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Rambling.....My Way

I'm depressed! The job interview I was supposed to have wasn't going to be enough hours so I canceled it secretly wishing I could take it and being pissy with myself for not being in a financial position to be able to work part time. It was right in line with what "I think" I want to do. I'm so sick of the payroll garbage I could scream. I hate it, hate it, and hate it! How in the hell did I get myself into this position again? I went to college, got an effing degree and still can't quit my decent paying, great benefits, shitty -ass day job and work in the field I have the degree in. What the hell did I go to college for? And why the hell did I put myself in sizable debt for a degree I can't even seem to get a job in? Can someone tell me again why having a degree is so freaking important? Really? I'm just fed up. I am the eternal optimist aren’t I?

I've spent a small fortune on these writing books and classes too. I want to write. I wanted to quit school so I could have the time to write. Am I writing? NO! Am I doing anything creative? NO! Am I still wasting money on trying to be creative? YES! I just bought ruled index cards at Wal-Mart. Talk about an impulse buy. Do I really think I'll have such wonderful ideas running through my brain and such an outpouring of creative thoughts to write them on notecards to help float a story I've not even written? It's just another thing sitting around to remind me that I'm not writing or doing anything I set out to do.

It's like all the yarn sitting in my closet waiting for someone to create beautiful things with it. I just had to create and buy, buy, buy, yarn like it was going out of style. I keep grabbing onto the next great thing that comes to mind and I get all prepared for it and excited about it, but then the act of actually "doing" it never materializes. I'd really like to figure out what it is inside me that keeps trying to come out, to float to the surface and rise out of the water.

I have all these ideas swimming in my head. I learn as much as I possibly can about whatever it is haunting me at the time and gather all the "tools" needed. Once I've learned all I can and have collected all the materials needed to make the idea or project come to life, to put the "idea" into motion, it's over. Either I've learned so much I'm sick of it or I begin the project, realize I don't have the talent to actually pull it off, or I've shared the idea (project) with another person and the appeal is suddenly gone.

It's like this with the writing thing too. I gave myself all the tools needed, gave myself information overload, shared my knowledge and passion about it with someone else, and gave myself the time (by quitting college) to actually pull it off. Now it's stuck there, just under the surface, under the ice waiting to break through. But, I keep it there. I won't let it surface and I cannot figure out why. Sure, I can hypothesize all night long with theories, but all I want to do is figure out how to release it. I'm not sure why I won't let it go.

For now, I've found this website where I can create a journal and keep it safe from "lookers-over-the-shoulder" to see if perhaps this will be the key to breaking through the ice. It's better than MS Word and other online journal sites. I can blabber on all I want and if it works then I may just pay the yearly fee and go for it.

I should be in bed, but in the spirit of releasing all of these pent up feelings and observations I think I will begin with a writing exercise and see where it takes me. I'll start with something easy...

"The Book of ME; A Do-It-Yourself Memoir"

Page 7 A.K.A.

Full Given Name: Heather Danielle Jordan

How was that name chosen? Mom told me once it was because she liked the Heather flower with one side of its petals gray and the other a deep purple.

What do you like to be called? I was always called "Heather" although my father called me "Half-Pint". I wanted to have a nickname in school so badly that by the time I was in high school I gave myself the name "Danni" because my best friends name was Danny (Danny Bensman) and I wanted to be solely associated as HIS friend ~ I told everyone that would listen to call me Danni. It didn't work though. No one called me by that name. Ever!

What are all the other names you have used? Heather Danielle Jordan (Schick), jhschick, and Novel Writer or Novel Wrier.

How did you get those names? I went from Jordan to Schick because of marriage. Online our username is typically "jhschick" for James and Heather Schick. As of 2011, I gave myself the pen name "Novel Writer" on the internet and social sites, but because of Facebook's rule about not using fake names during sign up; I had to alter it to "Novel Wrier". I bounce back and forth between the two now. A writer named Randy Russell (Dead Rules) who befriended me online thought it was an awesome play on words, so I keep using it simply because it was a great compliment and I've always wanted a nickname and people who'd call me by that name.

Have you ever been called by a name that was distasteful or hurtful? I clearly remember that in grade school we were assigned to work in groups on a project that required each student to choose a word that began with the same first letter of our first name. It was to become our nickname during a class played game. We had Awesome Andrea, Rocket Randy, etc. I was having trouble coming up with something other than Hippo Heather. We were running out of time so Andrea, whom I did not like very much, blurts out Hyper Heather. I remember being so offended and hurt by it. Looking back on it now, I'm glad she didn't use Hippo, but it hurt my feelings being called "hyper" although I'm not sure why.

