Newest news:  I’m blogging over at Angry Black Lady’s place.  Here is one of her posts that she cross-post over at Balloon Juice.  This is my intro post, but not my actual first post.  I was ridiculously nervous after posting my first post that I couldn’t sleep.  I asked myself why.  I mean, I blog here about very intimate, difficult, and personal things.  However, I’m not likely to offend anyone by what I write here (except for my lifestyle choices).  In the world of political blogging, if I am not offending someone, then I am doing it wrong.

My fears were for naught.  I was welcomed warmly into the fold, and I’m having a blast.  ABL also asked Emily Hauser (ee) to cross-post as well.  Here is her intro post.  Notice the difference.  As I have been joking, ABL is the sassy one; Emily is the classy one; I am the brassy one.  ABL is hilariously funny and spot-on in her rantings.  Emily is a warm, delightful, thoughtful blogger who always makes me think, whether I want to or not.  She is also funny.  Me?  Well, you all know I’m rude, raucous, and long-winded.  But, I’m also funny as hell and good with a phrase or two.  And, I have deep complex thoughts at times.  However, blogging over there is very different from blogging here (like I have to get the facts straight.  I am NOT FOX News), and I’m still finding my groove.   The biggest thing is that I’m trying valiantly to cut down on my word count, and I’m succeeding somewhat.
So, kiss kiss to ABL for asking me to blog at her place and for being a very gracious hostess.  She was there to tell me to “SIMMER DOWN, LADY!” when I was freaking out over my first post, and she’s just aces with me.

Next up.  I’m working on editing my NaNoWriMo novel.  I have been corresponding with someone who knows the process of getting an agent (in the mystery genre, no less), and she has been more than kind and generous with her time and sage advice.  She has read some of my writing, and she has heartened me immeasurably by saying that I’m not as unmarketable as I think I am.  It feels pretty good to hear that because I had a hard time seeing a niche for me in the fiction world.

Thirdly, I have been researching different neighborhoods in the cities.  Currently, I live in a suburb just north of St. Paul–the one in which I grew up.  It’s nice enough, but it’s not a good fit for me.  I want to live in a culturally-diverse area with lots of things to do within walking distance, and I want art and culture in my neighborhood.  With those criteria in mind, I found this.  The Northeast Minneapolis Arts District.   My Taiji studio is in the neighborhood, and so is one of my favorite coops.  The housing is really cheap because of the housing bubble bursting, and there are some really nice houses for rock-bottom prices.

These changes are all good, obviously.  However, I have had a hard time adjusting to them because all change freaks me out–it’s part of having PTSD.  I imagine the worst that can happen, and that often is enough to stop me from even trying.  However, I am trying the new strategy of imagining what is realistically the worst thing that can happen, and that helps put things in some perspective.

For example.  Posting at ABL’s blog.  I was freaking out about expressing my political views outside the safe confine of the circle that contains my friends.  Oh my god!  People will hate me and cyber-stalk me and kill my hypothetical bunny!  Uh, no.  Realistically, the worst thing that could happen is that a bunch of people call me names; I get my feelings hurt; I decide to quit.  Not pleasant, true, but hardly disastrous.  The other tactic I use is, “Worry and panic, and then do what you need to do, anyway.”  Both tactics are working with some success.

Now that I’m working on my fiction in a productive way and I’m blogging politically (it’s actually a relief not to be the owner of the political blog), I am considering what to do with my own blog.  Stay tuned.

Well, it’s time for me to make that announcement.  I have known for at least two weeks that this time was at hand–it’s just, I didn’t want to acknowledge it.  OK.  Deep breath.  Announcement first, and then explanation (as opposed to my usual M.O. of explanation first, and then announcement).

–DEEP BREATH–

I am shutting down this blog.

Damn.  That was harder to type than I anticipated.  Now, the long-winded explanation.

I have wanted to blog for many years prior to when I actually started this blog.  As many people know, my initial reason was to politically blog because I couldn’t stand the fact that the only well-known Asian American female pundit was Michelle Malkin, a rightwing, unhinged scold who really just makes my blood boil.  Then, I realized that political blogging is hard work, and you have to have a really thick skin to do it, so I shelved that idea.  Instead, I would blog about my opinions on things–of which, I have many.  I would blog about my experiences because God, I would have loved to have something like this when I was a teenager/in my early twenties (not a blog, of course, as they did not exist back in the VHS era).   I would blog about my childhood and the issues I have in relationship to said childhood.  I would be bold, fearless, and above all, eloquent.

