I cleaned the water up, but then my boyfriend went back and separated everything to dry. He wiped my pens, put my papers in front of a fan, and generally surprised me when his wonderfulness when I came back from slamming my coffee mug into the maker until caffeine magically appeared in it.
After the week I’ve had of overall bullshittery, this small act made me feel like a rainbow had appeared over me and I was ready to tackle my main goal of the day.
By the end of Sunday, I have to finish a project that has been weighing me down for weeks. A giant troll of a project. Meaning, every time I think I’m done or close to it, something pops up and it’s like, ‘LAWL, NO!’ But tonight is the night. No more trolling. I need this stress-inducing doc file of d00m off my plate because tomorrow I start prepping for the next step in interviewing for a new day job. One I’m crossing my fingers for as it’d be a great change for me.
Bring it, Troll Doc and Big Real Lyfe Week, do your worst! I’ve got a support system, coffee, and Lucky the Laptop. Even spilling water over my notes can’t touch my cool!
What has the world come to if I can’t even trust Harris Teeter anymore? Chaos, I say, chaos!
…Let me back up. I spent the beginning of last week visiting friends in Winston-Salem. Sadly it’s impossible for me to travel light. For one, I need milk for my daily protein shakes and I hate using up my host’s carton. I also like having some sugar-free popsicles on hand. Too much sugar makes me ill.
Short grocery list in hand, my friend Erin and I embarked to Harris Teeter. I grabbed a small thing of organic milk, more for the size than anything else, and went to search out the popsicles… but there were none. No ice cream, no sorbet, no frozen desserts of any kind! Why? The entire line of freezers were BROKEN.
Off to try Total Foods or Whole Foods or something or other. A store that smelled distinctively of fish and incense, but a place sure to have sugar-free popsicles of some kind or other.
They had gluten-free, fat-free, chemical-free, dairy-free, soy-free, FREE of everything EXCEPT sugar!
And believe me, I searched every row in those freezers. Finally I was able to find a raspberry popsicle with a tolerable amount of sugar. And, managed not to stab the lady in front of me in the checkout when she produced a ZILLION coupons that all stuck together.
Fast forward to the next morning and making my protein shake….
Harris Teeter sold me milk that was FIVE DAYS EXPIRED! I didn’t even think to check. Never had that problem before. Oh, and because it was all chemical free and crap, it was not only past due but… but… chunky.
Later I tried one of my raspberry popsicles…
Tasted like prunes.
…or Mount Doom-Closet? Does a name work when it’s a double-play on words? Such as ‘Mount Doom’ + ‘Broom Closet’? No clue. Moving on.
The colossal mess in this picture is part of the process I go through during organization projects. In this case, my office/room that’s more like a dorm room than I would like but I work with the space. This step of my organization process is like… a bomb made by fairies and squirrels went off and now the aftermath is cocooning until SUDDENLY in a blaze of action it’s all put away sparkling and beautiful.
But the mess is not really important, I just was explaining to avoid everyone reading this thinking I’m an outrageous slob. …I’m only a semi-outrageous slob!
No, what I want to draw your attention to is the mountain of clothing sitting on the desk chair. Thirty-eight pieces of black clothing from my wardrobe. That isn’t even counting the black accessory pieces I chose to keep, i. e. shrugs, shoes, jewelry, lingerie, etc. Maybe thirty-two isn’t a big number, but to the ratio of my attire AND accessories, black to color (even gray, white, brown, beige, etc.) was 5:1.
FIVE TO ONE!
Maybe I’m overreacting but I feel that is a little excessive.
Unless a statement is trying to be made or requirement met, no color should be that dominant in available clothing. When building a wardrobe, a color palette needs to be kept in mind a.k.a. the colors loved and look best on. The color palette is important because this will keep me from making bad choices.
A bad choice is buying a shirt that doesn’t go with any of accessory or a pair of pants in a warmer shade of green when everything else is cool shades. If I want to have a special set of accessories JUST for that shirt or a whole outfit centered on those green pants and ONLY for those green pants, I could do that… but it’s a giant waste of money and space. It’s sloppy shopping.
There’s that saying that black goes with everything. Maybe it does. But the truth is that it doesn’t matter, I’m plain sick of wearing black!
During my later highschool/early college years, I thought I was the most original kid in the world… instead of an Avril Lavigne wannabe, and ‘wannabe’ is being kind. Everything in the picture above I wore all the time. I don’t regret it as I can look back on a fun phase of my life and laugh at younger me.
