80 Hours an American Month

I propose the creation of a website or app, where creative disabled people (writers, artists, etc) who create from home (regardless of income generation) could "clock in" to show 80 hour a month productivity. 

Not everyone is hirable. Not everyone is medically cleared to return to work. And many of those people pour their passion into creative pursuits. It doesn't always generate income. 

But, if Congress fails to protect us, and my fellow disabled, unhirable, liabilities are supposed to account for 80 hours a month, then support should be offered to those who are doing the best they can to survive productively. NOT income, just a "punch clock" to stay alive in America if that horrible budget bill of death passes. 

(Homemakers, likewise, should get recognition for their efforts. How about 24/7/365 payments and tax breaks to them? Staying at home can be more work than going to a job. But the United States probably isn't ready for that, because it's a path to Universal Basic Income.)

Baraka is innocent

Support Mayor Baraka! His job as mayor includes checking that government facilities in his city are run correctly. Stop allowing people to be arrested for ACTUALLY doing the JOB they are ELECTED to do! 

And support the members of Congress who have the good sense to SUPPORT the Mayor who DID his JOB. 

Ridiculous. 

Stop letting the United States be a mockery. 

Ridiculous and shameful. 

This is NOT great. We've fallen so far away from "greatness" that we're gonna be a damn "FIFTH world" nation. Not first, second, or third. Nah, we're going for fifth. Last place. Beyond last. 

Terrible disgrace.

#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 😊

You'll be grateful for it someday #atozchallenge 2025 memory

 

"You'll be grateful for it someday."

My grandmother said that more times than I can count. She lived through the Great Depression. (From a century ago, not whatever current garbage.) So I guess she had to accept a lot of crap. 

I don't know. My great grandparents seemed to be doing pretty well, as far as I can tell from going through the old house. Fine China (now stolen), a crystal chandelier (my dad has that), a piano with real ivory keys, jewelry (mostly stolen now), furs (yup, also recently stolen). [Why didn't my Aunt let anyone sell some of this stuff? Well, a thief sold plenty! The police 👮‍♂️👮‍♀️ caught one guy. He's declaring insanity. Trial pending. 🙄] 

Anyway. What terrified me was that ominous one day. Like, just how far would I have to fall to be grateful for an itchy sweater that didn't fit over my, then, C cups (I'm wayyyy beyond that now, oh my, Victoria Secret doesn't even carry my size- just saying)? And I don't mean slightly itchy. I mean I freaked out and genuinely tried to rip off my skin. Chicken pox itched less. I could not calm down. It's terrifying to think I could be grateful for such a horrifying experience. Just how bad is life expected to get??? 🥺😵

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. 

Tums Gummy Product Review

 NOT an AtoZ post. Please keep scrolling for those.

We got this new Tums gummy. 

John Dorner was fine with it.

Me, less so. 

It was like lighting a match and the popping it in your mouth to burn your cheek.

Or, like if someone really didn't understand how birthday cake 🎂 works, and went all NOM NOM NOM on the still burning candles. 

*Mind you, I've had a similar experience with Stannous fluoride, where all the flesh in my mouth burned 🔥 with no reprieve and water only made it worse. So this could be an allergic reaction. 🤷

I'm also allergic to spicy 🌶, but John is not. So it could be that allergic reaction too, though they didn't taste spicy for the ten seconds I could feel taste. 

Anyway, that's my #ProductReview if anyone is curious.