When I was young I would wake up with scratches and cuts and bruises. I’d also be laying across my bed, teddy bear clutched under my head (he was pillow-sized), limbs hanging off. I was apparently an adventurer off to battle every night.
It’s been decades since I’ve really hurt myself in my sleep, but last night, I apparently was back at it.
I do have a troublesome dry patch there. It might even be a patch of psoriasis, ‘cause I’ve got that. I almost had it under control and then it flared. I’ve been trying to help it calm down, but I’m easily distracted from my self-care.
I recall waking myself a few times with it and just going back to sleep. By morning I had scratched it so raw that I couldn’t go back to sleep. I had blood under my nails!
The dreams I had were not all that pleasant either.
It’s been mostly fine, but then just starts hurting. It hurts a lot worse than it looks, I swear. I have an unhealthy-ily high pain tolerance, but this thing is making me whine like a baby.
I guess it could be worse. A coworker put a giant wood splinter straight through the top of her finger. Or the time I slammed my thumb in my car door and tried to walk away. That took eight months to heal!
My husband says that maybe I shouldn’t be writing my novel before bed. He may have a point…
I have been writing furiously since the middle of June (how is it July already?!) and am noticing fun new aches and sore spots.
I know I have a bad set-up. My two chair options are: too tall for the floor but good for the table, or close enough to the floor, but too low for the table. Plus it’s a laptop. Worst typing position.
So my body is unhappy. Plus, my characters are fit and active ( because life is hard and they don’t have many choices), which makes me more aware of my lack of movement.
That’s a big part of why I love my job, I get to move for four hours or so and interact with people. Then I can come home and back to my writing. Except, I’ve also learned my job is not enough to keep me healthy and I perform better when I’m exercising a couple days a week.
This novel is pretty insistent at the moment. I’m up to almost 50,000 words, which is roughly a little over halfway. I want to keep the momentum going. I’m writing every opportunity I have. Which leaves my body in pain. So, new plan.
I have to do a few simple exercises every time I go to sit down and every time I get up. I just did some leg raises at my sink and my hips already feel better. Really squeezing. Now I’m going to do some chest presses and back rows. Maybe some bridge variations later. A set of bicep curls and tricep extensions.
I stretch all the time, but muscles that aren’t used enough don’t stretch well (overuse is the same). Gotta get them pumping and warm to really let them trust and want the stretch.
Time to handle a grownup task, freshen my coffee, and get a few moves in before I sit down to write more words.
I’m a coffee lover. I have my morning rituals with it. I imbibe the magic elixir when in need of stability, focus, relaxation, inspiration. And like many who love coffee on a cellular level, I have a love for mugs.
Every day I pick one to fit my mood or tactile need for the day. The vessel almost as important as the liquid. Especially when it comes to writing.
The blue swirl mug is one of the first mugs I bought myself as a teenager. The only one to have stayed with me through it all. Still intact. Still beautiful. Still just as soothing to touch.
The dark brown mug is a fairly recent purchase from one of my favorite coffee shops in the town where I work. It gets me in the mood for fantasy and deep conversations. I feel like a character holding it in my fingers.
Two Alice in Wonderland mugs.
As I am consumed by my own epic fantasy, it helps to have inspiration at hand. Mugs either given to me by loved ones, or encouraged to get by a loved one, help me feel supported in my madness. Having a choice of which Alice in Wonderland mug I’m in the mood for helps my story stay curious or weird, or both.
So, as I prepare to get lost in my own story for a few hours, I’ll pick the vessel to aid the potion that fuels my spirit to create.
I’m in full writing mode. My thoughts are consumed by plot. I feel like I exist out of time, off in a far away land.
I flushed the first chapter out. It’s the spark that got the premise rolling. It’s where the book ends. So now I’m plotting the timeline because I keep running off the tracks.
This was supposed to be a one novel story. Then I realized it may have to become a trilogy. Now I have to tell my friend she was right and it’s going to be at least six books. Which just means my brain is racing ahead and I’ve only got one chapter actually written.
But knowing where this is all headed is making it easier to hone and focus in on the plot of this first book. I’ve written a synopsis plot line for the beginning half of half of the story. Now I’m working on a timeline in calendar from to be able to layer the stories together and keep it all straight.
