33643

What a week.

I had to deal with my mother again, after six wonderful mom-free months; now the sign on the wall of the warehouse in my head has to flip back to "zero days since last accident." There's plenty I could say about it, but I'll just say this: I tried. Okay? So when she drops dead, you'll know, it's not because I didn't try, because I tried. Again. For three days. And then I gave up. Much faster than last year, when it took me almost six months to give up on her. Next time maybe I can get it over in ten minutes. 

Meanwhile, I did not do my best job as a guest blogger at That Other Blog this week, because I got a little bit derailed for a second there, and frankly I forgot that I'd signed up to do it weeks ago. (I didn't put it on my calendar, which is so not like me, but who am I anyway? Apparently that is me, because I'm the one who did it.) If I'd remembered, I would have done a whole bunch of work in advance, and written really thoughtful and informative posts, instead of the quarter-assed lorem ipsum I slapped up there. That crowd isn't looking for slam poetry and intro exercises, and that's all I've got. 

Nor have I been able to blog over here, though I am now at 33,643 words, or 67 percent of my Nanowrimo goal, which means I'm about 1970 words ahead, though by tomorrow morning I'll owe another 1667 so that sign too will flip back to only 303 words ahead. In other words, I have about a day's leeway to not work on it, though I'm being super superstitious about this one, and am loathe to miss a day. I usually write a bunch all week and not on weekends, but this doing it every day thing feels right, seems to be working. This is the fun part, filling a new document every day and stuffing into a folder at the end of it, not looking back, and trying not to look too far forward either, just making it up as I go. Yeah, I said it: There's times when writing itself is fun. It never seems like it's going to be that way when I sit down at the odious desk, but then it is.

Reading a lot of memoirs about Borderline Personality Disorder: Borderlines by Caroline Knaus, Get Me Out of Here by Rachel Reiland. I don't know why I'm drawn to them right now (whatever happened to Dickens?), but I usually find later that these reading spates were "research." Maybe I am researching myself. Maybe I have BPD. I said to Bill the other night that I must have been bored and needed to stir things up with my mother because I am a drama queen who loves misery: The Girl Who Kicks the Hornet's Nest, Over and Over, Even Though She's Been Stung By Hornets Like 5000 Times Because She Keeps Kicking Their Nest Like She Doesn't Know What A Hornet Is Or What Their Nests Look Like, Because Why Would She Keep Kicking It Otherwise.

There it is! My new working title!  

Comments

[Lasty]

I dig.

[Kirsten]

As usual, dead on. I think the universe's yings and yangs are assigned by groupings in order to keep the madness balanced. You and I are in the pete and repeat group.

[LORMO]

I think 33643 is a good working title.

[Stana]

you definitely do not have borderline personality disorder. you are just somewhat of an optimist. and have lots of love. but stop trying to help her dear. detaching with love is rough but it really does pay off. you can create clear boundaries. I know you can.

[Satia]

Your title needs the word "code" or "davinci" or make some reference to the time of day to be a bestseller. Haven't you learned anything about writing in all this time?