Except, I didn’t have the guts to do it at first.  What if my family read my blog and saw that I said mean things about them?  What if i ripped apart the fabric of my family and they hated me for it?  That fear, the fear of showing my true self to my family, held me back for years.

How did I get around it?  The way I usually do.  I deconstructed it and said, “I’ll take it one step at a time.”  First, I got my bro to set up the blog.  I spent a ridiculous amount of time finding the perfect theme (and I love my theme, I really do).  My brother and I altered the theme until it was exactly what I wanted.  Then, I learned how to use Word Press (dot org, not dot com.  Much more user-driven, but not as user-friendly), and I was set.

First thing I did was write my About Me page (which I later changed to my About Me/Contact Me page).  Fair warning:  There will be much self-referential linking in this blog entry.  As you can see (or not.  I am never sure what you can see on each entry), I published that bit of info on October 21, 2008–over two years ago.  Then, I posted my, “Hello, World! Here’s yet another blog” entry on December 16, 2008.  As you can see, there is nothing remotely controversial in that entry.  It really was just a brief introduction, and it said pretty much nothing.

My first ‘real’ entry, typically, was an entry about how I was going to approach my blog.  It was on January 5, 2009, and I made a goal of posting one entry per week.  That seemed reasonable to me.  My first truly real entry was one congratulating Senator Al Franken on January 7, 2009.  Little did I know that it would be many months before he would be allowed to take his seat.   In fact, it was over six months until I could officially call him Senator Al Franken, bitchez!

In reviewing the early days of my blog, it appears that I did more political blogging at first and that I was much more concise.  One of my favorite early entries, A Tale of Two Kitties, the heartwarming story of how I acquired Raven and Shadow–January 16, 2009.

Forgive me for the trip down memory lane, but I’m finding it hard to let go.  I did movie reviews (mostly of Alan Rickman movies), waxed rhapsodic about my love for Alan Rickman (his word cloud is still biggest BY FAR), griped about the stupidity of the politics of our country, but mostly, I talked about what was going on inside of me.

I am an intensely introspective person in general, and this blog gave me the perfect vehicle in which to explore the endless labyrinths running through my mind.  Blogging is a selfish act, and I was doing this mainly for me.  I had all these thoughts in my head, and I had to express them.  What better way than to blog about it as I have written essays and op-eds for years.  They were just sitting in various folders, collecting virtual dust, so I might as well let them see the light of day.

I expected that I would write, my friends would read, and that would pretty much be that.  And, for awhile, that was that.  And I was content with that.  I was writing an entry almost every day, and I was pleased with how my blog was shaping up.  My family didn’t read it (as far as I know), not even my brother who set it up (big thanks to him for hosting my blog, setting it up, and being the techie on it.  Extra big thanks for restoring my database when I erased my entire website.  Oops.  Good thing those were still early days so there wasn’t much to restore).  I was getting a few random responses mixed in with the comments of my friends, which surprised and gratified me.

Then, I started commenting on Balloon Juice, TNC, and TBogg’s place.   I had been lurking for awhile, then I dove in–first at TBogg’s, then at BJ, and finally at TNC’s (most intimidating).  Once I felt comfortable, I added my blog addy into my username (asiangrrlMN, for the most part) without commenting on it.  Soon, I started to have people who read BJ commenting at my blog.  Once in awhile, I would get a TBogger or a TNC reader, but the majority of non-friends, non-random stranger commenters found me through BJ.   I was thrilled, but I was also a bit freaked because my persona on BJ is very different than my blog persona.

I’m not explaining well.  On BJ, I am witty, bitingly sarcastic, bawdy, rude, and loud–much more so than I am on my blog or in real life.  I tend to be the one cheering up other people on BJ.   Paraphrasing ee from her blog, I’m the one who growls with her at people while also being combo den mother/social glue.  I’m versatile!  Hey, she said it–it must be true.

Anyway, my blog is where I’m moody and reflective and where I share my pain.  It’s highly-personal, and it’s not something I would bring into the world of the Juice of the Balloon where snark, sarcasm, and wit reign supreme.  So, to have people from there wander over to my blog and comment, well, that was pretty damn cool.

When I first started blogging, I had to blog.  I wrote an entry nearly every day because I felt compelled to do so.  All this shit in my mind, I needed to sort it out.  I do that best by writing and receiving feedback.  I have an excellent commentariat–astute, insightful, supportive, bracing, and hilarious.  I appreciated it all–especially the wit.  I am a sucker for a good laugh.

