#AtoZChallenge Reflections #IWSG Writing Fears- Existential Crisis

I didn't get to comment on as many blogs as I hoped and planned to. Life is not what I ever imagined and I'm having a difficult time adjusting and reprioritizing. I can't wrap my head around my current situation.

Jamie of UniquelyMaladjustedButFun

This fortune cookie 🥠 actually sums it up. 

I fear being less than who I dreamed I would be.

Except... I am. 

I am far less than my dreams. 

Do I start over with new ones? 

Would it matter? Doctors keep saying I'll be gone before 2030, absolutely no matter what, that I will never turn 50. Seems like a threat, because they won't even offer hope or space for a miracle or anything. I don't know what to do with that. 

Just live each day?

Just try to spend as much time with my husband as possible? 

I love him. I'm grateful for him. I absolutely don't want to exist without him by my side. 

I barely read or write anymore.

Didn't even manage to make many blog comments because I didn't prioritize time for it. 

So, I guess my fear now is that I'll write instead of spending moments with my husband. And I fall apart when we're watching tv together (the only activity he's interested in at all right now) and he starts playing on his phone. And I'm excluded. So now I'm not living my dream, I'm not reading or writing, and we're not actually doing something together. And I don't like myself. And I don't know WHAT NOW. 

What goal do I live for?

Who am I? 

Do I just wait for death?

Do I demand more of myself?

And to top all of this, my wrist HURTS. Just this month of blogging, half done on my phone, has my wrist and fingers feeling like a rock 🪨 smashed them. 

(A problem that started in Jan 2024, when the stroke impacted my right arm, and then got worse when it was SLAMMED hard, with all the might of a tech and nurse, as they tried to shove me into a tube and I got stuck.) So now writing, something I live/d for and that makes me feel alive, happy, and purposeful... now it hurts. Like a punishment, like maybe I'm not supposed to be me. Maybe I'm just supposed to be John's wife. A great gig, granted, and one I am grateful and proud to have. But am I still more? Am I me? 

Or am I already gone?

I have ALWAYS said that if I can't write, if I'm not writing, that I am dead. 

I hold to that.

Right now, I'm alive, but I'm barely living.

I am not who I was. 

Rejections, failures, lack of talent or ability? 

Those were never my big fears.

Success... slightly, because I've dealt with stalkers before (non-fame reasons) and I don't have it in me to go through that again.

I don't know.

When I think about what I most want, it's to traditional publish a novel under my name. 

Preferably the Lenore story I've been working on for a few years.

A traditional publisher wouldn't accept it because it would ABSOLUTELY be a banned book in America right now. 

And if you speed round ask me what I most want to do with my life, with my time left, that's what I'll immediately say. 

And then pause.

And say I actually want to spend every possible moment with my husband. Who the doctors keep saying will be gone in four years, UNLESS he gets his blood sugar under control. (He gets an unless. But every time he gets close, something happens and it gets messed up. Like they change his meds. Or now he can't do physical activities. But we're not supposed to consider the scientific reasons. We're supposed to just FIGURE IT OUT. Other people magically master this, why can't we? 

I'M A FUCKING FAILURE.) 

See... and then I don't want to write. Don't feel like I should.

Don't know who I am. 

I have no idea who I am. 

I don't think I've been me since 1998. 

All my social media. "JamieWriter." 

That's how I define myself. 

Sure sounds like someone who should spend most of her time writing. Or at least some. Sounds like she'd fight for it.

And she'd protest libraries being shutdown. Probably more than just letters and mentions on her blog. 

Maladjusted. 

See... it was funny when I said it before. My mom always said I was strange. 

Maybe stranger than anyone knows. Even me. 

I WANT to WANT to write more than anything. And I do... sorta. I want my actions to reflect that. 

But, ah... what my actions and choices prove are that my true desires are to spend every possible moment with my husband, and to experience as little physically pain as possible. And that is the absolute truth.

Please, I need to fit writing in there. My soul wants NEEDS that.

