Marie Kondo

Wouldn’t Call it Persisting

I am finding a lot of satisfaction from tidying. Of course I’m a temporary Kondo worshipper in the throes of decluttering and my endorphins are boosted each time I open a neat and tidy drawer, but I can honestly say that I feel more relaxed in my home recently. Knowing where things are and where to find them is such a comfort.

As you can see, it is calmer looking in the office. I bought a P Touch and now the drafts of stories I’m working on feel more substantial. In reorganizing files, I came across praise from editors for my writing that was so positive and affirming that I nearly feel like digging in and going for it again.

Another novel.

What am I thinking?

In this world turned batpoop loony, the might be my saving grace…

…or the death of me.

~~*~~

Of course, reality came in, bit my head, and sucked out any bright spots. A pushy medical person on the phone went out of their way to emphasis what a horrible, uncaring person I was for not bowing down to some made up guidelines to schedule another soul-sucking appointment in October. She made me feel bad about not being able to afford to run to their offices every three months for Husband’s “best health.” Sorry, not sorry.  We’re doing the best we can do with overpriced, high-deductible insurance and 6 months will have to do and no, there is no way we’re doing any more in person January – March appointments. I sincerely doubt anyone making these excessive, intrusive appointments experience what their patients do. I doubt they get charged for parking in a falling apart parking ramp, either. Had I the ability to do it over, we wouldn’t be going there at all, but for some reason, Husband likes the doctor – whose mind we were supposed to read today, but they called it “miscommunication.”

Even though we successfully talked them into a 6 month retest instead 3 months while in the office, and the actual medical degreed person came in and said to Husband, “Get a test in 6 months,” what we were were somehow supposed to divine was that he actually meant, “Make an appointment in three months that will go over your insurance limit for the year, get a blood test which is also over the insurance limit for the year but relatively cheap, and then drive here so I can tell you what those results are –even though it’s a blood test and you can look at the results online. And then do that all over again 3 months after that in the dead of winter, okay?” If he had said that, we would have told him, “No, we won’t be doing that at all. We have other doctors and they also want our money, so you are need to chill on wanting to take any more big chunks of it for a while, okay, you greedy little deaf piggy? We’ll get the test in January, and if we think it’s a bad number, we’ll give you a call, but until then, we can’t afford to see you again until next summer.”

Ffs

You know, it is getting very hard to live anymore, which is why I grabbed hold of the idea of tidying, hoping it would help some, and it has, but then I leave the house…I mean, what more do people want from me? I understand I cannot control anything, really, but does everything have to be awful? My son is having a real rough go right now. Our niece was hurting in the ER and we haven’t had an update in a while about that. The severity and the cruelty in the actions being taken by this government really doesn’t offer a reason to keep living in this country, especially when they act like they don’t want humans to be alive at all. Everything related to our healthcare and education policies are a horrid mess. Pollution, grocery and utility prices, all increasing. And then I get to deal with the apparently all-knowing, all-seeing, never met her before in my life Amanda telling me I’m an uncompassionate monster who doesn’t care about my husband having “best health.” Seriously, why bother anymore?

And yes, I know, why oblige them…but this is a hellscape.

And no, I’m not suicidal, but I don’t see anything getting any better, okay? We still have (had) the first amendment. I can still say things are bleak and I feel the bleakness, can’t I? Because it is bleak. And unbearable. And I am so, so freaking tired.

~~*~~

I wish I could type happier and tell you wonderful things about words and chapters, too, but I’m bungling around, up and down, irritated and enthralled. I walk to the labyrinth admiring the different shapes flowers have come up with to show off their blooms. Black-Eyed Susans, clover, fleabane, bee balm. The range of green – from nearly white-yellow to a deep dark hunter – delights my eyes. The roots I step over as I walk the rocklined maze are connected to the nearby sycamores, which are shedding their skins. I rescue a dying milkweed by untangling a three-leafed vine from the stalk. Fluffy purple flowers I don’t know the name of are the preferred sleeping spots of the bumblebees and the sweetest sight. I stand on rocks in the creek and I breathe.

Out there, I feel alive and I am fine. More than fine. Sometimes, I feel actual peace.

Otherwise, it’s been an all firewood splitting and stacking, finding places for things to live and putting them there while ignoring the horror called news and contemplating writing a story no one may ever read kind of quiet, hot month here.

I do thank you so much for reading this and seriously – I’m sorry for being down, but I could only mask over this anger, rage, and profound sadness for so long. I hope you’re doing better than I am and I wish you well. Thank you for stopping by! I really do appreciate you and your time. It means a lot to me.

Ciao

Procrastinating on my writing goals the Marie Kondo way

Learning to tidy like Kondo has been the recent goal. I enjoy it. The folding is satisfying. Being able to see all the options shirts and pants is amazing. Even my socks feel better. With the positive outcomes of this method, I needed to refrain from two different tidying tasks today because I had cooking and laundry to accomplish and falling into the trance of easier upkeep and item retrieval wasn’t the option I wish it had become.