I had all this shit inside me, you see.  All these forbidden feelings and half-suppressed memories than needed to get out.  When I first started having the flashbacks, I didn’t know what to do with them other than talk about them in therapy and with my friends.  That helped a lot, but I felt the urge to write about them, too.  And, write about them, I did.   The prior link is probably the most raw post I did about my flashbacks.  And, notice how my commentariat supported me and urged me not to go to Taiwan.  I did not listen, of course (way too stubborn for my own good), and I went.  I felt I had to go.  I thought I could handle it.  As longtime readers know, I didn’t handle it very well at all.   And yet, through the whole damn trip, my commentariat kept me somewhat sane, and I managed to return mostly intact.

This year has been rife with emotional change.  This is the year I no longer could pretend to be…not me with my family.  My therapist said many months after the Taiwan trip that while it was difficult for me to get through, it really did trigger the change in the way I deal with my family.  I saw with horrible clarity that no paring of my personality would be enough.  The more I tried to hide and conform and STFU and be a good daughter, the more I wanted to die.  So.  I finally threw in the towel on trying to be a good daughter.  I started changing the way I interacted with my mother–not because I tried to do so, but because I couldn’t act the same way.  This conversation would never have happened before the trip to Taiwan.   We did a lot of work this summer–fucking hard work.

And then, my father.  An epic match-up that nearly killed me.  He was here for only four days, but I felt myself dying on the inside.  Still, I managed to change the way I interacted with him to some small degree.  Here is the account of his trip and the epic airport battle.   And another.  This one also has to do with forgiveness (or the lack thereof) and being a pacifist (or not).  I have not had much interaction with either parent since my father’s visit, which surprises and pleases me.

That brings us to now.  For the past few months, I have not had the constant urge to blog.  It started when my mother was here, and I admit that it was in part because I felt constrained with her around.  However, I also realized that whatever had compelled me to blog in the past just wasn’t as present any more.  And, in the last two months, it’s pretty much disappeared.  The urge, I mean, not the blog.  Then, I realized that the natural shelf-life of this blog is over.  That’s REALLY hard for me to write because I thought I’d be writing it forever.

Now, however, it’s time to move on to other things.  My next big project is to set up a fiction website in which I showcase my fiction.  At some point down the line, I may accept other people’s work, too, but for now, it’s going to be all about me (of course).  Once I have that in hand (hah!), I am toying with the idea of starting a political blog for real.  All this in addition to figuring out what I’m actually going to do that will get me paid.

I’m a bit wistful as I wind this down.  My blog is like my baby to me.  I created it; I nurtured it; I loved it.  I still do love it.  It’s given me so much, and I don’t think I would be where I am today without it.  And, another round of applause to the best damn commentariat on the webs.  You brought the truth, the humor, and the love on a daily basis.  I am leaving the site active so you can browse through the archives if you’d like.  I recommend you start with the semi-infamous Cocks, Chocolate, and Carnal Consumption.  It’s really damn good, if I do say so myself.  I will be checking in from time to time if only to pimp my fiction website and/or my political blog.

Thank you all for reading my blog.  I appreciate you more than you know.  With that, I’m turning off the lights and closing the curtains on The World According to MEH.

OH. MAH. GAH!

OH. MAH. GAH!  Did I really go out in public looking like that?????

Choolie posted the pics in FB, and holy shit.  My hair!  It really is an event in and of itself.   Looking in the mirror didn’t give me the full scope of what I looked like (really sorry I forgot the pearls, though).  I can’t stop staring at the pics.  Who is that woman?  And what did she do with the real Minna?  EEK.

I have to say, I really like the picture of Choolie and me with me pointing my rolling pin (which kept falling apart.  It’s really old) at the camera.  Her tag line for the night was, “I’m better.  Really!”  Mine was, “I WILL make pie.  Don’t think I won’t!”

OK, my line was funny at the time.  When I look at the pictures, I remember how creative everyone was.  I was really impressed by how much time and effort people put into their costumes.  It really was like being in another world, and I can’t stop looking at myself!  I look so strange.

All right.  General housekeeping info:  I have made it to actual goal of NaNoWriMo:  50,000 words.  I made it on Nov. 10, as usual.  Even though I was trying not to get caught up in the number, I couldn’t help pushing myself on the 10th.  I wrote 8K in that one day, which is pretty good, even for me.  Pat, pat, pat.  Yes, I’m patting myself on the back.  50,000 in ten days ain’t bad.  Of course, for me, it’s not as hard as running a marathon, but still.  Even if it’s not hard for me to write the words, it’s still work.  I wrote the 8K on the 10th in about five hours.

I WILL make pie--don't think I won't.