I read the original Harry Potter query letter. If you've ever seen it, it's obvious why it was rejected. It breaks every query rule. It included sketches. It was a hot mess. It's amazing Harry Potter was published at all, let alone the subsequent worldwide phenomenon. 

But, there are 9 other examples. 

Maybe this meme graphic will help someone going through less of an existential crisis. 

https://www.facebook.com/share/1BbR9PRdbo/

I want to end this on an upbeat note. Because one thing I CAN do is support and appreciate other authors. Vikki is turning 60 and having a book release milestone. So please check that Facebook post out! Or her Urban Fantasy on Amazon.

Zippity #AtoZChallenge

My mom didn't want to be "grandma." She was several years younger than my dad, but often accused of "robbing the cradle," because he looks younger. (Especially when he died his hair.) 

So she played around with all the usual choices.

And settled on being called "Zippity" and my dad becoming "Doo-Dah." 

Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah https://g.co/kgs/9zM2nrn

It's an old Disney song. And yes, that should be "Zip-a-dee." But she didn't look it up.

It's irrelevant. My daughter died. My brother's son, assuming it was his, was taken by his baby momma and that's a whole huge heartbreaking mess of heartbreak 💔 and crazy (and expensive legal drama). Plus, she has since passed away, so it really wouldn't matter now. 

Mom's recipe for a quick and easy dinner. Salmon Soup

This is a regular 14.75 oz can of salmon (not the little "tuna" size). Dump in a pot. Fill the can twice with milk, added to the pot. 2 to 4 tablespoons of butter. A dash of black pepper. Heat to boil, then cook about 3 to 5 minutes on simmer.

Glad I had that conversation and took a screenshot. It's a rare comfort food. Eaten with Saltines or Oyster crackers. 

And now it's also saved here, on this blog. Hopefully for all time. 

Thanks for another great #AtoZChallenge 😊

Xandria #AtoZChallenge

Xandria Barbara Smith

My daughter. 

Barbara Smith was the name of the baby-daddy's dead mother. We wanted to honor her. 

I wish I had a better picture. 

Something more than an ultrasound from from my second trimester. 

She was never okay. I did everything I could for her. It wasn't enough. Undersized. Underweight. Underdeveloped. 

There was barely a moment. 

A whisper of life, of motherhood. 

I am still a pro-choice supporter. Even though my choice was her life, and I was denied too much of that experience. 

Wins #AtoZChallenge

Wins 

When I was a child, age 10 and under, I went to toy tractor shows with my Aunt. People display their toy tractors. There are awards, trophies, for this. 

Usually, people just put some on shelves. 

I did displays of the toys looking like they were on farms, or construction sites. Seatbelts became roads. We dyed sawdust for dirt and grass. Blue clingwrap became water. There were toy farmers and farm animals. 

I would rehearse the weekend before, to decide on the scene. Then pack everything, and set it up at the hall or whatever. 

Then I'd sit there for a few hours. I'd hope to read quietly. Sometimes I could sneak that in. Other times, I was supposed to talk to strangers, even though the number one rule is NEVER, EVER, EVER, TALK TO STRANGERS. But I was supposed to know which strangers are acceptable to talk to. 🤪  This, inevitably, resulted in my disappointing my Aunt, because I was trying to sit quietly and read. 

Judges and reporters asked questions. Never the right ones. People didn't show interest in the story I'd mentally write for the characters. They'd ask about the toys and my interest in farming and how I got into this. Stuff I didn't know, I had no actual interest in farming, and my Aunt told me I was interested. 

I just wanted to behave. I wanted to be good. Sometimes, I'd win trophies. But they stayed at her place. 

The trophies, and photo albums that might have shown my wins, have probably all been stolen during the robberies of the last few years. No clue what people would want with that. 

Actually, when I was about twelve, I saw a "behind the scenes" documentary type thing about a movie. It showed how people use toys and models to create sets. (Probably all CGI now.) But I saw a potential future for myself. And was finally interested. 

But we didn't go to shows anymore. Puberty. I became less interesting or something. I don't know. 

