Notes from the Red Bird House

It's been a rough month. One day I was playing tennis, breaking in a new doubles partnership, and working at a job I liked. My pay check stretched far enough to allow me frequent meals out and coffee at my favorite coffee house. My anxiety was in check; my stress level seemed to have settled into an new-found low. I was happy most days, even on the days when I yipped my way through multiple double faults and on the days when the amount of work at work seemed insurmountable. I was riding a wave, a really good wave. And then I hit a forehand wrong and felt a sharp pinch and burning sensation in my elbow. A week later I was out of tennis and back working a stressful day job. Trips to various doctors and physical therapists quickly drained my bank account. My social life (what little the introvert in me craved) ended when tennis ended. Meals out and coffee became a memory. And with all that, my stress level rose to what surely feels like an all-time high. ~ Imagine for a moment a...

I've decided that I have an answer for the oft asked question (paraphrased here) - Why am I going to Sweden? Ready? It's not earth-shattering. Not really, I guess. Maybe to some it will be. Those whose lives are so filled with purpose that they've become swollen, lethargic, and unimaginative won't get it any more than those who don't actually, well, live at all. In the few short months since my grand announcement (read my blog "Sweden or Bust 2017" for details), I've grown tired trying to explain something I can barely explain to myself to people who live their lives as if it was a paint-by-number. Blue here. Brown here. Yellow there. Stay in the lines. Don't improvise. Look, all of our paintings look the same, just like they're supposed to. News flash... They're not supposed to look the same. The past week has brought a few welcome realizations. 1. A friend posted something to her Facebook today. It was a Word Porn meme that I'...

There is a place I go. I am almost sure of it. Every night when I sleep. I dream. But beyond the dream, beyond the immediate subconscious, there is something...more...different. A feeling, a comfort, a familiarity, a knowing. A place. A life? Lately, as I ponder bedtime, sleep, and dreams, I am often confused. I don't want to sleep, but I don't want not to sleep. Am I worried that I won't find my way there? I think maybe. Which is real? Here or there? Asleep or awake? Do minutes pass as hours...and vice versa? Or is it just a dream? An illusion? A subconscious trick? I can vividly recall my dreams, but not what lies beyond them. I am frustrated. I should know, I should remember.  I should . As I lay my head down and pull the blankets tightly around me, I feel it. Peace. Peace is coming. In the morning, it will be gone, this I know for certain. And in that moment, when I silence my alarm, throw the covers off, and face a new day, I curse that I am once again...here.....

I started a new story the other day. And honestly, the worries I'm having are probably why I'm planning to write historical fiction in the future. My current story is set in the (relatively) present day in Austin, Texas. As with my other stories, there's tennis and at least one lesbian protagonist. Write what you know, right? It'll give your writing a ring of authenticity, right? Well, I know tennis, lesbians, and Austin. Can't get any more authentic than that. Let me just get it out there. After all it's the purpose of this blog. I have a few concerns. Oh, I'm good with the story and my ability to tell it. Those are usually my biggest worries when I start a new story. Am I worthy? Can I get it down on paper in a coherent fashion? Check and check. I also have the plot and main characters nailed down. Check. Check. So, what's my problem? Reality. Yes, reality. Let me backtrack. About ten years ago when I was blogging a lot and had a pretty goo...

There's a point when sanity stops being easy. Done right everyone will be fooled. They won't see the unraveling, won't even guess. It won't make it any better. Ok, maybe slightly better. Nothing worse than seeing people see the unraveling. Trust me on that one. It'll change a friendship. They say it won't. But it will. It will.   I structure my life a certain way. I haven't always but after teetering on a crumbling precipice a few years back, I don't have a choice. If I want to stay on this side of...well, if I want to stay on this side. Let's just go with that.   My goal is always to 'win today'. Not next month or even next week. One day. Today. Truly, it's all that matters. And once I win today, I can move on to tomorrow. Winning isn't always easy. Even with the most rigorous vigilance, things happen. Elbows get hurt and jobs change. In an instant, two of the three things that ensure sanity can abruptly di...

I'm odd. I think it goes without saying. I've never fit the standard textbook definition of "normal" and, you know, it's seldom bothered me. Oh, I'm not weird or strange. I mean not so much that people recoil from me or are embarrassed to be seen with me. I'm odd...like a square peg with rounded corners that almost ( almost ) fits into the round hole. I'm accepted not because I'm like everyone else; I'm accepted because I'm different. Odd, if you will. I'm not like anyone anyone will ever meet. Luckily, I've met a lot of people who like that sort of thing. I used to think that I was a truly square square peg. Don't get me wrong, I was ok with it. I was ok with never fitting in, being so different as to not be universally accepted. Because I was accepted enough. Usually by others who were a bit squared-off themselves. And that was ok, too. But just ok. I want to get it out there early that I have never willfully changed mysel...

I'm an introvert. For those who've met me, this is often hard to believe. I speak even before I'm spoken to. I use complete sentences. I don't run when I see people.  I have a high social IQ (and incidentally a high emotional IQ as well). I can speak to anyone and find something to talk about. I'm seldom at a loss for words. I have spectacular intuition and I'm good at reading people. I can be witty, sarcastic, and down-right fun to be around. Makes me an extrovert, right? Wrong.  I'm a textbook introvert. People drain me. I crave solitude. Too much distraction leaves me untethered mentally. I dislike being the center of attention. I prefer small groups over large ones (at a party, I'm usually the one petting the dog in a quiet corner) I have a small number of close friends. See? I'm an introvert.  Here comes the shocker.  I'm a fake. A pretender. An actor. I've gotten really good at the imitation game. I know wha...