I had a bad weekend (don’t want to talk about it), so I didn’t get much writing done.  However, I am working on the ending right now so as to make writing the middle part easier.

I love writing fiction.   Don’t get me wrong–I love writing nonfiction as well.  I also love writing poetry.  Let’s face it–I just love to write.   However, there is something about fiction that just nourishes me.  I have a very active imagination, and writing fiction is fun to do because I get to watch movies in my head as I write.

Usually, I have the bare bones of the story in my head when I begin to write.  Sometimes, when I’m really lucky, a story will come to me intact, and I just have to write it down.  Those are usually my best stories.  This time, however, even though I knew in general where I wanted to take the story, I reached an impasse around 55,000 words.  Now, in general, the middle part of the book is usually the hardest for me to write.  I am excited at the beginning, of course because it’s something fresh and new.  I am excited at the end because it’s all pulling together, and I’m almost done with it.  However, in the middle, I sometimes get bored.  Yes, I will say it.  BORED.  I get tired of my characters and of the situations I have created for them.

They, in turn, are usually not speaking to me by this time.  They are bored as well, and they sometimes act out just because they don’t want to do the same damn thing.  That’s how I felt writing this novel.  I was bored.  I was struggling to stay interested.  The first part is really good and darker–even for me.  Then, I hit the wall.  I did not want to be writing this novel any longer.  I struggled with it for a bit, and then, I decided to switch things up a bit.

Taiji trumps rolling pin any day.

I started writing the ending.  Like I said, I knew basically where I was taking the story–I just didn’t know exactly how I was going to get there.  I am writing a murder mystery (though it’s more than that), and in the middle, I had it narrowed down to a few suspects.  When I jumped to the end, I took a leap of faith and picked the culprit.  Now, it’s the character I kinda sorta had in mind as the murderer all along, but I wasn’t sure until I starting working on the ending.

Of course, because it’s me, the plot is convoluted and tricky.  As I wrote part of the ending, I was struggling how to tie a few of the disparate ends together, and then it hit me.  An idea so devious, it even surprised me.  And, then other pieces of the puzzle fell into place.  I love when things dovetail together and a mess becomes suddenly clear.

I still have half the month to finish the novel and edit the hell out of it–which it needs.  Doing something different (working on the ending), really got me jazzed to write more.  So, lesson learned–change can sometimes be invigorating and a good thing.

Finally:  A teaser.  I have been mulling over something rather important in my brain for the past month or two.  I am not yet ready to write about it, so watch this space for further information.

This is a mash-up post of all the things floating in my head.  I am kinda tossing them all in one entry because I can.

First of all, I am doing NaNoWriMo again this year.  I have done it for the past three years, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it again.  Why?  Well, the goal of it is to write a 50,000 word novel in a month.  As y’all know, writing a lot of words is NOT a problem for me.  Hell, I average 2,500 words in one blog entry.  For the past three NaNoWriMos (and I’ve won all three, despite what their site says, and no, I’m not OCD about it, not at all), I hit the 50,000 words mark around the tenth day of the month.  I usually don’t talk about it with other people doing NaNoWriMo because I know how it sounds.  NaNoWriMo has been good for me, though, because it encouraged (OK, forced, but that’s just because of my own OCD) me to write every day for a month.

However, as to the main goal of NaNoWriMo, it’s not an accomplishment for me if it’s something I can do easily.  That’s why I debated this year as to whether I would do NaNoWriMo again or not.  Yes, it’s a good motivator, but if ultimately it doesn’t push me to the next step (publishing), then it’s really basically a masturbatory exercise for me.  Now, while I have nothing against masturbation (believe you me), in this case, it’s not particularly productive.

I talked with friends about it.  I mused about it.  I had decided not to do it this year.  It really felt like just a way to be doing something for the sake of doing something.  Then, I thought, what if I changed the goal?  Just because the stated purpose is to reach a certain word count, that doesn’t mean I can’t have a different goal–as long as I meet the stated one, of course.

So.  This year’s personal goal for NaNoWriMo is to have a publishable novel by the end of the month.  In the past, I have written novels during the month, only to shove them in a metaphorical drawer and not submit them for publication.  I still may at some point, but it’s self-defeating to write them and then just let them sit.  I have done that with many works I’ve written, which means I’m only engaging in half the activity of writing–the creative and fun half (the actual writing).  Next step is to submit and/or self-publish.