Anyway. That's something I was once good at, wins 🏆,  and almost no one knows about it. 

Vegetable #AtoZChallenge

There was a weekend I stayed with my cousin Janelle. Her mom, Debbie, made dinner. There were green balls on the plate. I really liked them, and I said so. 

"Eww," Janelle said.

"What?" I asked.

"You like BRUSSEL SPROUTS?" 

I shrugged. "I don't know. What are they?" 

The green balls.

My dad hated them, so my mom never made them. 

But yeah, I like Brussels sprouts. Best when steamed. A little butter 🧈 😋. 

Underwear #AtoZChallenge

When I was young, people didn't talk about allergies. So no one figured out I was allergic to latex. 

Underwear, the ones I had, were sewn with a stretchy sort of thread, which had latex. And that spot where it lands, top of the leg, crack next to V, it was always inflamed and bleeding and smelly. And I would be blamed. "Stop touching it!" It hurt, it burned, and I couldn't deal. 

Going for a blood draw. 💉 The tight thing around the arm had me crying before and after. "Oh, the needle wasn't that bad!" No, it wasn't. But my arm would swell and ache from the latex arm tie.

"DON'T VOMIT ON THE DENTIST!" Such poor behavior. "Why do you wanna misbehave like that?" I tried. I tried so hard, tried everything, not to be bad. I tried. I TRIED. Latex gloves in the mouth made me have an allergic reaction, no matter how I tried to not have my tongue swell, drool running everywhere, and eventually vomit. 

Math class. I got sick in math so often. ✏️ We weren't allowed to use pens in math. Those pink erasers on pencils, or the big pink erasers, those are latex. I was sick because I was inhaling latex dust. 

But the best story comes in adulthood. Guys were always telling me I was tight. Then there was Jake. And the incident that ended with 🍆 part of him stuck 🌮 in me. "GIVE ME BACK MY D___!!" 🤣

Yeah. Ask me how I know I'm allergic to latex.

Truth #AtoZChallenge

American Pie

Years ago, back in 2000, when I was still friends with people who, maybe, I shouldn't have been...

A few weeks after my daughter died,  and I left my fiance, and I started a new job, and moved twice... 

I was with my friends to hangout for the night. They put in the movie American Pie, knowing full well that I hate that movie. So I walked out. No throwing a fit, no protest. Just gathered my things, politely said goodnight, and left. 

One followed me. Not for any good friend reasons you might hope. She said she wanted to talk. (Meaning I left, she drew the short straw, and had to "deal" with me.) 

So we walked outside. 

"Why would you walk out on the movie?"

"I don't like that movie."

"You gotta get over your dead daughter. Babies die." 

What??? 

I should have hit her.

I should have knocker her on her fat ass. Sorry. But who the f🤬 says shit like that? 

I don't recall what all was said before I got away.

But I know what I DID NOT say.

I know I pointed out that there's a scene in the movie where a girl is filmed undressing (or web cammed, whatever) without her knowledge or consent, and it's put online. I asked this "friend" how she'd feel if that happened to her. And she said she'd ki1l herself. 

So, here's the truth.

I didn't tell her.

I did not tell her that it DID happen to her.

I found out. And I fought to get it taken down, under child porno laws. I knew the right connections at the time. I got it dealt with and taken down, as far as I know at least. 

I never told her that the movie she found so funny had a scene mocking a horror that happened to her, something so bad she'd rather not live than endure. 

Should I have? 

I don't know. The group and I parted ways after my respiratory condition from the CT-511 got worse. They turned on me for having a medical condition. 

Frienemies. 

St. Luke's Volunteer #AtoZChallenge

https://youtu.be/kKZjKyTLnFg?si=ikDlNn_F5vHOM-tI

Big Helper in Action.

St. Luke's hospital in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. I was a volunteer for years in middle and high school. Over 600 hours by the time I was 16. 