I’ll get back to typing soon, but right now I’m back to planning and feeling it out, leaving my head distracted by a girl, her desire for adventure, the cast of characters that build her foundation, and not losing the damn plot.
I like playing phone games as a tool for my mental health. As with all my methods, it’s a delicate line between helpful and harmful.
I can get caught up in the dopamine hits of success, or the obsessive loop of failure. I have Sims and some cooking games that my interest fades in and out of frequently. Then I cycle through two or three games at a time until I’m bored or too frustrated with them.
They help me decompress and regroup from overstimulation. They also help motivate me when I’d rather just not.
My most recent puzzle game is a room blueprint puzzle. Each room is labeled and has markings for different doors. You have to fit the rooms into the blank floor shape. I love designing layouts and fitting pieces together.
What’s funny is, it sparked the same part of my brain attached to my epic gothic fairytale that I’ve recently had a reframing epiphany for.
So, in between life tasks and this game, I’ve been working on some back story and feel like typing again.
A few years ago, I found myself saying this phrase every time I needed to quickly diffuse my anger. It works every time. I giggle, take a few relaxed breaths, and handle things.
Today was a day I wish I had remembered that phrase. There is a big personality that is making work difficult for several of us. It was my turn today. I want to be able to roll with it instead of getting worked up, but I was just not up to the task today.
If I had remembered goose frabba, I would have been better. I’ll remember it now. And I like to pass it around. Let others enjoy the magic.
Most don’t know the reference. A few have acknowledged the movie. I do like Adam Sandler films. Anger Management was a great movie. Check it out. Work on your anger management skills and be considerate of others around you.
Reading these books is like taking a deep breath and running headlong down a dark tunnel, with sporadic pools of light, at full speed. I’m constantly taking little breaks to get some air and a rest. Then it’s right back to the action.
It’s like coming home when I read these books. Like I can feel my younger self reading them while I reread. All those initial shocks and emotions still there for me to feel, layered now by my current, older self’s perceptions of the story.
The full poly cast was present and involved. Each spectacularly playing their roles. Even Richard was a joy to have around. And Jason always lightens the mood.
The metaphysics are a thing of beauty in these stories. The way Hamilton can bring to life the feeling of having an animal exist inside of you. How pulling up magic that is a part of you can be effortless and dangerous. The way she describes being able to feel the thoughts of people around her and the off-balance feeling that comes with being cut off from them.
I’ve taken to writing a list of featured, recurring characters and an important plot point or two in the front of every book. I recall getting to a point where I was struggling to remember how long certain people had been around. I couldn’t remember how they came into the story. The world just keeps expanding and I like my helpful lists.
I’ve got three Anita Blake books left on my shelf, so I’m going to have to start buying them again to be ready for whenever my mood lands on comfort vampire series. I borrowed the rest from the library and then stopped reading anything for several years; I think I have eight books yet before it’ll be all brand new for me.
So cheers to rereading old favorites and reconnecting with your younger self!
The Night and its Moon, and The Deer and the Dragon both by Piper CJ.
Recently, we celebrated my husband’s birthday with dinner out and then bought books and drinks to celebrate the end of another doosey of a school year. I had just heard about a book on a podcast and went in search of it. That’s when I saw The Deer and the Dragon.
I’ve seen many of Piper CJ’s videos online and when I saw she had written a book, I added it to my reading list (a small notebook organized by series, genre, and categories).
As I ogled and grinned, I saw that she had a second series going. The Night and its Moon was in my hands without any thought and I struggled to rationalize putting it back.
Of course I looked for the other book I wanted and began carrying that one around too. The kids thought it was funny that I was trying to decide which one to put back. They knew all three were coming home.
Since getting back into reading, I’d usually have three to ten books read by now, but I’m just finishing my second book of the year. Sure, I’ve started a lot. I’ve enjoyed them all, but that joy keeps fizzling out after a bit.
Lessons in Chemistry was a fantastic read and I think it left me wanting the same level of enthusiasm from my next read. None of them were delivering, so I went with a safe bet and reread Micah in the Anita Blake series. It was too short, so I’m reading Dance Macabre, the next book in the series.
Dance Macabre by Laurell K. Hamilton.
Wait a second, I’m almost done with a third book. That’s a relief. Honestly. It’s a weird thing to panic about, but I’m wired for weird.