By the way, I just found out that I did not place in the top 25 for the August Short Story contest for Glimmer Train.  I didn’t think they would like that particular piece, but it stung, anyway.  I just submitted (yesterday) my piece for the October contest on Family Matters because that is one subject in which I have tons of knowledge.  It’s still a fiction contest, but it’s allowed to have nonfiction roots.  I did most of the initial writing by longhand in a notebook given to me by Gregory, and I discovered that I really missed writing by longhand.  I type over a hundred words a minute, and I edit as I go.  So, I don’t get to see the cross-outs and the scribbles in the margins (I’m an inveterate margin-scribbler.  I hate white space on a piece of paper) and the inserts when I type.  There is something sterile about typing.  Don’t get me wrong–typing will remain the primary way I write, but I think I’ll go back to longhand from time to time.

Anyway, as I may have mentioned, I hold Glimmer Train in high esteem, partly because it’s a quintessential literary journal.  Plus, it’s just damn good.  However, it is not my style at all (or, I should say, my style does not fit in with the journal at all), so I’m starting to question my determination to be published in it.  I think, somewhere deep inside, I feel like I’ll be validated as a writer if such a prestigious literary journal publishes a story of mine or at least places it in the top 25.

I think, though, that’s a self-defeating proposition.  I mean, I choose a literary journal which is pretty much diametrically opposite of how I write, and then I consider myself a failure if I don’t get published by them.  I probably will continue submitting to their contests, but I shouldn’t count on them to tell me my writing is good.

Anyway, back to NaNoWriMo.  Publishable novel by the end of the month.  That’s the goal.  I have no idea about what I’m going to write, but I will figure it out once I start writing (which will be in an hour or two).  I always have stories in my head, so plucking one out and writing about it is never a problem.  (Famous last words, I suppose).

Moving on.  I went to a Halloween party on Saturday at Choolie’s place.  I was thinking of being Lady Deathstrike or a vampire or something like that.  Kel said it was a bit stereotypical and that I should be something I never would be in real life.  I thought she had a good point, so I finally decided on being a fifties housewife.  However, I had to put a twist on it, so I was the foulmouthed fifties housewife.  I got my shit together, but it was a comedy of errors beforehand.  First, the dress I bought online was not elastic on the top, so I had a mono-boob.  This is not a good look, and it isn’t easy to breathe with one’s breasts squashed to one’s breastplate.  The cost of alteration would have been about as much as the dress, so I decided to hunt around for a different dress.  And, I still needed shoes.

Then, I get a note from the eBayer from whom I purchased my apron that her cat had shredded it.  Oh no!  I ordered another one, but I did not receive it in time for the party.  I found an actual housedress that was perfect, but the ties had been cut off.  I thought, “It can’t be that hard to sew ties back on.”  It wasn’t, but then I realized they were inner ties, which mean I had to sew on a hook on the other side.  Mind you, I was sewing Friday night.  I didn’t want to have to run to a fabrics store to buy a goddamn hook.  Fortunately, I had some in the house, so I was able to sew that on as well.  I was ridiculously pleased with myself for figuring out what needed to be done and doing it.  There was plenty of room for my epic rack, and if the replacement apron didn’t show up (which it didn’t), the dress itself was fussy enough to be workable.

Saturday, I had a good Taiji class in the afternoon, but meditation triggered a torrent of sadness.  I wasn’t in the mood to party, but I tried to put the sadness aside as I watched some college football and snoozed.  When I woke up, I still wasn’t in the mood to party, but I rarely am.

I started with my hair.  I stripped off my shirt and put on the bra I was wearing to the party.  I knew there was no way I would be able to get a shirt off over the ‘do I was creating.  Oh, and I nudged up the thermostat from 62 degrees to 65 degrees.  I got so hot ratting my hair, though, that I turned it back down before I was finished.  I sectioned my hair, leaving a ponytail in the back, a la Cindy Wilson from the B52s.  That part was staying down.  Then, I bent over and started ratting the hell out of my hair, starting from the back.  As I ratted, I added bobby pins and hairspray.  And more bobby pins.  And more hairspray.  Then, I ratted some more.  And added more bobby pins and more hairspray.  I feel guilty for how much of the ozone layer I destroyed doing my hair.  I used more hairspray in one night than I have in the past twenty years.

Anyway, after an hour, it was done.  It was monstrous, huge, and a sight to behold.  Really, it was the hit of the party with people marveling over it.  As I was driving to the party, I kept bonking it on the top of the inside of my car because I forgot how high it was.  People were very impressed that it was my real hair.  Once I was done creating the beehive from hell, I went to work on my makeup.  One problem–the glue tube that came with the false eyelashes wouldn’t open.  Once I got it open (do not ask how), I found out that the glue was dried out.  I was disgruntled, but I put it aside and applied the mascara directly to my own sparse eyelashes instead.  Once I was done with the full face of makeup (haven’t done that in twenty years, either), I got dressed.

