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Collection of me – sort of.

 

 

A little weird.

I have an extensive collection of graphics and memes, by extensive I mean I’ve been copying, saving, and hoarding them for years. I am a Pinterest addict, I am always collecting these things thinking I will pin them or use them as some witty Facebook reply.

Truth is, I simply have a file full of funny, weird, odd, and why the hell did I save that, kind of stuff. I should delete them all but . . . I . . . can’t. My ridiculous attachment to them is, well, ridiculous.

Mixed in and missing amongst all the nonsense are screen shots of bills I’ve paid online, precious photographs of my family, my daughter’s wedding, you know, actual, real, important things which I shouldn’t have to scroll through a gazillion and seventy-seven unimportant, albeit funny, cute, cool, amazing, blah, blah, blah, things that are ultimately inconsequential and inconvenient.

Right? 

Please tell me you have a similar addiction. I don’t particularly care if you do in fact have this  issue or anything resembling it, I just want you to tell me you do so I feel a little less like a loon.

I’m keeping them, of course, because I must or I just wouldn’t be me, but I felt the need to see my silliness in print. Thank you for your participation, or at least momentary, involuntary inclusion in my lunacy.

Seriously? Really? My brain – it fails.

Learning from experience . . . apparently, I don’t.

First the cup . . . FIRST.

First the cup . . . FIRST.

https://theqwietmuse.com/2014/08/19/dont-forget-the-cup/

Last time it was worse . . .

Blink if you weren’t already well aware *Yawn

People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint – it’s more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly . . . time-y wimey . . . stuff.

Wonderfully, wisely aimagend wittily explained by 10. If you don’t readily know the reference I reluctantly forgive you. This time. Well, sort of, but not really. Go ahead and blink.

It’s 4:30. In the morning. What I was fairly certain was still today became yesterday when I looked at the clock after several hours of tossing and turning in an unsuccessful bid for sweet and solid sleep, and an inconvenient midnight need to cleanse my bathroom due to an unexpected, albeit minor, invasion of ants. Ants are assholes, in case you weren’t already well aware.

So tomorrow is now and I’ve not slept since the day before and my current state of mind is ever so slightly, just a bit, wibbly wobbly. More so than my norm. What I wouldn’t give for a police box in Tardis blue to take me back the moment I forgot to take that blasted little lullaby in a bottle of a pill that helps me fall asleep.

My internal clock decided quite some time ago to tender its resignation, leaving me very much awake and on my own, no es bueno for me. My body went on strike, vowing to stay awake until its demand for the missing ticking be met, and since my turncoat timepiece abandoned me, I had no choice but to seek pharmaceutical relief. Internal clocks are assholes, in case you weren’t already well aware.

The sun will soon be up and I will be a shell of a person sipping my coffee like a zombie with a throbbing headache I can already feel drumming . . . Can’t you hear it? Inside my head. I thought it would stop. But it never does. It never, ever stops. Inside my head. The drumming, the constant drumming.

Oh, where is a doctor when you need one. Again, quasi forgiveness if you’ve no idea what I am blathering on about. Today is Saturday, I just remembered I do in fact have an appointment to imagesee The Doctor. New guy, only one visit so far, we’ll see how good he is. Capaldi, don’t fail me. I know you can’t hear me, but you should have kept the facial hair. I blame Moffet of course.

I swear I keep feeling ants. I may as well get that coffee brewing, it is going to be a long, long day and I cannot stop yawning. Yawns are assholes, in case you weren’t already well aware.

Crystal R. Cook

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Hello? Hello? . . . Hello?

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Phone solicitors are fun. One just called. Caller ID alerted me to the obvious solicitation expert waiting for me to pick up, I answered, didn’t say hello, just answered and listened. He waited the obligatory 10 seconds like he was obviously trained to do before saying hello. He said it 6 times. He did not hang up though. He said it two more times and waited.

A tiny bit of the laughter I was holding back escaped and he quickly said, “Hello! I won’t take up much of your time, how are you doing this evening?” He waited for about five seconds.

“Hello? Hello? Are you still there?”

Five more seconds tick by.

“Ma’am? Hello? Hello? This will only take a minute or two of your time. Hello? Is there a good time for me to call back?”

Three seconds.

“Hello?”

Five seconds.

Click.

He was persistent and patient. I like that in a phone solicitor. Wait . . . no. No I don’t.

Crystal R. Cook

*ish* day . . .

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I keep telling myself I need to get up and do something at least relatively productive today. The problem is, I don’t much care for being told what to do, so I am rather at odds with myself at the moment. On one hand, I am trying to convince myself it’s my own personal desire to rise and be responsible, on the other, I am my own authority figure and feel the need to rebel.

I’m fairly certain I’ve mentioned it before, but in case you missed it, I’m not entirely crazy. I can’t be the only one with an ongoing, internal discourse in regard to how best spend the day ahead. At the heart of this particular issue is this, I’m tired. Physically, I’m awake, chipper even. Alright, that’s an exaggeration almost tantamount to a lie, but I am awake and in a fairly fair(ish) mood. It will be safe to remove the ish once I’ve finished my coffee, at least I am fairly certain(ish) it will be.

