It's a cliche saying, but where has the time gone?
It's a new year and I'm ready for it. I haven't written much the past few months, despite the urge. I start, only to get a paragraph in before everything comes to a screeching halt. It's like the gateway between my thoughts and my fingers has been snapped in two. The words are there, but they come out wrong...not making the impact I want. So, I guess that's my way of telling you I stopped writing books. I cry just typing it. I don't want to stop, but I have to. When something stops bringing you joy, there's no reason to do it anymore, right? Dammit, I didn't want to cry. 2018 was something. It was so good. But it was also terrible. Isn't that weird? Like, how can it be both? Aren't you supposed to be either doing well or... not? I think about it a lot. Duality. What it means. What it is. Sometimes, when I think about it too much, it keeps me awake. I've been awake a lot. I'm getting off track. So. Words describing the awesomeness of 2018:
I would guess my family is sick of me talking about it, but I discovered the absolute greatness of BTS. I'm going to spare you the gushing, because I've learned people hear "BTS" and sorta just glaze over if they're not already a fan. But, seriously, please do yourself a favor and check them out. Google them and look at the actual impact they're having on the world. Unicef campaign. Speaking at the UN. Named by Time Magazine (and on the cover) as the next generation's leaders. The message of loving yourself for who you are. Not to mention the great music. I don't think you'd be sorry. Okay, I gushed a little. Speaking of loving yourself. It's a phrase that gets tossed around a lot. For good reason. And it ties in to my last words/phrases. I'm not old, but I'm getting older. 2018 flicked a switch inside me. It flipped the hourglass over. If we look at it factually, I've lived over half of my life (probably). And as people promised me, those years brought wisdom. My thinking changed. My priorities, likes and dislikes, my "I don't give a f*ck's", shifted. It's almost comical how different I am. I don't care what people think of me. I'm 43 years old. I like pink hair. I like tattoos. I like Kpop. I like to dance and act goofy as hell and I don't give a flying F if you think I'm crazy or weird or even insane. I'm doing what I like because why not? I like to play Candy Crush for hours. I like to daydream. I dance with my dogs and drink tons of coffee and give finger hearts to my daughter as she walks into school. It's awesome. Oh, and I like to take selfies. I could give you a bs reason such as I'm chronicling my life and journey, but nope. I just love doing it. So, yeah, 2018 was good to me. I thank God for my blessings. I'm learning not to take things for granted. I cherish the relationships I have with my husband, my daughters, my family, and my friends. But nobody's life is perfect, right? As I mentioned earlier, I shut the door on my author self. Of course, I wonder if I'll pick it back up again, but I suppose I won't know until it happens. If I don't, at least I have something I can always point to and say (with some amount of pride), "I did that." I feel like I should talk more about this decision, but I don't know how. I'm crying again. My battle against constant pain continues. I found relief for a brief time, but it returned. I could continue the treatment that helped, but I have to give some things up for it, and while it may seem like a simple decision, it's not. Not for me, anyway. There are days I can barely move, every single joint in my body screaming bloody murder, and I sometimes joke that if I'm this bad now, what will I be like at 80? I say joke, but I'm actually serious. It's a fear. It's a cloud I can't outrun. Not only is my body an enemy at times, but my mind still works against me, too. I'm better at fighting it. Well, maybe not better...I'd say smarter. Years of therapy finally sank in. I actively think about my victories when I start to feel the darkness pushing in, and I remind myself that no matter how dark it's gotten, I've risen back up. I can do it as many times as necessary. Instead of hiding it now, I confront it. I speak it aloud to my loved ones so they know I'm vulnerable. It helps. It really does. Trust me when I say it's a solid-ass victory. My memory has become spotty. Doesn't that sound like something an old person would say? Haha. It's true, though. It's happened so much I've joked about my family having to put me in a home. They don't like that joke and they very confidently say I'm not losing my mind, but when you literally forget what you were going to do or say 10 seconds after thinking it, something's off. Yeah, we all lose our keys from time to time, or walk into a room to have no idea why we're there, but when it becomes a daily part of your life, it's unnerving. Especially when you have Alzheimer's and dementia on both sides of your family tree. It's something to think about, which admittedly, I do a lot of. To make myself feel better, I push it off as a side-effect of my medication. Heheh- wait, is that okay to joke about? [I had an entire section here, but I've decided it's not the time to talk about it. Remind me sometime, and hopefully, it will be easier and I'll have the courage to actually post it.] I think I've rambled long enough. It's been a couple of hours since I started and The Sound of Silence just started playing, which means I've gone through quite a chunk of my playlist. I like Disturbed's version better than the original. There's something in his voice that soothes me. And the instrumentals never fail to cause goosebumps. Just thought I'd mention that. I don't know if this post was even worth reading, but hey, it helped me, so that's really all that matters. That's the beauty of writing. It's not about the final product or giving readers what they want. It's about the healing and self-discovery it provides the writer during the process. So, with that, I'll say goodnight. Rex has curled up next to me and fallen asleep, which means I only have a few hours until he wakes me up to go back outside and either dig under the fence or patrol around the yard. It's a toss up what he's going to do. I gave up being mad at him for it, though, because he couldn't care less either way. Night, y'all. Sweet dreams. P.S. I re-read through this post and holy hell is it a rambling nightmare. But I'm gonna post it, anyway, 'cuz I'm tired and it's real and that's the point.
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