Continuing in that theme, I let myself buy all three books because they all gave me that giggling, feet tapping excitement for reading. I skimmed the first page to get a feel for each author’s voice and style to see if they kept that feeling going. Each one had heart and gut tingling lines that had me gasping with glee.
I started The Deer and the Dragon on the way home and am now trying to finish Dance Macabre to get back to it. I’m not sure I’ve ever bought two books by the same author, whom I’ve never read anything by before. I’m just following the joy.
I had wondered when the nightly phone calls would not be nightly anymore. When we would slowly begin talking less again. Eight months. It’s bittersweet.
I drove the, almost, five hours to her house with the kids on my own this time. We had planned this trip months ago, and the kids needed it. I needed to see my sister. Bonus, my mom was there too!
It really sucked not having my husband to rely on, but it helps show me I can do these kinds of things on my own. I haven’t been on my own in a long time, but my sister is now.
So, I got to help with yard work and give her some massages. Both of us were glad I could be there for that. The kids pitched in with filling holes and planting grass. I helped with some pool maintenance too. And sweeping the driveway. Can’t forget that!
We played a card game and ate meals together. We went to church together and I got to see the community my sister is creating for herself. The people she has found that care for her. That she can care for back. My kids got to be uncomfortable for about an hour and have another taste of my childhood.
We sat outside and talked. We shared jokes and had easier conversations about her husband. It’s nice to hear her talk about him.
We watched Roseanne for a bit, sharing the memories it triggered and were ignored by my children as we reminisced. We laughed at different jokes, our lives lending to different humors.
Then we packed up, loaded up with a few things my sister was happy to be rid of (we emptied a shelf/dresser to take apart that now sits in my bedroom, while loading those clothes onto fresh hangers in her remodeled guest closet -set up before his death- that she just had done recently) and I drove us back home.
We did pretty good until we were only 45 minutes away. I missed a sharp exit in a construction zone. Ten minutes added. That’s fine. Another missed exit. Ten more minutes added. I started to get really frustrated. I did not keep it together very well. Realized I was not modeling good coping strategies and took some deep breaths. I was getting road crazy.
We hit familiar territory. Roads I travel almost daily, to the roads I do see almost every day. I kept taking deep breaths and apologized for my rage cursing to the kids. They’re getting older and I don’t always keep composure as well as I used to. Finally we were home and I could relax. I had done it. I had gotten us there and I had gotten us all back home.
Eight months and we’re still talking most nights. It’s a strange ritual we’ve become accustomed to. Foreign to us in a lot of ways. Yet, it now feels more strange when we miss a night or two.
When I began my journey as a massage therapist, over a decade and a half ago, I could not fathom being able to use tools in my work. How can you feel anything? Don’t they just get in the way and create more work?
Then I was trained in the basics of hot stone massage and I discovered amazing benefits to using heat in a session. I began to feel tensions and adhesions through the stones. A passion for tools began.
A couple years ago I began developing arthritis in my hands. They would cramp up and bring me to tears with the joint pain. It still happens occasionally, but I started incorporating heated tools regularly for my own benefit (and much to the delight of my clients).
Brand new stones! Freshly made pouch.
These have become standard for most of my sessions. They hold cold really well (much like marble), so I heat them and use them warm to hot. Like basalt stones (typical hot stones), they hold heat well. They fit in my hands comfortably, easily glide through muscles, and save my thumbs and fingers. They have honestly saved my career.
Created and designed by a massage therapist, then sold to another massage therapist, CoreStones is another business that will be getting more orders from me. You can feel the calming effects of the stone’s low vibration.
I mostly use them for neck and shoulder work and foot Reflexology. My fingers can’t really inch crawl well anymore. They’re great on tough adhesions and reminding me to slow down. Let the heat do the work. My focus is to give the clients space to allow themselves to let go and relax. Tools like these reinforce that goal. Needing time and good breath work to be effective.
I know clean up can feel tiresome and eat up precious time. These stones simply need some soap and water. I use that time to think about cleansing both myself and the tools of the session’s energy and feel refreshed for the next one. The act of cleaning is sacred work too. Important to keep everyone healthy and healing.
If you’ve never tried a hot stone massage, treat yourself to some really deep relaxation.
Blessings for peace, health, and enough energy to take care of yourself!
The Accidental Domestic Goddess 