Even after I threw away my black and white knee socks and jelly bracelets, the color palette stayed the same. It was deeply engrained in me to wear black and buy more black. Jeans? Black tshirt! Top with a pinch of color? Black pants! Black dress? Black shoes!
Now, black is a great asset. Please do not misunderstand me. This blog post isn’t meant to bash anyone who wears it or even wears it all the time. Rock it! But what I find troubling is the lack of my own self-awareness.
Reading this you might be going ‘…it’s just clothes,’ and in a way you’d be right, but my personal style is important to me. ME! I don’t care what anyone else thinks, but I need harmony between what’s on the inside and the outside. For my own emotional and mental well-being.
Writers are supposed to be able to write anywhere AND I CAN! I have written on car trips, on trains, when people were fighting in the next room, while recovering from major surgery, and at four AM to distract myself from a French toast craving.
I can also write in less extreme circumstances, like in coffee shops and at a friend’s house. But when it comes to my “home base” or office, I need harmony.
My writer’s cave needs to be a refuge for creativity and my closet needs to be full of what reflects my own personal style! And… my own personal style of me in the now (style is ever-changing) doesn’t include Mount Gloom-Closet.
So, I am making this commitment…
NO MORE BLACK!
I am never buying another piece of black clothing.
Of course, there are exceptions. This doesn’t exclude something to wear to funerals. Or accessories. But I’m not going to let Mount Gloom-Closet happen again.
The last important black piece of my wardrobe is the black garbage bag I put the freshly laundered and folded Mount Gloom-Closet in to be given to charity.
Tomorrow it’s going to be exactly three weeks since I woke up at 5AM with intense chest pains. My lungs felt like they were on fire. Breathing was a struggle and it seemed as if an invisible hand was slowly choking the life out of me. Unable to come up with an answer to what was going on, I summoned a greater power — my mom, of course.
I wasn’t scared until my mom made the quick decision to take me to the ER. She thought I might be having a heart attack. I will be twenty-four in August, but with our family history of heart disease, it wasn’t out of the question.
It was overwhelming. Not even twenty-four and I could be having a heart attack?
What the fuck had I done?!
Turn back the clock to the day before, March 18th and a beautiful Sunday in the Carolinas. I was driving home from Greenville after spending a wonderful St. Patty’s Day with a friend and visiting the Georgia chapter of RWA in Atlanta. The weekend felt like exactly what I needed to unwind.
Over the past eight months, I have been working very hard at taking control of my own life. I have always given those closest to me way too much power and they were abusing the trust I had placed in them. You know, one or both of your parents, an aunt maybe, or your sister or grandmother. There’s always someone it seems. They had too much say over everything in my life and had beaten my self-esteem into a juicy pulp.
I am blessed that my mom is my best friend and I know she would do anything for me, but this wasn’t something she could do for me. I had to do it.
It was time to take the power back.
When I returned home on March 18th, I had no intention of that being the day the gloves came off. But then it just… happened. There were no tears. There was no screaming. Instead I systematically took back the power and control over my life.
No one else is allowed to bring me down or make me feel like I am not perfect. I know I am not perfect! But I love my imperfections and I want to be the best imperfect me that I can be!
I’m funny and fun to be around. My mom calls me the Salad Whisperer, because nobody can create an amazing salad like I can from almost nothing! I’m a talented writer and I love the industry with my entire heart. People think I am a good listener and I don’t know if that’s true, but I’ll take their word for it and keep every secret shared.
If you’re going to tell me that you love me and want to build a personal relationship with me, then you have to accept what’s good and what’s bad about me. They’re only flaws! It’s not like denying they exist erases them and I don’t want to erase them anymore anyway.
Yes, I know I can be bossy! But I am self-aware enough to recognize it and keep it from hurting people’s feelings. If I wasn’t bossy, so much wouldn’t get done. And I’m not just saying that as an excuse. I’ve tried to erase my bossiness or ignore it, when I should have been embracing it. All my imperfections are really just tools I needed for the life I was meant to live.
No longer am I wanting around for someone (or two in this case) to accept me. I have given enough chances and power to make me feel unwanted. It’s done. It’s over. I knew that three weeks ago and the stress… which is odd because I thought I would feel relief… the stress put me into the ER.
Seriously, it was all stress. No heart attack. No acid reflux. No blood clot to the lung. Just good ole stress.