I put on the dress (open in back, so no pulling over the head) and nylons, careful not to snag them.  I threw my heels in a bag, along with a rolling pin and my martini glass.  I made up a Bayer’s aspirin bottle to look like a Valium bottle.  On the back, I added this:  Mother’s Little Helper.  Take as many as fucking needed.  I filled the bottle with Tic Tacs (thanks, Choolie, for that suggestion) and threw the bottle into my dark brown clutch purse–the same color as my pointy-toe heels.  I also threw in my cat-eye glasses (had to wear my real ones to drive), my cigarette case holding unfiltered Pall Malls, and my cigarette holder.

I pulled on my lace gloves, and I thought I was ready to go.  I didn’t remember until about the third hour of the party that I had forgotten my pearl set (earrings, necklace, and bracelet), which really bummed me out.  Regardless, the party was great fun.  Choolie was an escaped insane asylum mental patient with a machete, but she’s better now!, and she had made lots of tasty dishes.  As always, she was an attentive hostess who did her utmost to make sure her guests were having a good time.  Said guests put tons of effort and thought into their costumes, and I was tickled by the zombie teabagger, the floppy disk, Jean Harlow, along with many others.   However, I started to feel sad again during the third hour, so I took off fairly early (midnight-thirty) so I would not infect anyone else with my blue mood.

It took me longer to undo my hair than it did to create it.  In addition, I had shut the bathroom door while I was gone because I did not want the cats in the bathroom breathing the noxious fumes.  So, I opened the door and turned on the fan when I got home.  And, I set off the CO monitor.  I had to open the sliding door and many windows in order to literally clear the air.

Final note on party:  Choolie has a new cat who is tiny, a dilute tortie, and who did so well at the party.  She wandered among the people, allowing everyone to love her up.  She didn’t mind being held, and she sniffed around curiously without showing any fear.  She’s a doll.

And, last week I went to visit Kel and the family.  It was a whirlwind of activity, starting with a soccer game.  Soccer Boy did not start, but he got to play a big portion of the second half, and our team won.  It was so much fun to sit on the sidelines with Irish Dancer and Punk Girl, talking about everything from relationships to Othello to Irish dancing and whatever else was on our minds.  Both the girls are bright, inquisitive, and great conversationalists.  We had a blast giggling and gabbing (we tried to mind-warp the coach into putting Soccer Boy into the game) as Geocacher (Kel’s hubby) paced the sidelines and Kel took photos (she’s the team photographer).

Friday, Kel and I hung out at the house (she had to finish up some sewing on Irish Dancer’s competition dress)  until it was time to pick up Soccer Boy from school.  We swung over to Duke Hospital to visit Kel’s mom, and then we dropped Soccer Boy back off at school for his homecoming football game before grabbing shakes and burgers on the way home.  Friday night was more Kel sewing and me watching the game (FTFY!) while chatting with various members of the family.

Then, Saturday was Irish Dancer’s big day.  The feis was two hours away, and Kel did her makeup in the car.  We stopped for fast food, but we pretty much zipped to the feis.  Now, I have to admit a failing here.  I was so excited to see Irish Dancer dance (the competitions can’t be videotaped) that I completely forgot to think about the circumstances.  What do I mean?  This.  I hate noise, crowds, and bright lights.  I didn’t think about the fact that a dance competition would have all three.  I started freaking out, and had I prepped myself for it, I could have handled it better.  I wore my earplugs and my sunglasses some of the time, which helped, but I didn’t have any Excedrin, which didn’t.  In addition, because of so many bodies stuffed into such a limited space, it was very hot, too.  As we all know, I don’t do well in hot.

The other thing was that the Irish Dancer had four competitions of around a minute and a half each.  That meant lots of waiting with little actual watching.  Sure, we had fun snarking on some of the dresses (the goal seemed to be as bright and clashing and sparkly as possible) and I got some quality time with Punk Girl, but I spent a lot of time fighting off the panic.  At one point, I went outside and plunked myself down on the grass to just chill.  It was cool outside, and I needed the escape.  I texted Kel so she wouldn’t think I’d completely disappeared, and then I tried to relax.

