Insomnia can lead you to read books. I didn't sleep at all last night.

At the Massage Envy where I used to work, we had a break room. In this break room was a small collection of books and magazines. Most of the books were reference materials, pertaining to things massage therapists might need to look up, the better to formulate a treatment plan for their client.

Also, there was this book. "The End of Eve" - A Memoir by Ariel Gore. It showed up on the break room table one day, nobody knew who left it there. It was published in 2014. But I don't remember precisely when it showed up on the table. Our break room table was not that big, so the book got stuffed in with the reference books. 

Not this Eve.

Nobody ever did anything with it. It just sat there in the break room, hanging out with the reference books. A few times over the year and a some months it sat there, I considered reading it and picked it up and read (and reread) that it was about a the last days of a slightly crazy woman dying from cancer. Okay, more than slightly crazy. The author, her daughter, doesn't really go into the rest of her mother's life in great detail. 

So I would remember that I didn't want to read this book and I'd put it down again, back with the pathology reference book and the trigger point chart. On my last day of work there, at the Massage Envy in Algonquin (in November 2015) I just appropriated the book and took it home with me.

The book itself, as just a book, is slightly intriguing. It has a sticker on it. It says "in lieu of galley". I don't know what that means. It's also been read by someone, because it has sporadic underlining. But the underlining doesn't seem to have any reason behind it. The underlined bits don't really seem connected to each other and don't appear significant in any way to me. But I guess they must have been to who ever read this first.

Ah. I looked up "in lieu of galley". If you submit a book for review somewhere and send the actual finished book instead of a bound manuscript or a galley proof, you put that sticker on it. 

There's an inscription in the front. It's difficult to read, the handwriting looks rushed. It sort of looks like it says, "Dear June - Jan. 28 or feb 11 rebs!" with an unreadable scribble of a name (I'm assuming) below that. I have no idea what that means. I don't think the name is the author. The first letter of the name looks the same as the "D" in what I think is "Dear".

It was an interesting book, not a hefty read. But odd, very odd. I'm not reviewing the book. I'm not coherent enough to do that, given my insomnia of the past few days and my raging writers block. Also, I'm not really sure how to review books in the manner that people who know how to do these things do these things. I'm also not good at synopsisizing or summarizing or anything that needs to be concise yet informative.

  ___________________________________________________

I still have fucking writer's block and I'm damn sick of it. It's making me crazy. I miss my characters but they won't come out and play with me.

Copyright Sathis Ragavendran

Baltic Amber Cognac Necklace

These two things will make more sense later. Trust me.

I'm going to the Friday morning MA class. Hopefully that will wear me out enough to sleep. Also, I just need more than two classes a week if I'm going to show any improvement. I was supposed to be on call for the chiropractor on Fridays, but he hasn't texted me or called me in over a month. I'm not sure if I even work there anymore. I'm going to have to deal with that soon because I'll need my 1099 for filing our taxes and also I have some supplies there that I paid for.

I'm going to class. It's at nine am I think and it's a two hour class. That should work.

_________________________________________________

Or perhaps not. I was sitting here, having a snack before class so I wouldn't faint and I'm crashing. I doubt I'd be able to get up to the dojo without having to pull over. No class for me.

Complaints about complaints and excuses.

I don’t have the time. When I do have the time I don’t have the motivation and inspiration and when I do have the motivation and inspiration I don’t have the time. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?

I must leave here in forty-five minutes. I have a weekly lunch date with my son, Dexter. I worry about him. I will not miss it and goddamnit I will not be late this time.

That’s not really his name. No, it’s not a nickname from that horrible serial killer show. Sickos. It’s from a cartoon, Dexter’s Laboratory. He used to love that show.

I don’t have time today because I got up late. I don’t even have time to write and do strength training. I can do strength training later today. I could probably write later today in a paper journal and do strength training now, but I think I’m relying too much on the paper journal. Yes, the idea is five minutes of any type of serious writing (exercise, self-reflection, story, etc. …MMA training logs don’t count) and to start with some paper journaling is okay. But the end goal, the real goal, the ultimate goal… is sitting down at the keyboard every day, every morning like a real job (because it will BE a real job, damnit) and writing real stories for the rest of my life. My martial arts are not a career.

