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Accountability

When I sort of accidentally began this journey, accountability was a big thing for me. I talked about it. Owned it. Showed it. Through daily full body Instagram photos, I am holding myself accountable to myself and to (I’d like to think) the world for my fitness and health, whether I do or don’t meet my goals for that day, week or whatever.

Just recently, I’ve begun adding food pics to the mix, which I had been doing from time to time before, but that’s when I was flaky about it all and could easily have had a salad for lunch and fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner. You’d see the pretty picture of the salad, but you wouldn’t see and I wouldn’t speak of the fried chicken.

I guess it’s like the proverbial tree in the forest. If I eat it and no one’s around to witness it, does that mean it didn’t happen? Well, I knew that couldn’t last because even if I didn’t post pictures of every meal, I repeat, I post full body shots of myself every single day, so you would know something went awry, somewhere. I wouldn’t be telling the truth. I wouldn’t be telling my truth. And there are many parts to my truth.

The truth is, if this were five days ago, I’d have either a vodka cranberry or a glass of wine in my hand. And if I’m going to tell the truth, five days ago, I DID have a vodka cranberry in my hand, and followed it up with several more. And let’s just throw a couple of shots of tequila in there for sport, because that happened, too.

Also, a hangover happened, and though I’ve posted a vicious hangover selfie on Instagram, I made sure I got myself together before I posted my daily shot, and I still went walking/jogging.

I haven’t had a drink since Sunday and that’s in part because I’ve been thinking a lot about this accountability thing and also because a friend challenged me to a strict seven day fitness thingy that doesn’t allow for alcohol.

It’s been easy. Unbelievably easy until today, when my day wasn’t so good, when my relationship isn’t glowing that perfect glow, when I’m so annoyed/pissed/mad/sad that I just want to numb myself with a vodka neat or a whole bottle of wine. And yes, I can take down a whole bottle…and a half.

So, far I’m resisting. Sipping iced water and channeling this negative energy into new words and promoting Can’t Get Enough. And I think I’m able to resist mostly out of stubbornness and a small part of me thinks it may be an around about attempt at sabotage because my husband of course lives with me, knows my habits, my weaknesses and unfortunately, my triggers.

It’s good to get that off my chest. I’ll let  you know how it turns out tomorrow. Honestly.

Boundaries

lafyette

 

This is going to get personal, like, really personal. But that’s what we do here. Chat lightly, things get heavy, we promote a little.

I would categorize this one as a vent, except I’m not angry, and quite frankly, that worries me.

I may or may not have spoken here about boundaries. Specifically boundaries in a relationship. And sure, everyone has their own, whether expressed or unspoken.

Mine, however, have been blatantly expressed in the past, but now I find myself dealing with the same issue.

Specifically, I’m talking boundaries when it comes to being in contact with people other than your spouse/partner.

Where do you draw the line? At texting? At calling? At hanging out?

And to catch you up. The spouse is mine, the contact is via text (as far as I know) and he sort of told me as an afterthought.

The texter is a coworker. Remember those simultaneous dreams he and I had where I dreamed he was having an affair with a coworker and he dreamed I was having an affair with the neighbor? Weird, right? Well, the neighbor moved.

And his coworker, not someone he works closely with or even physically comes in contact with on a daily basis, texted him yesterday to “check on him.”

He’s on vacation. He’s not sick.

He’s simply not at work. And if he’s not at work, then guess what? He’s at home or somewhere with his wife, who would be doing the checking on if need be.

I didn’t say anything at first.

Because I try to be a cool, modern wife, you know. But the thing is, I wear my emotions on my sleeve, and at some point, I started to boil over.

He thinks it’s jealousy. I think it’s boundaries, plain and simple. If I’ve not met, formed any type of friendship with this woman, she does not get to have a part in our marriage that’s exclusive to only him, especially when I was here first.

But, maybe that’s just me.

In the end I gave my opinion and honestly, he seemed sort of sad, like I had taken away a favorite toy or something. He even told me to find a guy to text after I asked how he’d feel if he were in my shoes. WTF, right?

Now, mama didn’t raise no fool. I didn’t come out and say “stop this or else” because if he wanted to stop he would and if I told him to stop and he didn’t want to, guess what? He’d continue, only behind my back which would make it definitely look like something even if it’s nothing.

So what did I do? What any sane woman would do, of course. I friended her on Facebook. I’ve got the bitch on my radar and I’m watching the situation closely. That’s all I’m saying.

 

 

“All They Do Is Fuck”

A few days ago, I walked into the room to find my husband had started watching True Blood from Season 1. Neither of us had ever expressed interested in watching and really knew nothing about it.

I, however, know that I’m not into vampires in any kind of way, I don’t even know if “vampire” should be capitalized.

But, when I walked in, Sookey and Bill were, well, in the throes.

“That’s it,” my husband said, pointing at the screen, “that’s all they do.”

So, naturally, I was intrigued and started watching with him. It’s officially our thing now.

But, beyond all the wild, crazy, “dirty dick and all” sex, we like the damaged relationship between Tara and her mother. We love that Tara is such an emotional mess and keeps pushing Sam away.

