library, working with teens and YA literature. That's got "Megan" written ALL over it! I started picturing what it would be like, interviewing for it, landing the job, and working every day at the library, working with kids and books and...and...!!

I had to take a deep breath after that. My head has a tendency to run away with things and I get ahead of myself more often than not. It isn't bad, of course, to be excited and passionate about a job. It is a good thing, actually! But I knew I had to keep a level head about it, too. If I got too far ahead of myself, I'd only be all the more disappointed when I didn't hear anything.

A mantra started to play on repeat in my head:

Give it to God. Give it to God. Give it to God.

Don't get too excited. Don't get too excited. Don't get too excited...

but, Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! What if—

Give it to God. Give it to God. Give it to God....

And so on and so forth. You get the idea.

I did stop by after work today to inquire about my application, and, after a few phone calls from the ladies at circulation, I was told that they will be making calls around the 19th (as there are a lot of people on vacation right now, apparently) and to come back or call around then. I smiled and thanked them, and left.

Knowing full well that I will be FREAKING OUT in agonizing non-patience until the 19th, upon which day I will be staring incessantly at my phone waiting for it to ring. Every time it does, I will be hoping it is them, calling me to schedule an interview, and then get incredibly disappointed when it is my mother or a telemarketer. (Sorry, Mom. I love you, though.)

Seriously, though. If I got this job, I'd be the epitome of the single-woman stereotype. I can see the online dating profile now! "Single librarian and cat owner with a weakness for romance novels and long walks on the beach, looking for intelligent, successful, secretly-nerdy-athletic type to fall deeply in love with her. Whovian and dog-owner optional." Am I right?? 

Take a deep breath.

Give it to God.

Don't get ahead of yourself.

Give it to God.

But what if.... That is the question!! 

Update: Day 12

As promised in my most recent post, I have tried my hand at a writing exercise in an attempt to break the writer's block I've been struggling with. I decided to post it tonight for you before it gets erased accidentally from the computer (because it probably will, let's be honest.)

So, this is Exercise One:Being Gorgeous, from Ursula K. Le Guin's book, Steering the Craft. The task was to write a paragraph of narrative that is meant to be read aloud. For instance, using onomatopoeia, made-up words, dialects, etc. Any sort of sound effects, really. The one rule--no rhyming or meter.

Here is my paragraph (I went more descriptive with it):

I sloshed through the murky water, the slick grime sliding into my boots and squishing between my toes. Once on the other side, I pulled myself onto the muddy bank, tugging on the knarled roots hanging over the side like noose ropes waiting for a victim. Dirt and mud and plant scraped off under my fingernails, one of them cracking and breaking with a shot of pain through the tip of my finger. I hissed in through my teeth, hoping I didn't catch the attention of any poisonous river snakes who might be lurking nearby. Finally, I pulled myself out of the dark, slimy water, one wet rubber boot at a time. Then, with a slurp and a scream of panic, one of the boots found a spot of mud and I slid back down, hitting my chest against the bank with a thunk and getting a face full of slime before I splashed back into the water, letting out a curse at my rotten luck. Kicking in frustration, I wrestled myself back up to my feet to try again. More mud. More dirt. More failure. After three more times, I gave up and I waded down the river to try another spot, hoping for different results. 

It was actually a fun exercise to do, and I think I'll be using this (the technique, not the paragraph) in the future as well! 

If you have no idea why I am posting this, please read my previous post - Day Nine Through Twelve for clarification. 

Day Nine through Twelve

Today is Day Twelve. (Double digits! Woo!) I just came home after an evening playing with my two adorable nephews, Jett and Kingston, and Melvin (my cat) is clinging to me like a baby chimpanzee on its mother. Apparently being gone a few hours is akin to being gone forever, according to him. At this moment, he is laying claim on my arm—literally. (He's laying on it, making it rather difficult to type, to be honest.) But I don't really mind, because, let's face it, I love him and sometimes you do strange things for the love of your pets.

I'm glad Melvin is so attached to me though. Cats have a bad reputation for being aloof and distant, but not Melvin. He is offended if I don't want to cuddle with him at that moment. He looks up at me from where I've deposited him on the ground like, "Mother? How could you do that to me? I just want to love you!"

(He's officially moved to my chest, his wet nose nuzzling my chin. A rather icky feeling, that cold wet nose.)