I was disappointed in myself for not thinking of this potential problem.  I am OCD woman, for god’s sake.  You would think that I would have come up with this contingency.  I thoroughly enjoyed watching Irish Dancer compete (she placed second, third, and fifth in three of her four competitions.  I’m so proud of her!), however, which was the main reason I was there.  She’s quite a bit taller than most of her competitors, so she was literally head and shoulders above them.  Kel had made Irish Dancer’s costume herself because Irish Dancer isn’t into bling or sequins or lace (thank god).  She looked beautiful and confident, and she was good.  I am glad I finally got to see her compete.

Sunday, we went to visit Kel’s mom again, had lunch with Rose (Kel’s sister), then went back home.  Rose’s son stopped by to say hey, and we just chilled and watched the games.  My team, of course, lost, while Kel’s team won.

Monday, it was back on the plane and back to Minnesota.  Another whirlwind adventure with the family of Kel.  Thanks for housing me, girl, and for showing me a good time yet again.

That’s pretty much all I have to say at this time.  Since I am doing NaNoWriMo (albeit in my own way), my blogging will be sporadic (not that it already isn’t).  In addition, I have a few other things percolating (I am not at the liberty to talk about them), which will cut further into my blogging time.  Just a head’s up for y’all.

#1 (OK, this is the second paragraph.  I lied.  Deal).  My mom’s magnum opus went through the process at a very fast-pace and is now accepted to be published.   Why am I patting myself on the back for this?  Because I worked my ass off on it, and that shit looked good.  I had an interactive (or whatever it’s called) table of contents (if I updated the chapters, I could automatically update the TOC, too) and everything.  I mean, damn.  That was some of my best editing work ever.  I really hit the ball out of the park with this one.  Yes, a second round of edits is coming up, and yes, I made a few mistakes, but overall, I did a kick-ass job.  Pat, pat, pat.

#2.  In the last three weeks, I have lost an inch-and-a-half around my waist, which translates to 7.5 pounds.  This is exactly how much I lose each week whenever I start losing weight.  I had forgotten how…not easy…steady the loss is in the beginning.  I won’t say easy because it’s been damn hard work.  Still.  It’s been a nice little boost to pull out the tape-measure (I don’t do scales) and see the steady loss.

Now that that is out of the way, I would like to say that once I am done with my mother’s magnum opus and a couple other things I am doing for her right now (including booking her flight to Colorado because apparently the interwebs is too tough for her, and no, Mom, I do not want to go with you to your conference), we will be setting some very clear delineations between what is my job and what isn’t.  When we started working on her magnum opus, we just said I would edit the thing.  That was it.  Oh, it also included re-typing her thesis because that was lost in the Great Hard Drive Crash of Aught…Something.  We only had hard copies, so re-type it I would.  That was part of the deal, and it was only seventy-some pages, so whatever.

Then, she had problems with the pics.  My brother took care of that.  He also did the tables.  I am not a whiz at the Excel, though I can use it if need be.  Then, it was layout.  The publishing company sent a PDF with all the things they required in their manuscripts.  OK.  Not exactly my purview (and I didn’t get it until after I started), but whatever.   Then, for some reason, we kept having problems with one chapter.  It was a chapter on her symbol paper (as a sandplay therapist, she had to write a paper on a symbol.  She chose the dragon), and I nearly ripped my hair out over that one.  When I do an edit, I name the paper Dragon Copy Whatever.  1, 2, 3, etc.   For some reason, my mom could not get it in her head that I was labeling them in chronological order.  She kept saying I hadn’t included her changes for the dragon symbol chapter.   I would look at the latest version and include whatever she sent.

The last straw was when two days before deadline, she complained about the section again and said I had gone backwards in the editing.  Well, that’s because she sent me an old copy.  So, I had undone the editing I had previously done, and then had to listen to her bitch about why the changes she had made weren’t in the section.  I yelled at her for that one because I had wasted many hours on that fucking chapter due to her stubbornness to really learn how to use computers.

The absolutely worst part, though, was that she was supposed to turn in the manuscript from Taiwan.  The publisher is in England.  She started whining about how difficult it was for her to print in Taiwan (she doesn’t have a car, but still.  Take the damn bus to the print shop), and it would be so much easier if I just sent it.  They needed two hard copies as well as two disks.  Don’t ask me why because I do not know.  Well, I do.  They didn’t want to print the copies, that’s why.  Anyway, I agreed to send the hard copies to the publisher, but I was disgruntled because it’s not that much easier for me to send it than it is for her (in fact, it turned out to be a nightmare, but that part was my own fault).  Then, again, two days before deadline, she wanted me to add another whole…how do I explain?  She administered tests to her clients.  They are called protocols.  She wanted to include one more set of protocols.  HELL NO.  I was already busting my ass to finish the damn book on time.  I was not going to add more protocols!