And fake voodoo woman?

And naked man turned dog shape shifting?

Count me, I mean, us in!

At this point, we’re pretty attached to Lafyette, so don’t tell us if he dies. We almost needed resuscitation when we thought he was dead at the end of Season 1.

So, we’re enjoying it, and Hubs has sternly looked at the dog and said, “I better not ever catch your ass naked at the end of my bed!”
 

Date Night Done Right

There are no blog stops scheduled today or tomorrow, so this weekend you’re link and plug free! Yay!

I know how annoying constant promotion can be when every tweet, every blog is a link oto see my book, like my book, buy my book. And while I realize these things are important to a book’s success, I also know you got it the first, second or third time around.

Promoting your work can be tricky. It’s a constant test of balance between pushing your work and maintaining that light , casual relationship on social media.

So instead, let me tell you how date night became this:

kelandchase

And this:

friedgreen

First of all, I didn’t think a date night was necessary. Hubs actually took his days off this week and his sister and her fiance visited. We had a really good time , but he felt he owed me some quality time. There wasn’t a movie at the theatre that we hadn’t seen and we really didn’t feel like going out in the rain to have dinner.

So, we decided we’d grab a DVD and stay in and cuddle for the evening. However, both our bodies decided otherwise. We lay across the bed and watched Rookie Blue, some Mike and Molly and soon my husband, myself and the dog fell asleep spoon style at the foot of the bed.

It was both cute and pathetic. And dinner? That was a plate of fried green tomatoes.

Fancy, huh?

I know. It’s what I do.

Change and stuff.

We’ve been in our new home in our new state now for five + months. My lips want to form the words “I couldn’t be happier” because that’s mostly my answer when people from back home ask how I’m doing, how I like it, how we’re all transitioning. And honestly, I am happy, very. We live in a nice, quiet neighborhood, the twins attend a wonderful school where they are thriving, and the hubby has seen immense change from his old facility to the one he’s at now.

And I have gone from being a mom, wife and writer who also worked full time to only being responsible for shuttling the kids school and activities and well, taking care of home and stuff, and of course, writing. It was the dream. It was what I always wanted and never thought I could have and now that I have it, I guess it just feels unbelievable.

For one, there’s the self-inflicted guilt that not only am I not generating any income, I’m also not taking full advantage of the many hours I have to myself. I’m doing better about it now. I’m actually writing a novel. I know, I’m always writing a novel, but this is the most dedicated I have ever been to it and I have an actual outline that I’m following. I’ve never done that before, now have I?

Also, the release date for Can’t Get Enough will be here before I know it (July 14, 2014, if you didn’t know) and I’ve got to step up my promotion game. Transitioning from just writing to writing and also editing, that extra responsibility is pretty new to me, but it is very necessary if I want this book to be a success and if I want publishers to want me to edit for them again.

I will be blogging more frequently (famous last words, eh?), here and also over at Can’t Get Enough’s blog. There are some short story calls that I’ve started stories for and I want/need to finish. I just want to be a more dedicated writer, a better me, and that itself will take more change than the big move ever did.

It’s time…

…that I said something, did something, finally after what… a month or so…let my own words appear on my own blog. I’ll admit, I’ve gotten a little comfy in my new life. My only responsibilities being to wake up, get the husband and kids off to work and school, cook meals, and keep the house in some sort of order. And, now that we’ve been in our new place for nearly three months, daily maintenance takes maybe an hour.

No reason I should be napping, or watching every show known to man on demand. No reason I should have stacked all my notebooks in the closet where they wouldn’t be sitting there mocking me, reminding me that I haven’t completed a story, a blog, an essay, nothing since I’ve been here.

I feel pretty bad about that. Which reminds me, I also feel bad. I’m in the midst of a Lyme flare up and just for shits and giggles, depression decided to pull up a chair as well.

These shouldn’t be excuses. And when I think about the fact that I could have written a whole novel during the time I’ve been sitting here napping, watching t.v. and drinking beer, I want to well…crawl under the covers, watch t.v. and have a beer.

But enough of that.

I’m at the writing table right now, typing these words. I’m reminding myself that I have a book coming out next July, an actual book with my name on the cover which is hold in my hands proof that writing is what I do, or at least have been doing, and damn it, I need to get back at it.
cant

So…here goes.

On The Move

Life for me is just slowing down as we’re settling into a new home in a different state. At an unexpectedly rapid place, my family relocated from small town Carolina to the Atlanta area of Georgia.

It’s involved a lot of change, mostly for the kids who live with ASD and are major creatures of habit, but also my husband who has come to a new job location and myself who, for now, is not working outside the home.

It’s always been a dream of mine, to be at home where I’m accessible to my family. Juggling household chores while working feverishly on stories, articles and books. Need I even say that it’s not quite that simple and now and then I long or the simplicity of a desk and a computer and a clock to punch?

But, I have hope, and hopefully, time to figure all of that out. For now I’m sitting here in the moment, doing the laundry and listening to the rain, planning dinner and anxious to hear about the kids’ day at school, feeling very much…at home.