My current level of tired goes beyond the physical. I am weary in many ways at my very core. It’s like everything in me just realized it’s been running on empty for too long and the gears have ground to a halt. Maybe this is why I drink too much coffee. Perhaps I am feeding my fragile engine with the wrong fuel. Nah, it just needs something in addition to my beloved brew.

~ OR ~ I am just being lazy and all of this diatribical wordage is nothing more than me justifying my reluctance to do laundry.  *diatribical – it is a word today. If the dictionary can now include hashtag, I can play with my words as I wish. Octothorpe, by the way, it is an octothorpe. 

I’ve approximately two, possibly three more sips in my cup and am contemplating a second fix, oh, but that requires action on my part, it’s a worthy enough endeavor I suppose. Well worthy. I may make some tea in lieu of the java, sounds rather delightful actually. I was hoping my rambling would lead me and spur me forward in my quest for motivation, but thus far the most appealing thing I’ve come up with is sitting on the porch with my coffee, or tea, and losing myself completely between the pages of a book.

I may get dressed today, the probability of remaining in my pajamas is likely though, quite likely as a matter of fact since doing the wash has not yet made it to the top of my to-do list for the day. My cup is now emptied and a decision has to be made, I’m flipping a coin . . .

Crystal R. Cook

That awards show . . .

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Everyone is already talking about that awards show thingy, who wore what and how they wore it, so I thought I would go ahead and join the discussion . . .

There were just so many glorious gowns and snazzy suits, it’s hard to pick the best. I mean, the hair and makeup alone on some of them was simply beautiful, and that was just the guys . . . so much pretty jewelry and people wearing shoes and carrying handbags.

I loved that one girl with the dress, you know the one I’m talking about. Oh, and that other one, she looked fantastic. I don’t know about what’s-her-name though, she was looking a little rough, but that guy in that one movie that came out not too long ago was looking good.

I was really blown away by that actress with the long hair, or was it short? Doesn’t matter, she looked good didn’t she? And that one gal who was in that movie with the guy who was wearing the black suit just looks gorgeous no matter what, don’t you agree?

Letsee . . . who else? Omigosh, I can’t believe I almost forgot that woman who walked in on the red carpet, there were cameras shooting pictures and she had on those shoes. Wow. Stunning, you can’t tell me she wasn’t stunning.

That older guy who’s been in quite a few movies was looking pretty dapper hu? That one dress by that designer was really pretty. I think that other lady, the one with the face, looked lovely, but her dress was just all wrong for her wasn’t it? Would you have worn that?

Wait a second . . . I forgot. I didn’t watch the damn show. Did I miss much?

~ Tongue-in-cheek of course, I know many love the awards shows, I don’t pay much attention to it all and am always out of the proverbial loop when it comes to the next day recaps ~

Crystal R. Cook

W.A. – It affects you, I guarantee it.

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If you have any of these warning signs, you are one of the many people afflicted with WA –

  • an unusually and unnecessarily large collection of writing instruments.

  • an over abundant supply of paper, notebooks, journals, etc..

  • overflowing bookshelves, the compulsion to buy books even when you have unread stacks of them next to your bed, couch, and kitchen table.

  • an overwhelming compulsion to blog, read blogs, and comment on blogs.

WA is a newly recognized and widespread epidemic of addiction affecting people around the globe. This affliction has silently consumed lives for centuries, some may argue it is a harmless addiction, though many have been known to suffer from co-morbid conditions such as alcohol and caffeine abuse.

Negative side effects include insomnia, malnourishment, and social deficits. Family members of those living with WA have reported episodes of withdrawal, lack of spontaneity, decreased desire to engage in family activities, lack of personal care, and sustained periods of restlessness in those diagnosed.

Currently, the typical diagnostic criteria used to determine addiction is not apparent in all cases, many go unrecognized by the medical and psychiatric communities leading to a majority of cases being diagnosed by family members. Many of those with WA are self diagnosed.

In many instances you may hear it referred to as a syndrome in lieu of an addiction. A majority of those with WA do not see it as an addiction, they believe they were born with WA. Popular theory and current research suggests there may be a genetic component involved.

Since the diagnostic criterium for addiction is not always met, WA, also known as Writing Addiction, or Writing Syndrome, is often a diagnosis of exclusion, meaning you know your addicted if you’ve excluded everything else in life aside from the written word.

imageIn fact, if you are reading this you may have one of two very real addictions, perhaps even both. If you are reading simply because you must read you more than likely have RA, Reading Addiction. If you are reading this and already thinking of what to write about it, it’s safe to say you are a Writing addict. If you are reading this out of sheer compulsion AND thinking of what to write, you are not alone, a majority of those diagnosed carry a dual diagnosis referred to as RAWA, Reading and Writing Addiction. There is no shame.

Writing addiction is not something you plan. It is an all-encompassing desire, the more you write the more you need to write. Like most addictions, it begins to consume you. At first it’s just jotting things down now and then, a bit of poetry here, a little prose there and soon you’re writing stories and sonnets and epic works of words late into the night.

