Wednesday January 28 2015

I have broken the cardinal rule of flu season.  I have, with foot firmly planted in mouth, uttered the words "I don't know why, but I have gotten sick yet".  This statement caused the nasty germs that have been floating around me for weeks, courtesy of friends and family, to declare "hey, we gotta smug one, let's go in".   And go in they did,  Right to my sinuses and ears, and I think they set up base camp on my chest because it certainly felt like a an army was sitting there.  So, serves me right.  I know I should never say those words, because they never fail to come back and bite me in the ass.  I even stated that I had not gotten the flu shot this year and I HAVE BEEN FINE!   Luckily, no flu.  Yet.  Isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?  

When I am sick, I don't want people fussing around me.  I don't want someone to coddle me, making me soup and bringing me various medications and home cures that they swear by.  I don't want sympathetic tut tuts and blanket straightenings.  I just want to hide in my lair and wallow in my own germy filth till I feel better and emerge several days later as my usual cheerful self.  This is hard for my loved one to understand.  Her need to feel needed goes unmet.  Her need to 'fix' me goes unmet.

 As a child I was sick often.  And I don't ever remember being anything but alone during my illnesses.  I had a working mother.  I had a undemonstrative, distant mother.   The only person who babied me when I was sick was my paternal grandmother whom I rarely saw except at Christmas at which time I obliged her need to be needed by getting tonsilitis...every year until we had my tonsils out when I was 11, and the next year I obliged her by getting the chicken pox.  That was the end of Christmas visits as I recall.  My mother decided if I was going to get sick every time I went there, there was no point in going.

So childhood illnesses were often spent alone at home, wondering what my friends were doing at school, and watching soap operas and the afternoon movies, some of which gave me nightmares at night.   I got used to taking care of myself.  In my family, illness was often met with irritation and it was better not to complain.  That went for injuries as well.  You just didn't do anything that would put anyone out.  You didn't make yourself a nuisance or a burden, or extra work for an already overburdened and overworked parent.  And God forbid your illness should last more than one day.

Anyway, my point is...what is my point?  Oh yes, my point is that when I am sick, offer my a good wish if I post it on Facebook, but otherwise don't fuss over me.  And don't take my need for solitude at these times as a personal rejection.  It's not.  I'ts just what I know.  It's what I am comfortable with.  And believe me when I say I am sparing you the sick me, for which you should be grateful.

Wednesday January 16, 2015

I have been wanting to write a blog for a long time.  Back when blogging was fairly new and not everyone and their brother had one.  But I kept putting it off, or starting one and never publishing it, or talking about it endlessly and never doing anything about it.

 A few minor things held me back.  First of all, I was convinced no one would be interested in what I had to say about anything.  Second, I thought my blog should have a focus and I have so many thoughts in my head how could I possibly streamline to just one.  Third, would I be able to sustain a blog and keep the interest of anyone crazy enough to want to read it?

Finally I decided the time had come to blog or get off the pot.  I have recently resurrected my writing aspirations and am working on a short story and a novel.  Everyone knows that you can't be a good writer without constant procrastination.  So, what better way to procrastinate writing what matters and yet still write.  When people ask if I wrote today I can answer yes.  They don't need to know I wrote a blog.

So, welcome to Ponderings.  Ponderings is a play on my name, also what I call all the minutiae that floats or races through my brain on a daily, and often nightly basis.  Sometimes I will write a rant.  Sometimes I will write a thoughtful piece.  Sometimes it will be humourous, sometimes sad.  Hopefully it will be interesting and it will always be honest and from the heart..

Right now I am sitting in a coffee shop with my laptop and my writer friend.  Yes, I have become one of "those" people who sit in cafe's looking all special with their laptops and their lattes.   However, I am not a latte drinker, or even a coffee drinker for that matter.  I refuse to go to Starbucks, preferring instead local coffee shops with colourful characters who may or may not appear in my novel.

I want to write and I want to write well and get published.  I don't want to be famous, I don't want to do book tours or promotions.   I want to make enough money to keep me clothed and fed in my dotage.  I am writing a lesbian romance/thriller at this time and I know Harlequin has a new genre that it would fit in to perfectly.  Good lesbian fiction is hard to find.  I want to change that.

BUT first things first, I must write.  Not just blogs and emails, but real writing.  So I am going to do that right now.   After I check Facebook and take my turn in all my games.