On the last day of May, it was cool enough for a wood fire. (And yes, Husband DID remember we’d been married 25 years and brought home roses.) A flip switched and we were in the hot part of summer. The garden – such as it is – went in late. Each year I care less about the lawn but do keep the labyrinth and the paths to it under control. I’ve weeded the steps and moss twice, but they insist on returning and the hummingbirds! I can’t believe how much I’m feeding them. The orange lilies are out and again this year, the mountain laurel bloomed. I moved a lot of wood and when I was ready to split, the heat dome formed. Today, rain. It’s always like this – matching activity to the weather – but this month was filled with constant movement both inside and out and I’m tired.

It is Monday and I have the loveliest problems.

Another one: A few of the characters, some of the plot, certain conversations, and the one scene from the book I abandoned last year have been intruding on my thoughts and have begun to annoy me. The idea of rewriting Ellie’s Elephants had been my concern until this nattering grew incessant. My idea is to do a private form Camp NaNo in July and see how 50,000 words shakes out.

One of the intense senses I have is that a main character either changed or I’d gotten her wrong the first time. Maybe I’ll find that this is a different character. As I’d been ignoring this call, I haven’t transcribed things she has said. Her job is more pronounced, as well as a few of her compromises made for friends. The theme is tending toward revenge held up to a mirror. I hate discussing work I haven’t written, but parts of it were written and I hate the idea of writing/rewriting a book at all right now, (What indulgent ostrich behavior!) but it might be a thing that keeps me sane. Not that I was ever diagnosed as sane, but you know what I mean.

I’m aiming – as I think I’m always subconsciously striving for – is a level of clean or organized that I feel I have permission to write without complaint. No one complains, but the level of self-esteem I derive from a clean house is obnoxious. People can see whether a house is clean, they are unlikely to read my draft no matter how good it makes me feel to write it.

I suppose that’s the long way around of saying I’m starting a new project and I’m afraid.

Sending hugs to you if you need them. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!

I didn’t unfriend you; Facebook kicked me out

Hello. I have a long version of the FB saga at the end – if you want to scroll for the details as to why I am not on Facebook. I’d rather speak of better things in this world like how I never knew these plants I call snake plants bloomed, but mine did.

Early this month, my 10-minute play, “Dust Up on the Skyway” was produced by Matt Boyle as part of “Get in the Car.” Kudos to the director, Andrea Simmons and to the real-life mother-daughter actresses – Hayley Wilkins and Lisa Sommers – who brought an incredible spark to the story. It felt invigorating to see other people’s work – so much so that I’ve been working on a one-act…

Theresa and Robert were fab for traveling in from Chicago and including us in their visit to western New York and the fancy named towns like Greece. As part of a choir, Jim and Mike serenaded all of us before a delightful meal at Steel Bound with their wives, as well at Denise and Eric.

The last scheduled meeting of the writing group that met at West Falls was cancelled. I ran into a participant at Wegman’s recently, she thought about offering to host that one, but didn’t. I thought about it, too. It was an interesting experience and prompted me to start one at a different library (Thank you Lydia!) That group is still going on and still offering hope that my writing isn’t horrid while allowing me the privilege of reading other people’s work. (Thank you Susan, Deb, and Hannah!)

Rina Fosati’s ventured out to Hamburg where we met at Comfort Zone for coffee. We often zoom on Tuesdays, but in person is better and it had been a while. Thursday, Husband agreed to go with me to a lit gig. Michael Parzymieso launched his first book, “The Dale” and had a warm intro from Nicole Hebdon. Today is Saturday and twenty-five years ago it was a Wednesday when Husband and I got married. (That’s a long time, isn’t it?) Anyway, so, there it is, a recap of this….

OH! I nearly forgot! Mucho mega thank yous to Kim Chinquee for including my story “Just One More Thing” in the Endurance Issue of Elm Leaves Journal. My beautiful contributor copy arrived! I truly am honored to have my work included among so many talented writers. The amount of care Kim puts into each issue as well as her classes and training is awe-inspiring. Seriously – thank you, Kim.     

On to the Facebook Saga:

Half paying attention, I opened Facebook one night and scrolled to find a pop up saying I couldn’t “like” a post, but I could leave a comment. Weird, right? So, I went through the settings and signed out of devices and created a new password. They sent a code to do this, and I then got an email saying it was all set, and I was good to go. A minute later, I got a nasty message saying I’d violated a community standard and I have 180 days to appeal. No warning sent that I’d posted a bad thing, no mention of what the violation was, no option to remove it.

In order to appeal whatever this charge is against me; I’d need to verify my humanhood on camera. While the one page says they keep the video for 30 days, further reading shows it is a year and really, I’m supposed to believe they’d erase it in 365 days? Right. This abusive treatment came about while I’m reading “Careless People” by Sarah Wynn-Williams in which she gives examples of what a $hit person Mark Zuckerberg is to others. (I’m just past where he abandoned a member of his team in Jakarta.) Anyway, I have 169 days left to appeal, but I feel no need to give the weirdo programmers my current image to warp into fake videos, so I guess we’ll have to find another way to stay in touch if our main contact is that advertising site. (Seriously, that’s another reason not to return – So. Many. Ads.)

 End of the boring origin story of my being basically silenced on a platform for…some reason.

Thank you for stopping by and for the read! I am reading Marie Kondo’s book but haven’t committed to it yet. The whole title is intimidating, “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese art of Decluttering and Organizing” but hey, it might make next month’s post succinct. Everything is possible. Have a great June and thank you again!