I knew more parts of the hospital than most employees. I was on the transport team, radiology transport, radiology file room, radiation oncology file room (oooaf, the things I saw there, the Polaroids that had to be filed--couldn't have the guys do that job), pharmacy, North-wing 5/ South-wing 9 (the department moved when the hospital expanded), physical therapy, the mail room, and a float-- going anywhere I was needed. 

I loved volunteering. I made friends. I made a difference. I was a trusted member of the team. 

There was this one woman, Val. She wasn't a people person, as they say. But she liked me. One day, she needed something from her car, which was on the other side of the campus. She remembered my schedule. (Seriously, see all the departments I volunteered in? My schedule? Damnnn. My own mom couldn't remember it.) But Val knew I was in general transport that day, so I could run stuff all around the hospital. She requested me. I came up, she gave me the keys to her car and asked me to get the things. (I could havd stolen her car, the stuff in her car, etc. But she knew me. She knew she could trust me.) I got the stuff, locked the door, and brought it to her. 

Maybe that doesn't inspire you. But someone who couldn't get along with others, we got along. That says something. 

I developed skills while volunteering. I had fun. And I was useful. I had a purpose.

Reference Section #AtoZChallenge

Reference section at the middle school. There were various sections in the school library. The middle area was reference. It had the Encyclopedias and such. (Prodigy was the only Internet we had, and it took 10 minutes just to get a search started. And the results were not even close to what Google offers.) 

I was one of the five approved volunteers in the library. And for 2 of the 3 years, I was in charge of the reference section. This was a big deal. 

Here's something really funny. My last year in middle school, we got a new librarian. She married my Godmother's brother. 

Pink dress is my Godmother Sue, her brother Timmy, the 👰‍♂ bride librarian, Timmy and Sue's mom.

Despite being extremely healthy, coaching and playing basketball, etc... Timmy died in his 40s of a heart attack. The librarian now ran the middle and elementary school libraries. 

Quiet #AtoZChallenge

Quiet

I was a very quiet child. Too well behaved.

Have you ever been forgotten? 

My parents and family weren't bad. I was just too quiet. 

People wouldn't notice I was around. "We gotta put a bell 🔔  on you!" 

Mostly, they'd forget me. Left me at a neighbors' one time. My mom was driving me to school one day, forgot I was there, drove to work.

"Yay! No school today!"

"Ahh! What?"

"What?"

"Oh. Shit." Then she drove me to school. 

It's hard to be the forgotten one. 

No one ever forgot my brother. No one was ever surprised he was in the room. My brother makes noise. He isn't quiet. 

I write my representatives. 🤭 I'm not quiet now. I'm not interested in shutting up anymore.

Pickles #AtoZChallenge

🥒

Pickles 

I'm allergic to cucumbers. And vinegar usually makes me vomit. 

For some reason, my family REALLY cared about people eating pickles. I don't know why. We have no connections to any pickle companies, don't grow cucumbers, anything like that. But certain people got obsessed with my eating them.

So, one summer when was 12 or something, I'd eat the little gerkin ones at picnics. Then go inside and puke them up. It worked in the summer because everyone else was outside. But I couldn't hide the vomiting the rest of the year. So I eventually went back to not eating them. 

If you ask my Aunt, to this day, she'll tell you how much I liked pickles. Seriously, we had this conversation this month. "You did like pickles!" 

😮‍💨🙄

Yeah. 

Just not a good enough liar.

#AtoZChallenge Opposed

I know how insignificant I am. 

I know that my voice probably doesn't matter.

I don't write my representatives believing that they honestly care what I think, say, or believe. 

I'm aware that our political system has failed people who aren't rich. The only voices THEY hear (Democrats, Republicans, Independents) are of extremely wealthy people who buy elections. 

But

I am OPPOSED to doing nothing. I can't.

Even if what I'm doing is a completely useless utter lack of time. I can't live with myself if I've done nothing. I can't. I know it's practically nothing. But, on rare occasions, if enough people do the same thing, the collective nothings becomes something.

Zero is nothing.

The Romans didn't even have a zero.

Try using Bianry without it though. 

Zero is nothing, but it matters.