chicating

with "Disability is our superpower!1"(Although it's easier, I'm sure when it's all "Yes, Senator," "No, Senator...three bags full, Senator." Let's just say, our experience *slightly* varies, although I have been "Thank you for your service-d for my progressive work, only for me, it's like the same old bullshit of "Oh, I could never do what you do,' and I know I'm not getting anything from that person but another empty compliment.(Although I've never pulled my squadron out of a burning building, either, of course.)
Sometimes I can't handle Tammy's can-do spirit.

Of something I wrote maybe last year or a year and a half ago, though I do think I remember writing one. Maybe it didn't work anyway, but still, argh, dumb things I do all the time, partly because it takes me a long time to believe in my ideas as a whole project(Not completely wrong, in my search I found a lot of "Whatever happened with that?" that I hesitate to even call a draft because that implies fuller efforts, in my view.
I've changed computers since, maybe there are a few things that didn't survive, although we paid someone to do it...not like it was just me. Even dumber, I've been known to forget what number I'm on, because my LD is a number thing. Usually doesn't crop up between 2 and 3, though...25 and 27, sure, more than a few times, especially if I've made enough changes to 25 that the new file becomes 25a or some shit like that that abled, organized people find helpful, but me? Really not so much. And sometimes, I get cute.

Like, as an example, let's say I started writing something called "The Chicken Dance" so I might save the first bit as "Chickendance1" but, maybe I have some doubts about the title, but there is still a chicken dance in the story, so maybe I call the next part "buckbuck" and almost send it for some mag's "Finance Challenge" because I didn't get back to the chicken-dance story quickly enough to appreciate my most private joke.
Whatever happens to me as a writer, it won't be because I didn't try. I can tell you and myself that much.
So many attempts that even I had forgotten. maybe some hidden gems, maybe some I didn't dump hard *enough*. Some day I might fully sort through, but for this one maybe I'll just work as if the file labelled part 3 is part 2, which I think will work because it started as a tale with alternating characters...I could still reconstruct that or just write about Henry the tech guy that pops up in both sections...we'll see.

if "Song Sung Blue" makes me happy or sad.
Kind of both, I think.

Mom colored my hair and we did manicure stuff.

I sent off the blog post to the publisher about two weeks ahead of schedule.(it came together fast, but part of me did wonder if I shouldn't have dragged it out to look sought-after or something, too late now.)But at least he liked it and didn't want a bunch of changes.

Finished watching " The Bear" just in time for the new season and discovered Mom can hear Mrs. Maisel even at low volume.(At least one stereotype that might have proven true, if the actress wasn't Catholic.)It's okay...I'll just watch her earlier. Maybe I'll get to sleep earlier that way, too, but it's only been two days.

(this is gonna make me look so virtuous, but Actual Mom deserves most, if not all of the credit here. She's the one that makes my house a home.) I would eat like George Costanza on a bender, probably, if it was always my call to make.
In an average week, how many nights do you eat home-cooked dinners?I'd say 5.
2. Do you plan your meals out in advance, or just wing it? Some planning, some winging. Most of my part is coming up with suggestions, which I did a few times a month till more frequent bouts of reflux have made thinking about food less appealing. I keep remembering all this stuff I read when I was younger about things like how people with Bulimia love dyed food like cheese puffs because they can be sure everything came up, and then wondering why I imprinted myself with that knowledge. Except that I was fascinated with the idea that people can "look Okay" and a. not know they Look Okay and 2. Not actually be Okay inside, for some reason.

3. How many nights per week do you eat out or order food delivered? At least one, sometimes two. I think about it much more often, but Mom sees that as a decline of civilization, and anyway, my need to digest and my occasional urge to have an adventure are kind of in conflict atm. (Hopefully not forever!)

4. Do you keep a stock of nonperishable foods from which you could whip up a meal or two if you needed to? A meal is probably a stretch, but because of the above, we'll always have soup and saltines.We could fill our stomachs, if not entertain.

5. Have you ever tried preparing meals for the week all at once, say, on the weekend?Not exactly...this might be more likely if I could *help* instead of just being a sidewalk superintendent...it's hard to make food for two or three, though, even when we're better at finishing off the leftovers.

Copy and paste to your own journal, then reply to this post with a link to your answers. If your journal is private or friends-only, you can post your full answers in the comments below.

