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[Quick confession: I know I should be creative writing right now, not blogging, but I’ve been thinking about this for a few days and wanted to share.]

I went to a new church this last Sunday, as I mentioned.  (Side note: they sent me a $5 Safeway gift card in the mail!)  And one of the things the pastor said was that we should be listening to praise music more during the week.  He said that what goes in comes out, and I guess he has a point for that.  He also said that it didn’t matter if we liked it (I think he meant in comparison, not entirely).  He also mentioned that he likes secular music, too.  I think  his point is that secular shouldn’t be as steady a diet as, say, praise/worship music.

As it’s been so long since I listened to Christian music (except for rare occasions on my computer with my own preferences), I thought I might as well give his suggestion a try.  I usually listen to either country or pop in the car on the radio, but I’ve tuned to the local Christian station this week.

So far, I don’t hate it, but I’m not sure I like it, either.  I’ve tried singing along a bit, with songs that are familiar.  But I feel like a fake.  Of course, I don’t sing at church anymore, either.  If I’m feeling generous, I’ll stand up and not sing, but mostly I sit and don’t sing.  I’m not exactly sure why this is.  I can read my bible; I can talk theology; on occasion I pray.  But to sing to God?

I think I doubt the promises those songs speak of.  Even if in an academic sense I believe them, I haven’t seen them in my life the way that you supposedly do.  Or the way that I wanted, I guess.  And I am well aware that I’m not fulfilling my part of the bargain, so the whole thing feels like a sham in the end.

It’s not from a lack of desire; it’s from a lack of ability.  (Not speaking of faith in general; that is still mostly there.)  I guess I still haven’t recovered from realizing my ex-mentor is a lying, disgusting jerk, nor from finding out about being molested as a child, nor from everyone who has covered up for them or sided with them.  But without getting into all that again, the point is that I’m still broken, and I still don’t know how to recover.

I want to.  I just can’t.


How gross is it that I’m eating a little candy corn right now, as I compose this post, at 7am in the morning, alongside my cup of black coffee?

Yeah, pretty gross.  But that’s why I’m rockin’ the single life.  You folks with kids (or significant others perhaps) couldn’t get away with this.


That aside…  Writers block!  I know the whole point of a month of intense writing is to simply force yourself to write, but I can’t seem to do it.  I’m probably at half the required word count thus far with no sign of catching up in sight.  [Note: 4 candy corns is all I could handle.]  It’s good that I don’t assign any personal merit to my ability to complete this crazy writing exercise.  My hope is to simply write something every day, even if only a few words.

In other news:

I’ve gained 4 pounds.  And no, I don’t think it has anything to do with my candy corn habit.  Ahem.  However, I’m on it, don’t you worry.  If I had nothing else to motivate me, the lack of funds to buy a new work wardrobe would be sufficient.

I tried out a new church on Sunday.  It has a bit of wacky theology, but seemed okay otherwise.  And I’m willing to put up with some wacky theology if I can get the other things I’m asking for.  Besides, they can’t help it–I think it’s an AOG church.  Regardless, I’m going back this coming Sunday.  Yes, that’s right.  This church was good enough to earn a second visit!  *cue sounds of surprise*

That’s all for now: I’ve got to try to write something before work.

I mentioned that my friend and I were hijacking NaNoWriMo.  I think it’s going to go well.  I finished my a short story I’d been working on for years, thank goodness.  Then I attempted to start a new story, but just didn’t like it.

So then I decided to revisit a story I had begun because of a dream.  And by begun, I mean I had written one or two paragraphs, just enough to remember the general gist of how the dream felt.  However, as I started writing, the direction the story took surprised me, pleasantly so.  It’s not like anything I’ve tried to write before, and I’ll have to do a bit of research to make sure its plausibly written within the time frame and location I put it in.  But I’m excited to try.  I’ve even looked up a few books to check out of the library for background information, since mine is lacking.  I hate anachronisms, so I want to avoid those as much as possible.

One of my friends read the bit I’ve written so far, and she had some great questions for me.  Questions I hadn’t really fully considered yet (although they had played at the corners of my mind).  So that was incredibly helpful, as they are going to give me direction, I think.  My plan is to write out some family trees and connections, sketch out a few of the characters (with words), and sort of figure out where I want this story to go.  I don’t want to merely let it take me anywhere, in case it takes me to a dead end.  The hard part is that I want to do all of that, plus continue to write.  But I think that if I want this story to be a success (for me), I need to do a bit of work first.  Sigh.

But I’m excited.  And excited to write for the first time in a long time.

In regard to my eyesight (which is awful), I finally have a number that will translate.  I’ve historically told my prescription in diopters, but that doesn’t make sense to most people (it’s around -9.25, but that’s with my astigmatism).  My most recent visit to the eye doctor finally provided me with the magic numbers the rest of you utilize: 20/7400.  Yep.  That means that if you can see something at 7,400 feet away, I have to be 20 feet away to see it.  7,400 feet is almost a mile and a half.  Crazy, right?  So now you know: my eyesight really is bad.

I need to quit trying to talk to most men about, well, anything of substance.  I get so riled up when they assume their privileged “I have a penis” status.  I hate-hate-hate how so many men act that way.  They over-shadow, bully, talk-over, gang-up, are just plain jerks who know everything.  Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about.  I’m so sick of it.

I’m tired of being poor.  But I know I have several more years ahead of me.  Perhaps the rest of my life.  I do finally have a retirement plan: I’ll just move overseas somewhere cheap and join the local expat retiree community.  It’s certainly not a bad plan.

Oh lands. I need friends down here.  But other than attending church, I can’t figure out how to find any.  And I’m really not interested in going to church, considering I hate it.


I did like a million things today.  And it feels great.

The cushions for the rocking chair are finally finished–they look quite nice, if I do say so myself.  Plus it’s super comfy.

I made dinner rolls, then froze them for later.  But I ate two just to make sure they were delicious.  They were.

I made an apple pie for tomorrow (my grandma, parents, and sister are coming over).  I also froze up three mini apple pie fillings for later this season.  Plus, with leftover dough, I made an apple pie pocket: it was also delicious.

Not to mention going to the grocery, doing laundry, and spending time with a friend (while multi-tasking, I admit–although we did go to the book store).

My friend and I are planning to do our own pirated version of NaNoWriMo.  We’re going to start Oct 10 and finish Nov 11 (10/10 to 11/11), and thus miss the holidays.  Plus, we’re changing other rules: we merely have to write 50,000 words.  It can be on existing stories.  Our point is that we both have starts to stories, but not much follow through.  The hope is to really get some stuff done.

Now I’m staying up late, watching a movie, waiting for my pie to cool.

Life is good on the weekends.