Afloat

Sometimes I wander to various blogs online, seeing what's going on in other worlds. It's rather like taking a walk on a late night and looking into the windows of houses, seeing little vingettes of life and wondering what else is happening that you don't know about.

Sometimes I have to delete a link to a blog because that person has not blogged in so long that I no longer feel any kind of connection with them. Secretly I'm irritated that they put a blog up, drew me in, and then abandoned me. Like a neighbour who says "hey, buddy, how are ya!" and then moves out of town the next week.

Unfortunately, I'm often one of those bloggers. Mainly because I spend half of my time trying to write something I'm getting paid to write, and the other half trying to get creatively un-stuck. I don't have writer's block. I know this because I produce about 5 non fiction articles or columns a month. Generally that's 10,000 or more words.

But there's something else that I can't put my finger on. Something I want to write and I don't know what it is. I'm so totally stuck that I can hardly type. Embarassingly, I sat down to write it today and just started to cry. What is up with that? I want to do it but I can't do it... I feel .. impotent...

Now, let's move on. I wanted to share some cool blogs that I regularly read. Now I warn you, it's a very odd mix. Mommies, writers, soldiers in Iraq, editors, Iraqi Nationals, Canadian politics.

http://kiwords.blogs.com/

http://www.joshilynjackson.com/mt/

http://movershakerbirthdaycakebaker.blogs.com/

http://www.snazzykat.com/

http://www.busymom.net/

http://www.livejournal.com/users/megancrane/

http://jenniferweiner.blogspot.com/

Right In Canada

SJMC Common Sense Journalism

http://www.trudeaupia.blogspot.com/

http://riverbendblog.blogspot.com/

Breastfeeding News

http://lindasherwood.typepad.com/mommy/

http://www.blogofdeath.com/

http://www.shirleyjump.com/blog-index.html

http://avengerredsix.blogspot.com/

http://www.marthaoconnor.blogspot.com/

http://pbackwriter.blogspot.com/

http://www.dooce.com/

http://papernapkin.typepad.com/

http://www.beatrice.com/

http://www.livejournal.com/users/bgliterary/

http://www.bookangst.blogspot.com/

http://mjroseblog.typepad.com/buzz_balls_hype/

http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/members/wrrriter/

http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/members/shire15/

http://www.thezeroboss.com/

http://www.nataliercollins.com/weblog/

There, that should give you all some fodder for a while!

My son is home, he was at grammas.

I notice that I instantly feel calmer. I feel more centre, I feel a bit more afloat and a little less drowning.

Today I was reading Kira's blog (http://kiwords.blogs.com/kiwords/) and I
adore the way that she understands her own children. And because she's a
great writer, I feel like I understand her children as well. Of course
listening or reading about the misadventures and the trials is a lot more
fun, I'm sure, when you're not experiencing them first hand every day...
but Kira has a way of finding every nugget of goodness in a situation.
(Barring that Christmas present issue, Kira, but I was SO on your side with
that one!!)

This morning was a trial for me. M. was so totally *whiny* that I wanted to
stick pencils in my ears and bury myself in my covers. No, he did not want
to go to day care (trust me, dude, I'd rather curl up on the couch and
watch Spiderman with you...but we can't) he just wanted to watch the rest
of Spiderman. That's it. And eat his blueberry muffin. And me trying to
dress him was causing him considerable distress. How cruel of me to take
him out of his Spiderman pajamas.

"No, I want to BE Spiderman! I don't want to Peter Parker!"

Now, the invocation of Peter Parker has been an incredible boon to the
parenting environment in my house. Peter Parker wears underwear, Peter
Parker has a bath, Peter Parker eats vegetables, Peter Parker doesn't
WHINE. Except in Spiderman 2, Peter Parker is a bit whiny, so I lost points
on that one. The reason that we discuss what Peter Parker does, and not
Spiderman, is that all Spiderman does is spin webs, catch bad guys, and
swing from building to building. I'm not sure he wears underwear at all,
actually.