If you could choose a different name, what would it be? I’ve liked many names over the years. In grade school, I liked Elizabeth because of the series "V" an alien show and the little girl was named Elizabeth. My cabbage patch doll was named Elizabeth too. I simply wanted a name that could be turned into a nice or cool nickname and I probably would have taken just about anything. There's not much you can do with Heather. Heat, Heath, Her, etc. just not much there to work with.

As an adult, I've toyed with names like Isabelle, Isabella, Victoria, Ava, Stormy and a zillion others. Mainly the names I've liked are names I give characters in stories and daydreams.

Page 8 & 9: ID-ology

Your Name: Heather Danielle Schick

Current Age: 3?

Height: 5ft, 1in. Weight: XXX

Eye Color: Brown Hair Color: Brown and a little gray

Describe your physical appearance and typical behavior so that a stranger could pick you out of a crowd: I am overweight by 125lbs, short-stocky build, with shoulder length brown curly hair. I wear brown glasses that have the "Baby Phat" (whatever that is) cat on the earpieces. I have brown eyes.

Do you have distinguishing features, such as a birthmark, scar, tattoo, big teeth, or a mole? I have a small brown mole under my right eye. I have dolphins swimming around a yin-yang tattoo above my left ankle.

What signature clothes or accessories-such as tight blue jeans, a rotary pin, or a purple scarf-do you usually sport? I don't wear anything signature other than when it's cold outside I'm usually the one not wearing a coat. I hate to wear coats, plus I tolerate the cold more so than most people do.

What mannerisms distinguish you? (Would your whistle, your figures of speech, or a pen tucked over your ear give you away?) I have tried several times to stock cussing so much and adopted a few odd sayings in their place like son of a billy goat, cheese and rice, sweet nibblets, holy bat-crap man, and crap-it. Mostly, it doesn't work. The intention is all the same so I'm not really buying myself any redeeming qualities. I still use the "F" word way too much.

I think I'm starting to sound like Rodney McKay (minus the cussing)!!   LOL

My Weepy Way

This is going to be a short one folks. I can't seem to stop crying over the smallest of things. My mom died two weeks ago and I didn't cry over it. I made my peace with her a long time ago. Everyone assumes I'm sad, tired, and grouchy because of her and all of the crap surrounding her death. This weepy crap I'm feeling isn't because of her. I can't shake the feeling that something deep within me is wrong, messed up, or off and it has nothing to do with my mother.

Avril Lavigne's song "Together" hits home wiht me and has for quite some time now. The most prevalent lyrics are:

Something just isn't right
I can feel it inside
The truth isn't far behind me
 You can't deny

When I turn the lights out
When I close my eyes
Reality overcomes me
I'm living a lie

When I'm alone I
Feel so much better
And when I'm around you
I don't feel....together

This has gone on so long
I realize that I need
Something good to rely on
Something for me

This is how I've been feeling each and every line. It's strange to feel this way and be aware of it at the same time. I guess it's my psych training kicking in somehow. I'm moody, restless, and tired beyond what I consider "tired" for even me, "The eternal night owl". I just don't know what's going on and it's beginning to scare me a bit. I want to be alone more and more of the time. I need to find some inner peace and I don't know how to get it anymore. I feel like I'm living a lie. The person I am at work is not the same person I am at home. I mean to say it goes beyond the normal "oh happy me-happy to help others attitude that I give people. My whole life feels like I've spent it doing things or being people I'm not. I  posted this tweet some time ago, but it sums up some of what I'm going on about...
How do I find the buried version of me lost in dirt and debris, tightly bound, gagged, hidden so the world couldn't see? Where is she?

Can I even begin to find her again?  

Getting In My Own Way...

I really want to write every day, but I'm finding more and more on the internet to distract me from actually writing. I think about writing every time I tweet or every time I think about tweeting. Most of my tweets are comments to new and interesting people which is why I'm not getting much accomplished. There are so many super talented and kind people in this world with thousands of links to read and follow up on. I love Twitter!

I never thought I would. I've not liked any of the other social sites. I'm not a social "face-time" person at all, but I can't get enough of Twitter. It's so quick and easy to make a fast post or to follow links on things I'm curious about or interested in. It's quite exciting to get a tweet from someone famous or have someone comment about something you've written. Plus, I've met some great folks from other parts of the world. It's a great way to find out you're not so weird after all or that you are. Whatever!