I did put my foot down to that.  We might be adding them now if the publishing company can find money for it.  Oh, then my mother wanted me to bring a hard copy with me to Taiwan.  The sucker was three-hundred pages.  No fucking way.  She could print it out her damn self.

The point to all this ranting is that because we did not have a clear contract, she kept pushing the boundaries of the definition of my job.   I went from simple copy editor to all-around Minna-of-all-trades.

The above example actually ties in nicely with the main point of this entry (thus, the slow reveal).  Awhile back, I wrote about how I’ve been trained to be the perfect sex doll.  I was taught that my needs, my desires, my wants weren’t important; my only function was to satisfy the needs of my partner.  Well, I have realized that I have been trained to also believe that I am not important in my family.  The real me, I mean.

I have written many times about muting my personality around my family until there is no me there.  The reason is because I feel as if I’m allowed into my family on sufferance.  I am tolerated as long as I am useful.  Therefore, my mom loves me because I do shit for her and because I give her emotional support.  My father loves me because…well, I don’t think he actually does love me.  However, he tolerates me because I’m his daughter and…I don’t rightly know.  He actually doesn’t really tolerate me as I only see him a few days a year, the vacation to Taiwan, notwithstanding.  As for my brother, he likes me because I listen to him and I allow him to unwind.  He can be more relaxed around me than he can be around his wife.  To be fair, I rely on him to be my tech support, so there is some mutual sufferance occurring.

In other words, I had to make myself useful to my family in order to feel as if I were acceptable.  There are so many things about me that they dislike or of which they disapprove.  In fact, I’d be hard-pressed to say something about the essence of me that anyone in my family really liked. Therefore, this separation thing really feels like I’m about to test the hypothesis that I’m expendable to my family if I don’t do what they want me to do.

Love on contingency.  This belief has permeated my other friendships.  I don’t call people because I don’t want to intrude.  For years, I have downplayed my depression and self-destructive behaviors because I didn’t want to worry anyone.  And, more to the point, I didn’t feel worthy of having anyone worry about me.  I tend to be very ‘up’ when I am around other people because again, I feel my worth is in how entertaining I can be.  And, let’s face it, I can be pretty damn entertaining.

My whole life, I have believed that my worth is wrapped up in what I do for others and not in who I am.  In my family, this may very well be true.  Outside of my family, it’s only true with people who aren’t really my friends.  My true friends are nonjudgmental, supportive, and love me for me.  I know this even if I don’t always feel it.   My family, not so much, and that’s why I’m having such a hard time with the idea of being my own person instead of who they want me to be.  Will I still be welcomed in the family if I start standing up for myself and being myself?  I simply do not know.

Today, I made the promise not to kill myself.  I realized that while I balk at making a blanket resolution to not kill myself at all, I am comfortable with mayhaps making the promise every day.  We shall see.

Currently, I have one complete novel and a sizable start on the follow-up novel.  In addition, I have started a strange stream-of-conscious non-fiction/fiction piece.  We’ll see where that one goes as well.  The first two are mysteries.  The finished one is messy, raw, and way-the-fuck-too long, but I’m reasonably happy with the overall shape of it.  The second looks as if it’ll be nearly as messy, raw, and long.  Oh well.  I don’t have to worry about that right now.

In other news, I will be going to the doc tomorrow morning.  I really hope she can sort me out and give me new lungs while she’s at it.

Hi!  It’s week three, and you probably feel overwhelmed by how many words you have left to write.  Well, not me!  Ha!

I’m kidding, of course.   That would be mean, and I try not to be mean–at least on the outside.

As for me, I feel like shit.  I temporarily lost my voice tonight, which was strange, indeed.  It’s only happened to me once before, and I was relieved that I could still type.  I mean, can you imagine if I had no venue in which I could voice my opinion?  Shudder.

I skipped taiji today because my body just wasn’t up to it.  Hell, I can barely walk from the living room to the kitchen.   This is the one time when I wished someone lived in the house with me.  I love my kittehs, but they suck at serving me.

If I don’t get better by Monday, I will stop by the Minute Clinic.  In the meantime, I am pretty much butt-melding with the couch–though I am now in my computer seat.  I’ll let y’all know when I’m better.

P.S.  For the math-impaired, that’s 7,500 words a day.

Anyway, I just want to let you all know that my blogging will most likely be severely curtailed during this month.  I will do my best to post when I can, but I will be pretty consumed with cranking out the fiction.  I already have the story outline, the plot, most of the characters, and even the ending in mind.  Now, I just have to write it.  Wish me luck!