A lot of times, Melvin acts more like a dog than a cat in his affections. If I am home, he is usually wanting to cuddle with me. If I've been gone all day and just come home, I better give him attention or he is going to purposely put himself in my way in order to get it. I don't know what the first six years of his life were like before I got him, but whatever it was, I am glad for them in that they made Melvin the cat I adore so much today.

Enough of the cat; it's making me feel like the old crazy cat lady. What I really want to talk about are my nephews.

Jett Timothy Vettel

Jett is about 1 1/2 now, and is going through what we call a hulk phase. Meaning, he can be pretty destructive. He likes to throw things, especially when he is frustrated when he can't figure it out. The current method is taking away the toy he throws to try to teach him not to do it, but so far it hasn't seemed to be working. The kid has an attention span of a—well, I don't know what, but its short. He'll whine for a few seconds, maybe, and then it's on to bigger and better things. Who cares about the silly truck I just threw!

He is usually a grandma's boy. He LOVES grandma! I did get him to sit and play with me for a bit, though, which I call a win. He has a truck that has the shapes cut out in it, and he figured out the circle and was so excited that he did it all by himself! We clapped for him, of course, and I said, "ta da!" holding my arms out to either side. So, when he put the circle in the hole the next time, he looked at me and did the same, throwing his hands to either side and said "da!" or something similar. (He hasn't quite mastered speech yet.)

Kingston Lee Vettel

He did this a few more times, before I tried to get him to try other shapes. He didn't like them very much, but we figured it out, and when all the shapes were in the truck he held it to his chest and sort of squeezed it, making his hulk-grunting sound. So I, of course, did my own best hulk impression, flexing my arms and making my hulk-grunt. He thought that was just the funniest thing! It made me incredibly happy to be able to make him laugh! Even if it was just from a hulk impression!

(Melvin has moved from sitting on my arm to sitting next to my arm. He is perched a little sideways on a pillow, his back/butt against my elbow. "Close enough to touch you" sort of thing, I guess. Silly cat.)

Kingston is just over one month old and as precious as can be. I like to greet him every time by saying "Hi, your favorite Aunt Megan is here!" Maybe when he's older, it will be like subliminally ingrained in him that I'm his favorite. Well, I hope anyway...

I did get to feed him a little though tonight. My sister had to take a trip to KC apparently, so he had to take a bottle, which he wasn't too happy about, but once we had the right one, he was okay. It was nice just holding him and watching him drink the milk, his brown eyes looking around at me like, "You're not my mother, but you're interesting."

When I left, Jett was cozied on the couch next to Grandma (my mom) with his milk and blanket and Kingston was quite literally passed out on her lap. Seriously, he was sprawled out, his hands over his head like he'd passed out into a milk-coma. I heard my mom say, "I think he's still breathing...Yeah, he's breathing." Ah, the joys of babies.

Spending the evening with my nephews is always rewarding for me, even if Jett refuses to hug me goodbye or play with me (which is more often than not). I don't claim to be any good with children—I never have been, really—but I want to be able to enjoy my nephews at any age as they grow older. I want them to be excited when they see me as they grow older, and not "ugh, the dreaded Aunt Megan!" I'm REALLY hoping for the former....

But it has also shown me that I am NOT ready to have kids yet. Being almost-25 (On Saturday!) many people my age are getting married, settling down, having a baby (or a second in some cases!) And, while I do want that in my future, I know I am not ready for it yet. Which, for me, is a major step forward. I love spending time with my nephews and my family and even the couples that I am friends with, but I am not ready for it to be my own life yet. Not yet.... I still have a little growing up to do of my own!

I don't know what God has in plan for my future or when, but my hope is by the end of these 101 days, I'll be a little closer to being ready for it. I don't know where this challenge is going to take me, but God has a plan, and I intend to follow it as best I can.

Note: Days Nine through Eleven were rather uneventful. Frustrating days behind a computer or typewriter or scribbling in a journal, really, with no progress made at all. I got a few books from the library today "How to get Around Writer's Block" sort of stuff, hoping maybe it will have a few ideas for me. I'm going to try one of the exercises tonight and see how it goes.

Oh, I did break a glass on Day Nine. Long story short, the case of water fell out of my hand and onto a glass of water—I'm just thankful it didn't damage my computer as it spilled ALL over it! Still finding little pieces of blue glass...usually with my feet. But no injuries!

An old picture of Melvin from two years ago.
He wouldn't stay still for a new one....

(Melvin has decided that the kitchen is apparently a much better place to nap than on the pillow against my arm. I quite agree, actually, because I was starting to get a little numb-elbow. Or would it be kitty-elbow? Like tennis elbow?)