Some nights are just rough, man

And tonight is one of those nights.

What is this personal space you speak of?
Why don't you want me to bark? Bark bark bark
I don't want to be renamed Barky McBarky Puppy Pants

I've been listening to this chill Pandora station all day and all night and it's been enough to barely keep the edge off. I'm all raw and grumpy. Cranky grumpy me. It's not a good look on me. Well, it might be, but most likely not.

 It all started last night, of course, when I had a perfectly great night and went to sleep early, only to be woken up at midnight by a combination of rain pounding outside, a dripping on metal that wouldn't stop, and the thunking of something in the dryer  because my 13 year old Bear needed clean underwear and decided it was reasonable to do laundry after 11 p.m.

From there, it was listening to the rain, the snoring husband, huffing puppy, and the never-ending thoughts that assault you when you're awake past midnight. Then the coughing kid. So I got up and demanded Bear take allergy medicine in case I dunno... (I might have pointed out how when he was four he had an asthmatic attack that put him in the hospital and it started JUST LIKE THIS, so stop arguing and take the medicine, kid,  because hey, why not freak out the prone-to-hypochondria kid? Bear could stay up fretting the night away, too!)

I never went back to sleep really, but made it to work thinking I'd get through the day and it'd be good. Nap at home. Nap nap nap nap....

Even managed to walk the dog this morning in the same pouring rain that helped keep me up, scoffed down waaaay too much coffee. Felt like a proper writer then - surrounded by rain and powered by caffeine - but it was a looong day, and home... ahhh home.... I mean, I had my nap planned before I walked out the door today...

Made it home and couldn't catch a break. Not. A. Break. No nap, FYI.

More Pandora. It's still on. I'm listening to Florence and the Machine and the Pierces, and Halsey of all things.

But this is my night tonight, in convenient bullet format:

• The dog is an untrained barking lunatic when people knock at the door and someone knocked at the door - looking for their kid. We never met this dad before - his first impression is a monster puppy and a yelling grumpy lady going on about knocking it off puppy monster of death aaahhhh QUIEEETTT.... probably never see his kid again....
• The teen boys are untrained, fighting and bickering brothers who, now that they have their own rooms, barge into each other's rooms to start and finish fights.... yup, think they're still fighting....
• The youngest cat won't stop meowing because he hates the dog....
• The old cat doesn't have the energy but I feel I should mention him anyhow...
• There's nothing on television interesting enough to bother with so I can't drain my brain... 
• No one (meaning me) can nap in these conditions so it's about 9 p.m. and I'm like all over-caffeinated and hyper-sensitive exposed-nerves chick and I should go to bed but I'm trapped...

But, I did write. I worked on my new draft. I'm becoming the draft queen.  I have two novels in various draft stages - one first draft, one third draft, and now, this. It's a difficult decision to not send a novel out to try and be sold. Most people would think it's crazy. I'll probably send the YA Sci Fi out, but my heart is really in this one work I'm on and I think this could get published since YA Sci Fi Dystopia is kinda overdone.

Of course, of course, I think it's utter drivel. And I hope I can fit the phrase 'utter drivel' in my novel because I think ti's underutilized.

But hey, I wrote, even though I'm tired, sooo tired, and cranky, and on edge, and tired, and it's nowhere NEAR the weekend.

So many words.
So many days until the weekend.
So little sleep.

Hello friends, I'm back again :)

I've come to the astounding conclusion no one actually cares if I lose weight or not.

Oh sure, if I lose a noticeable amount, they'll say 'oh you look great' or 'are you ill?' but then, they'll quickly move on, because they don't really care.

It's true. I know you don't care if I lose weight, oh sure, you'll root for me and say well-done, but I don't look SO very different with the =/- ten pounds to everyone.

Except me, but I stopped obsessing over it. Oh okay, slightly. I'll get a new fitbit, I'll enjoy salads, but for me its' a yearly ritual. Plan to lose twenty pounds overall, lose ten pounds over the summer, gain ten pounds over the winter... etc.  This year, I'm going to try to lose twenty pounds between now and next winter, and not gain any, but I'm not losing sleep over it.

Writing - I am working on a rough draft of a new work, which I'm excited about, but I started writing it at 5 a.m. and it made me sad, so if I do it right, it's a tear jerker people. This does pose a problem, though, because at the same time, I've got my Sci Fi YA novel first draft and second draft done. After my supreme reader friend read it and pointed out the issues with it, I was like 'Forget it' because I didn't think I could fix them, they're not BIG just timely.  But the characters won't leave me alone, which tells me the story needs to be told. Luckily, it's not a first draft, and it just needs revising, which is different than the free-flow writing of a first draft, but it's a lot of writing, and it's two different stories. If I seem to be in several places at once, it's because I'm living in this world while in my head I'm split between two others.

I re-read some inspirational writing quotes, and those always help. It also helps that I'm writing so early in the morning. I begin the day feeling I've accomplished the most important thing, the thing that keeps my sanity in check. I know I'm a writer, and I know if I don't write, I become miserable, unfocused, untethered, and generally discontent. I'm most at peace when I'm writing. It's the same with running/jogging/wogging whatever, the difference is, I could live without the jogging/running, but I don't think I could live without the writing. The running helps the writing, but the reverse is not true.

I'm very chatty today. It's because over the past few months, my mind has been off somewhere sorting stories and words and things out, while in my life, I've been sorting and working things out.

My 20 year old is out of the house now, on her own and all that. My sons are teenagers that have their own rooms, opinions, and ideas of what to do with their days. My husband is happy in his job. I'm happy in my job. I've got a dog to walk and who I'll eventually hike and run with. I'm hoping for a calm season of writing and hiking and laughing.

But lots of writing.

And tuna eating, I think.

I know I should add a picture to this blog, but I think I'm overdoing it with the dog.

I dislike the dog intensely. My ear is inflamed and red and no one
knows why. I'm 15 years old, which means I can be old, cranky,
and overall, an asshole. I've earned it through longevity.

Introducing Watson

So here's Watson at four months old.

Four months old and so handsome.

Look into my deep, soulful eyes. Deep. So very deep.

I totally am not cattle dog. Nope. No sire.

Well... maybe a little bit...? And by the way... if you don't
throw that toy, I'll fetch you...

I can be stately. Alert. I'll let you know that pizza man is here.
 Yes, yes, I do look part Terrier.
Because I am.

I'm going to be very good. So I'm crossing my ears...
What? It means nothing. Stop anthropomorphizing me. 

I'm so very Watson.