Anyways, to make a long story short, after a few minutes, M. accepted the
fact that we were actually going to go and he wasn't the one calling the
shots. Some days I do wish I wasn't the one calling the shots either... but
that's just the way it is.

One of those Nights

It's just one of those nights. I know when they are coming. First they are preceded by one of those days. One of those I-Know-I'm-an-extrovert-but-I-need-to-introvert days. I don't really want to talk to anyone (except one who's not here and it's not really talking that I want to do) and I mostly just want to crawl into bed and sleep until the weekend.

Now mix in one very romantically sweet but sad novel (P.S. I Love You by Cecelia Ahern) and you have one of those nights.

I'm just a little lonely is all. I don't really need to talk to anyone. I just need the presence of someone. I just need to hear the breathing of another human being. Instead I have to make due with laying in bed, a pillow wedged into my back so I can lean against it.

And when that doesn't work, I tip-toe into my son's room and lay down next to him for a wee bit. Listen to his breathing and wonder how I can ever be exasperated with him. How I can ever snap at him. How I can ever do anything but press my cheek to his little blonde head and hold him.

Last night was rough, he wouldn't go to sleep. He laid in bed, calling me every 10 minutes to make sure I was going to come back and check on him. Finally I asked if he was a baby (usually the answer is no) because babies have to be rocked to sleep. Well, on that night he was a baby and he did want to be rocked to sleep. So I picked up my almost three and a half year old son and rocked him for a while in the same rocking chair I've had for his whole little life.

And I sang to him. Went through every lullaby I know actually, even a few country songs. And for that short time I had this moment of clarity that this exact sliver of time needed to be cherished. He tucked one arm under his head, and reached the other up to rest on my neck. The same way he used to sleep just a couple of short years ago.

His breathing lengthened, deepened. He relaxed in total contentment and I thought of how incredibly lucky I am to have him. And how special it is to know that you have within you the power to bring complete contentment to someone else.

Tonight I laid down with him and he fell asleep quickly. I wish I could do that. Fall asleep in contentment. It seems that I'm either awake because I need to do something, or awake because I can't fall asleep. As tired as I feel tonight, I can't fall asleep. It's too quiet. My room is too void of life. I question my own future and wonder if I'll ever truly believe that I am enough.

But I know in my mind - in that thinking part that is so rarely given the opportunity to govern my life - that I will. I know I am enough. It's just one of those nights.

I'm not a huge fan of New Years Resolutions because I think if someone is
going to set a goal it should be when they are ready to and not just
because the date changes, but anyways, I'm looking at my finances and my
situation and setting some tentative goals. So I figured I'd share them

1. Credit Cards paid off by March 31st. This would effectively
take me out of debt - on paper. There's still a Legal Aid bill from my
divorce, but there is no interest charged so it can continue to be
paid off in pre-authorized payments. My car is in my name and registered to
me, but the loan is not - therefore it does not show up as
'my' debt.

2. 10% increase in income from writing. Rather than do 10% more,
I'm going to become more efficient (buying the laptop was a start) and more
effective (by charging more).

3. One more column. I have two: both horse related. I'd like to
develop one either online or in print that is not related to the horse
industry. Maybe writing related.

4. Finish 2 non-fiction books that are currently in the works and
start developing my fiction writing.

I think that is it. Not particularly lofty... not too low... juuuust right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be able to start your car from inside your house. Whoa-ho Baby.... I
stood at the patio glass, which was cold itself (oh the hardship of having
to pull back the blinds and feel the cold leaking through the glass...)
pressed the little button on the car starter and watched my little Neon's
tail lights blink as it started.

-20 C my butt... it's gonna be toasty inside my car this morning!

I've been without internet and reliable email at home for a couple of days.
It is incredibly frustrating, especially when you know you have
communicating to do and you can't get your messages because they are
trapped in some limbo internet zone...