 I stayed up too late reading last night. That is not uncommon. I’ve had some stress lately. I’m getting better at dealing with stress and getting my stuff done too; I don’t play video games nearly as much as I did. For instance, the stress has not gone away, but I am still here at the keyboard completing my five minute commitment instead of playing video games until the very last second before I have to leave. But bedtime is still hard. If I’m not completely, totally exhausted when I turn off the light, so that I fall asleep immediately…my brain stews. It won’t shut down. So I can either lie there in the dark not sleeping and being miserable. Or I can lie there with the lamp on, reading Starship Troopers until the book is sliding out of my hands. Last night the sliding started at about 11:30 pm.

Now, some days I can still drag myself out of bed at 4:30 or 5:00 am, but not today. So I did not get to see my husband this morning before he left. And tonight, there will be more stress! That stress is of a certain age that rhymes with spleen, so that's not going away any damn time soon, I MUST FIND A WAY AROUND THIS. I have to take some melatonin tonight. And use some yoga breathing. And do some tai chi before.

I keep going over this, and over this, and over this…this same damn problem of never really enough time. I’m so fucking sick of this. This entry is all complaints and excuses. But I’m getting better, by slowly crawling inches. Well, maybe by millimeters. No, I think we can say inches. I’m getting better. So I got that out of today. I’m getting better, I’m setting my habit, I’m truly facing my ineffectiveness and realizing I really do want to do something about it. That’s progress.

No time for pictures today. That’s hard for me, I really like including pictures and captions. But I have a commitment to Dexter too. Also, I made a commitment to stop being late so often. I need to be on time to things, all things, all the time. Not just some of the time. I know there will be construction traffic and school buses. I need to leave, no time for pictures.

Day Three - Purging old energies

All times are approximate. I'm calling this entry an exercise in recall and writing. It isn't a pathetic attempt to ease the withdrawl symptoms of not being able to post statuses on Facebook. It's NOT.

7 am: Start looking for TheMan's paper shredder. It's larger than mine, plus I know it's in the office somewhere. I don't know where mine is off hand. I want to make a start at getting rid of old paperwork, old bills and such that have my name on them. Like five year old credit card statements and such.

When I got married in June and moved into my husband's house my office stuff was crammed into his office with his office stuff and neither of us is terribly organized. We're both pile-makers. I want to get rid of old energy and clean some of this stuff up.

7:15 am: Found the paper shredder. It was sitting right beside my desk underneath a couple of books. TheMan and I are also both bibliophiles. (That sounds better than book hoarders.) Start shredding.

7:20 am: Paper shredder jams. Printed on the top of the shredder, "MAXIMUM 6 SHEETS." I only put in four. Turn off, unplug, start pulling out shredded bits. Oh, good. It's a crosscut shredder. I'd forgotten that. Get pliers to pull out the stubborn bits. Reassemble and it works again. Shred the last few things in that pile. Look for more. Sort through piled file folders. Immediately start to confuse my piles of shred, keep, refile, reuse.

7:40 am: Realize I need to go to the bathroom. Realize my four days of spotting is not going away and yes, I actually did start my period on Saturday, eight days early. Feel annoyed, even though my flow is very light and that's unusual and I don't have cramps and I'm hardly cranky at all. WTF? I've been early before, but I don't remember ever being this early. Is my real age finally catching up with me? I'm 42 but I don't look it. Lot's of people have told me so, it's not just vanity, thank you. Many people can't believe I have two sons aged twenty-one and nineteen. So I like to ignore the fact that my body is definitely not 32 years old. But it's always there at the back of my mind, "You're not getting any younger." Menopause maybe? Shudder. Find phone and make a note in my period tracker app.

7:45 am: Realize I haven't eaten breakfast. Get the banana nut muffin out of the microwave that I had warmed up at 6:45 and forgotten about. More coffee. Remind TheDaughter that it's 7:47 am. She slept through her alarm this morning and was playing on her iPad at that moment. I didn't want to have to drive her to school when she usually rides her bike. Sit down at the dining room table to eat my muffin and drink my coffee and read my current book. Every Which Way But Dead by Kim Harrison. Rachel Mariana Morgan, witch bounty hunter.Witches, vampires, pixies, werewolves and such in a modern mystery novel setting could easily be trite and ridiculous but Harrison's excellent realistic writing style makes it damn entertaining and fresh. TheDaughter leaves for school.