Either of the WIPs I've got kicking around this month.(Which I know, if you're blocked right now, seems like an annoying #blessed humblebrag, I'm sure, but it's just...it seems like a fine line between "Engagingly surreal' and "!960s sitcom gimmick," Even though I loved some of those shows, I know which one we're supposed to aim for. And, yes, I went to class, so, yes, I've absolutely written and even submitted work that I did not love with every fiber of my being...it kind of makes the rejection part easier to bear, if not finishing the work.When it comes to the actual creation, though, it only works if I'm a*little* in love, I think.

Not sure I care about posting about Marlee Matlin on the West Wing, either, even if that is the kind of hypothetical posting That made me think about keeping up a blog in the first place...but, since I've written that so much in my head, maybe I feel like I don't really have to type it?(Although I will say that the most dedicated campaign managers I've ever met refrain from EVER acknowledging their candidate as a "schmuck" ever and I do think that the first time anyone there met her, smart or not, right-thinking or not, it would still be like "So, have you ALWAyS been deaf? How much hearing do you still have? Do you miss it? Must be handy during the rallies...kidding."(My Little Miss Diligent side did research and took notes because that's what she lives for, but I see it all in blue ink and shrug.)
Oh! I can spell my name in sign language...shit, wait a second."(Not that I'm totally sure myself that "No big deal!1" is really the card to play...it wouldn't go like that,anyway.)
On kind of a related note, Actual Mom has taken a training on "Caregiver Boundaries" which is a useful *thought* but I can't really imagine treating my home like a big old jobsite.

It is thought-provoking, but also kind of a brain-buster, too. It also kind of reminds me of those Clinton-era jokes about not knowing what "is" is.(Apparently, philosophy shares that trait with the law)
I wanted a challenge, but maybe this one was a little tough, as it feels like reading from translation a great deal of the time...maybe if I'd taken a class with it I wouldn't feel quite so at sea.I'll hang in for a little while, though.
Otherwise, my doctor thinks my vital signs are great--wish that meant I felt more vital and alive, and my boss keeps begging me to get on the phones again and I'm kind of hiding out from it for no really good reason.
It's just that...he just gets me all fired up and once I get down to it, there's no point.I'm calling machines to invite people to the same stuff we always have.(And something about talking to a near-stranger's AI assistant SERIOUSLY chaps my ass for some reason and puts me into Pesci vibes."I'm a clown...you're too *important* to talk to the likes of me." Argh...why it feels so much different than a machine, I'm not sure, except that a recorder can't pause for the whole "I'm not here," thing, right? a fucking blender can put me on-hold...damn, the future is awesome. And, you know, I've only gotten paid for campaign work a handful of times, so, you know, I'm working for passion and mission, mostly(and the vanishingly small possibility that my life might improve one day) so without it, I've smashed my ear and wasted an hour. So I went to M. last month and was like "If you don't need me anymore, just tell me, I get it. You don't have to Make Me Feel Useful, in fact I'll hate it if I catch you doing that(Long story, but voter contact is getting more automated and so I can't keep up with the most exciting stuff anymore. Boo!) So it kind of sucked when he responded with "You've earned the right to step away(sic) if you want." Which, like, okay, but I heard it like a single mom hears that the kids just love hanging out with Tiffany from the typing pool.
I wanted him to tell me I was too great to lose, but he also, like a lot people thinks I'm delicate.So every complaint I have ends up with "your health comes first," and all that, which probably makes him a great Real Boss to the organizers he's training and such, but is not, at least not entirely, on-topic for me.
Also, I wish something great would come into my life so "stepping away" wouldn't feel like "being a chickenshit" but I guess after twenty years being a little bored is to be expected?

no wonder my life feels so...cramped lately.
Not exactly a nightmare, but not exactly "In my sleep, I'm free," like some of my new FB mispocheh.(I don't NEED that, but once in a while, it's nice, I guess.
(And it did make me think of things I'd rather not, so if dreams have a spectrum, it's kind of on the "nightmare" end of it.)

From last night's virtual fundraiser."If you kicked{Trump} in the heart, you'd break your toe. Him and all his billionaire buddies."
This is probably aided by the fact that I find the way old guys from MA say "heart" to be amusing, thanks to the family Kennedy fixation, but it was on-target too, I think.

--pediatric
--borderline incomprehensible(I don't have to look for fights!)
I get so angry when I think of all of my time that they've wasted. I think I could have spent a few weeks in Australia if I could have the part of my life back they wasted on meetings, papers and blah, blah. all to keep things going that don't really make me happy.