It’s a secret addiction in the beginning, harmless to most. Writing addicts typically start in their spare time. It doesn’t take long until spare time is no longer enough; it begins to creep into their day. When you’re supposed to be doing bills an idea will hit and next thing you know you’ve written half a chapter on the back of your electric bill.

It doesn’t end there. Dinners get burned, kids are late for school, laundry piles up and you forget to feed the dogs, you write about it though. Hungry Dogs, a Tale of Sad Tails. When it first begins it’s easy to hide, but soon you get careless and scraps of paper litter the countertops and the dressers, notebooks and journals are in every room of the house.

Your desktop is filled with papers and coffee cups. Oh yes, coffee cups. Once the addiction has you in its clutches you forego nourishment for a good old Cup-o-Joe to keep you going. Snack foods sustain life. By the time family and friends see the signs it’s too late. No one says anything until you arrive at school in the afternoon to pick up your children wearing yesterday’s pajamas.

By the time anyone suspects there is a problem it’s already too late. Sure, they can hold interventions; they can beg and plead, but the need to write simply cannot be overcome. Once you have it, you have it for life. Eventually those who love you will accept the reality of your life. You are a writer.

There isn’t much you can do for someone with writing addiction except accept them and love them imagejust as you did before they picked up a pen. As previously mentioned, in some cases it appears to be genetic; many children of writing addicts are themselves addicts by the time they reach puberty. The same can be said for the offspring of reading addicts. There has yet to be a cure, its doubtful there ever will be.

I myself am a reading and writing addict. It began when I took my first breath, my family has tried to put an end to it, but they’ve never succeeded. They’ve never even come close. They know I will write about them if they push it too far. Do they think I don’t know casserole will burn if I don’t stop writing long enough to take it out of the oven? I mean seriously, why else would I keep a fire extinguisher at my desk. I’m one step ahead them.

In conclusion, writing can in fact, be an addiction. There is no way to know who will become a slave to the written word. There is no way to stop it once it has begun. I suppose those of us with writing addiction are enabling the reading addicts among us, they can’t get enough of what we do . . . but then, are they not in a sense encouraging our own addiction to writing? And what of those of us with the dual addiction, we are our own worst enemy and best friend; it is a vicious circle, one with no end.

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If a cure is ever found I’m heading for the hills. I wonder if I can get high-speed Internet service up there . . . no matter, paper, pens and solitude is all I need to feed the hunger. No twelve step programs for me, I’ll write one for anyone who wishes to work through their beautiful addiction though, not that anyone would.

Crystal R. Cook

Resurrected to share for the blog share learn linky party!

#MidLifeLuv Linky

Don’t Forget the Cup

What I needed

What I needed

I’m having one of those rare yay me kind of days, at least I was. I got up early this morning, despite my lack of sleep due the absence of my husband’s snoring, which is odd since it usually keeps me awake. He’s out-of-state so the bed’s all mine. Well, mine and my dog shadow, Arabella. She doesn’t snore.

I set about cleaning and organizing and dusting. Stuff that makes you feel accomplished and worthy and less like the stay in your PJs, write all day, and let the dust fall where it may self you typically are. Maybe that’s just me though. So, I’m caught up on laundry, dishes are done, floors are swept, blah, blah, blah.

I was kicking cleaning ass and then, BAM! I ran head on into a wall of tired so hard it just about knocked me down. I needed coffee . . . quickly. I still had stuff to do so I set it to brew and hefted a load of towels to the closet. I could smell the coffee, it was divine. The aroma was strong, I could almost feel the energy it was dripping out for me.

I zombie walked my way to the kitchen, when I saw it, a wave of confusion washed over me, then realization. Realization that I’m a part-time ditz and full-time lost cause.

Cup Required

Cup Required

So now I know what happens when you don’t strategically place a receptacle beneath a streaming flow of hot, liquid life nectar. It’s sad.

I have to give a shout out to my beautifully decorative drying mat, talk about absorbency. What could have been a mess of disastrous proportion was reduced to a fairly quick clean-up.

Absorbent and Lovely

Absorbent and Lovely

I learned a valuable lesson today, don’t wait too long to make coffee, drink up before you’re too tired to remember the darn cup.

I remembered this time

I remembered this time

Argh. My crazy might be showing.

A little OCD

It’s just a touch off center,
the lines aren’t lined up right,
so much is so uneven,
everyday this is my plight.

Too many things are skewed,
unbalanced, wrong and off,
I cannot help but notice,
I cannot make it stop.

Labels are always crooked,
cushions are slightly turned,
stupid slanted bumper stickers
cause unwarranted concern.

Tell me why it’s so damn hard
to replace the toilet paper right,
when someone rips a sheet in half
it keeps me up at night.

It’s positively crazy,
ridiculous and insane,
it’s not a conscious effort,
just something in my brain.

I try to look away,
and think of other stuff.
I tell myself it’s silly,
but it’s like I’m stuck.

I’m not obsessively obsessive,
I just notice little things,
you’d completely understand
if you were slightly OCD.

Crystal R. Cook