7:55 am: Sit on the back porch and smoke a cigarette and read some more.

8 am: Back into the office and make this blog entry because damnit I need to write something.

8:30 am: Waste half an hour playing nonograms online. I play Brainbashers Nonogrids and GoobixGoobix Nonograms. These time wasters are self limiting because if I make a hopeless mistake on a grid and I've already spent over five minutes on the puzzle I stop for at least a while to reset my brain. I have no idea what I mean by that, it just came out of my fingers into the keyboard.

Saturday is Book Day: The Scarlet Letter

I have this little (huge) problem with having lots and lots of ideas and not being able to execute them. I know an idea is a really good idea and then I set out to follow through with that idea and immediately I am inundated with all the possible variants, permutations, and connections. Gods, where the hell do I start?


I had an idea (yet another one) to help me get writing every day. THIS BLOG IS SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING PRACTICE, NOT GREAT ART, GET YOUR ASS IN FRONT OF THAT COMPUTER AND TYPE SOMETHING!!!


No pressure. Just get started. I can see in my head the essays I want to write on the different topics I have chosen for each day (see: I fear my reach doth exceed my grasp.) But I can't figure out where to start.


And then I figured out. I shall start simply. Go back to the beginning. Remember when you were a child and did book reviews in school? I mean a little kid, fourth grade little. You didn't write a damn essay, they gave you a set of questions with a space after each and you filled them in.


But...But...But...I'm forty-two. I should be able to write the essay. Yeah, well you aren't, are you, so go back to the beginning and try again.




Title: The Scarlet Letter


Genre: Romantic Historical Fiction


Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne


Date of publication: 1850


Place of publication: Boston, Massachusetts


Publishers: Ticknor, Reed, and Fields


Original language: English


Setting: 17th Century (starting in June 1642)


Plot Stuff:   From the SparkNotes Plot Overview:

"The story begins in seventeenth-century Boston, then a Puritan settlement. A young woman, Hester Prynne, is led from the town prison with her infant daughter, Pearl, in her arms and the scarlet letter “A” on her breast. A man in the crowd tells an elderly onlooker that Hester is being punished for adultery. Hester’s husband, a scholar much older than she is, sent her ahead to America, but he never arrived in Boston. The consensus is that he has been lost at sea. While waiting for her husband, Hester has apparently had an affair, as she has given birth to a child. She will not reveal her lover’s identity, however, and the scarlet letter, along with her public shaming, is her punishment for her sin and her secrecy."

Hester's supposedly lost-at-sea husband has finally arrived on that very day. He keeps his identity a secret from all and threatens Hester to keep her quiet about it too.  The husband, named Roger Chillingworth, takes up a new identity and proceeds with a methodical search over the next four or five years to find Hester's lover and seek his revenge.


When I read it: I honestly can't recall. Probably read it for the first time somewhere between sixth and ninth grade. That would be somewhere between the ages of twelve to fifteen. Around 27 to 30 years ago. Gad, seeing it written out like that makes me feel really old.


What I liked: I loved the rich detail of the historical setting, the 17th century was very interesting to me back then. I liked the forbidden romance. I liked Hester's strength and endurance. She loved and fiercely protected her child through all the pain it caused her.


What I didn't like: There wasn't anything I didn't like about the book itself, in writing style or story. But the oppressive of Puritan society in all aspects of life but especially for women made me furious.


Did it make me think?: Oh yes. About religion in general and Christianity specifically. About duality of relationships (I didn't call it duality back then). It made me glad to think about how far women had come and yet angry that it had been over 300 years and these antiquated ideas and morals still existed in weakened states, still oppressing the human mind and soul, men and women alike.


Do I like it more or less now?: I still love it. I've read it at least four times and I'd like to read it again, but it probably won't be for awhile. I have a very large pile of actual books on my nightstand to get through, as well as a long list of other books to be acquired.


Did I read more of the same author: I did not. More's the pity. See: Long list of other books to be acquired.


Did I like those books too: I'll tell you when I read them.