I feel as though I'm almost back in my skin. Things feel a bit more
familiar, my joy does feel muted, but it has been muted for a long while,
so that's normal. I think that's what the cause of my melancholy has been.
Joy, the sleeping dragon, has been, well, asleep, for a couple of years.
Recently she was awakened, fed, coddled, celebrated. Now she's pacing
around inside me, huffing and puffing in vain, unable to find the
satisfaction she craves. Or that's what if feels like anyway.....

This isn't how it is supposed to happen, you know. I was supposed to return
to my life all full of vim and vigor. Ready to tackle the writing jobs that
stretch before me, ready to become THE WRITER I'm meant to be. Ready to
return to motherhood after a dalliance in singlehood. Ready. I was ready.

And here I am. And everything reminds me of something else. Everything
signifies something else. And nothing is in colour. I stare blandly at the
'to be washed' pile and my eyes scan over to the folded, 'to be put away'
pile. And I don't want to wash the clothes that were just with you. And I
don't want to put away the clothes where yours were, briefly.

I suck.

Where am I? Junior High School? Pick yourself up woman!

I need some creative renewal, some Julia Cameron style inspiration....

Or maybe chocolate.

Dear Northwest Airlines

After my recent excursion into the land of lost luggage, angry passengers, and ambivalent airline staff, let me just say you've sunk to new lows. Maybe not US Airways lows, but still new lows....

1. Please try to hire more pilots so that holiday travelers like myself do not stare wistfully out the window at our aircraft that sits at the gate, full of our luggage and growing colder by the minute while you try to find someone who can fly the damn thing. There were several offers from hopeful passengers, I do understand why you didn't accept their offers - though the offer from the world war two vet who promised to 'get the b!tch in the air' was tempting.

2. When it is -30C in Minneapolis, and you give some poor sould a voucher for a hotel, and direct them across hell's half acre to the free shuttle waiting area with the hordes of other stranded and very.happy.people..... please make sure that the hotel actually OFFERS a free shuttle. Actually, please make sure that you write the correct name on the voucher as well. Hotel Days Inn XCYDGH does not actually exist, despite the fact that THAT is what you have written.

3. When you lose both of my bags, try to find both of them. Last I saw they were sitting in the aforementioned ice cold plane at the Minneapolis airport. Apparently they were then flown to Detroit and driven to their destination in South Bend, Indiana. I, on the other hand, was rerouted through Chicago-Midway.

4. Please try to staff your luggage complaint department with a) more than one tired lady or b) more than one tired lady with a brain in her head who can actually understand what I am saying. I know I'm speaking Canadian and all, but how hard is it to type "Black, roller bag and blue sport bag". Instead I'm left with blue roller bag and black duffle bag. No wonder no one could find them.

5. Thank you for returning one bag, three days after my arrival. However, it would be nice if you left my claim file open so that the rest of your staff would know to still look for my other bag. And when I call 4 times, please take the hint that I'd like you to take some sort of action.

6. Your baggage staff should never say "I don't know what's going on, I've been on vacation for five days" when I call. Hmmm so have I - except I've been living in my boyfriend's jogging pants and had to buy granny-panties at Walgreens at 11 pm on Christmas Eve. And I'd like my birth control pill please or you can be responsible for paying for 18 years of some possibly concieved child.

7. Realize that I'm being as patient as I can on day number seven sans luggage when I receive the call from you that you have my other bags. "You have my bag." "We do?" "Yes, you called and left me a message" "what does it look like?" "Black roller bag" "how do you know we have it?" "YOU called ME" "we have no file open for you" "no kidding" "what does it look like?" BLACK ROLLER BAG" "And you're sure it's here?" "Well, you have no file open, so the only way you would know who owned it, and the only way you'd know to call me would be if you were looking at the tag with my cell phone number on it... which is on the bag." "what does it look like?"

It looks like I won't be flying Northwest any time soon.