This is where the "not writing" problem comes in. I want to write, I really do. I don't seem to have the discipline to do it for some reason. I get easily distracted and lose sense of time. I don't know what I'm afraid of. It's like part of my brain wants to keep it a trivial thing just to have something to want. It's like having the most perfect chocolate treat sitting in front of you. There's only one and once you eat it there is no more left. You can eat it at any time, but you wait. You stare at it, thinking about how it will taste melting in your mouth. You crave it, but stave off the satisfaction. You delay the moment because you know once you eat it, that's it. Never again will you have that same piece of chocolate again. I guess I'm afraid there will be nothing left if I do write?

This is how ridiculous it's gotten. I've was home sick a couple times this week from work. Before I made the choice to go home or stay home I had grand visions of all the writing time I could have. Even if I had to stick tissues up my nose I'd be able to write from the comfort of my bedroom. You don't have to be healthy to write. For some darn reason though, I haven't done any writing besides this and tweets.

The drawback to calling off work or leaving work early was that my kids were home from school those same days because of the weather. I have this weird thing about writing with other people around. I can't seem to bring myself to write around my kids and husband. The small handful of times I have written with them here I've done on my laptop so they can't immediately see what I'm writing or have another page to flip to before they read over my shoulder.

I've often thought about going to the bookstore cafe (an hour away), with my laptop in hand and just hanging out there to write. It's a romantic notion, but I love the thought of being around all those new books and having inspiration shoot through me like a fever. What I don't get is why I'm more comfortable doing that than I am writing in my own home in front of my own family. Self-consciousness is overrated!

What I want to do it tweet my favorite authors and ask them how they write productively having kids and husbands lurking about. Hell, maybe that's what I will do right now.

No Resolutions Here...

I'm not the kind of person who makes resolutions at the beginning of each year, but I have thought about a few things I want to change in my life. I want to write more. Perhaps start again on my novel or short stories, workout, lose weight, and find my own inner peace. I figure now is as good a time as any to start. But, as I sit here thinking of what to write and actually making the time to do it, questions swarm my mind. What am I going to write? Why would I want to spill my proverbial guts online? Who in their right mind cares what I have to say? No one gives a crap! Why bother? You’ll never stick with it! You never stick with anything...

I have taken enough writing classes to know those questions come from my “inner critic”. I know I should block it out and I know I shouldn’t listen, but after a constant barrage of negativity I’m beginning to believe every word my inner critic spews at me. The real problem is I don’t know what I want to write, why I would spill my guts to the online world, or believe someone gives a crap about what I have to say.

The inner critic is…right. I never stick with any new hobby or any one thing for very long. Why wouldn’t I believe my inner critic? For pity sakes, my inner critic is a part of ME. Wouldn’t she, I, know the honest answers to these questions? When I was growing up, I wanted to join the Air Force to be a fighter pilot notwithstanding the few years I wanted to be an actress. I loved everything about flying. I learned as much as I could at my age with what was available (pre-internet). Bottom line, I joined the Army because the Air Force recruiter said I was too short to be a fighter pilot. I certainly couldn’t fly Air Force jets in the Army. What was I thinking? Talk about settling!

I don’t even have to go back that far to think of all the things I’ve loved and let go. I taught myself how to crochet. It was new and fun and I loved it until I got stuck on a pattern I couldn’t figure out. I pretty much quit crocheting. Ask my husband how much yarn I have in my closet taking up the much needed space. Sometime in 2006, after the economic crisis had taken its first victims, I got the bright idea of going to college. I was going to better myself. I would get a better job doing something I love.

I managed to complete an associate’s degree and even went on to the bachelor program. Half way through the bachelor program I got so sick of it I dropped a class. I resented how much it was sucking out of my life. Eventually, with other things going on at home, I quit college and haven't gone back. I’m more in debt with student loans. I can’t get a job in my degree field because I have no experience in my degree field. It doesn’t pay as much as my current job either so I'm stuck. Great idea, right?

I thought about all the things I wanted to do as a child I couldn’t do because of finances, geography, or availability. I must have been having a “midlife crisis” of some kind. I convinced myself if there was something I wanted to try; I should simply do whatever it was. Stop talking and do it!

I had always wanted to take guitar lessons, so I bought a cheap-ass guitar, found a place to take lessons, bought another cheap guitar, and bought an expensive guitar just to make it feel "real". Several months later, I quit taking lessons because I didn't have enough time to practice while I was also working and in college. I have a candy red Fender brand Starcaster hanging on my wall. It’s beautiful, but now I have to dust it every week.

I couldn’t work, study, practice, keep my house and family going all at the same time. Those who tell you it’s just a matter of balance are full of bull. Now that's something to laugh at!



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