Now, finally, three weeks later… I am beginning to feel the relief. No one has control over the way I feel about myself but me. For the first time in… my whole life… I feel free.
And I am writing this, well, confessing publicly on my blog, for the reason that I hope it will be enough to shake me out. I have felt like a hibernating bear, unable to write or focus or care, after the big leap I made. Everything needed to catch up to the same point.
While I am terrified of the future, as I think many people are, I am no longer afraid of my imperfections. I love that I can be direct, bossy, clumsy, and silly. The list goes on and on, like sorority sisters I’ll carry around with me forever. I may not like them all the time, but I love to live with them.
I pray after writing about my personal journey, I will be rejuvenated. It’s worth a try, right?
iluvmermaidz:
Why am I reblogging a picture of a mermaid?
Seriously. I don’t write mermaid stories, at present. So why would I give commentary to a picture of a mermaid and her human lover aside from that it’s a cool image?
For the simple reason that this picture gives me peace of mind. I look at it and I feel immediately calm by the expanse of blue and the tranquility of the two swimming lovers.
It’s another Monday and another day closer to RWA11. Within the past two weeks I’ve been experiencing a growing sense of anxiety related to my writing. Until yesterday I thought it was because of nationals later this month and my first time face to face pitching, but then I realized that wasn’t the case. My stress isn’t my career not taking off, it’s what’s going to happen when it does. Don’t you love my combination of positivity and negativity?
Am I going to be able to juggle rough drafting a new manuscript while editing a second and promoting a third?
I know that I want to be a successful author badly enough to answer that I will be able to organize, to manage, to do what I have to do to make my dreams reality. I just may have to learn how to meditate to stave off stress and stare at mermaid pictures once in awhile.
I’m going to be honest. Earlier I read something that truly infuriated me. When the Tony nominations came out, there was confusion about why Daniel Radcliffe (of Harry Potter and Equus fame) didn’t receive a nomination. Especially when his role in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying scored Tonys for the two previous actors.
Now, I’m not a die-hard DanRad fan, but I like him well enough and I know it’s widely accepted that he is a talented stage actor. It’s the path he’s chosen to help break out of his Harry Potter fame and whattaya know, he’s good at it! But alright, he didn’t get a nomination. That’s fair, it happens.
But then I read the quote below from nomination presenter, Anika Noni Rose:
“You know, every year somebody is left out,” added Rose, throwing her hands up in the air, “It’s hard, but there are so many things in that show that are nominated. And he’ll have another chance, because he’s really very good. He’s what, 21?”
Source.
Uhm, come again?
It’s understandable for someone to be left out of nominations, whatever the award, but the excuse of age is horribly close-minded. DanRad is a big boy, he’ll get over not being nominated, but how should his age make him feel better? Not only does it invalidate his performance and his opinion of not being nominated, but it belittles everything he’s accomplished in his career. The same could be said of any young professional when this excuse is applied to them.
Either they deserve recognition or they don’t. If they don’t get it, it shouldn’t be because of their age, but that was just the tough luck story of the year. Everyone in the world of stage acting thought Daniel Radcliffe was going to get a nomination. Obviously he put in a good performance — OR do they only think that he gave a good performance ‘despite his young years’?
Also, let’s step back and look at his resume, shall we? He’s been acting in big budget films and had public eye on him for over ten years. He took on a role that required some definite guts and baring of it all in Equus when he was still playing a childhood hero. If he started his career at eighteen after graduating from high school, he’d be in his thirties.
Would he then be worthy of the nomination? Would he then be just the tough luck case of that year’s Tonys?
This blog entry isn’t directed precisely at Anika Noni Rose, but anyone who holds this opinion and gives age as an excuse for rewarding or (in this case) not rewarding someone, anyone in any field. Not only are you putting down their hard work, but you are dismissing any young person who does win an accolade when competing in a pool of various ages.
My name is Darcy and I am a writer.
I work my damn ass off for the privilege of being able to say those words. Someday I’m going to make it. Not from favors or handouts or because ‘she’s so good for her age,’ but from grit and determination! Would you care to kiss my twenty-two year old ass when I get there?
Happy Monday! No #Muses today, but some lovely pictures are coming this way.
News on the writing front~! I was lucky enough to win a first chapter critique over at The Knight Agency’s blog. Really, lucky. It was the luck of the draw type thing, no skill involved on my part except being a frog on the windshield of the blog world and commenting. BUT I am very excited. The Knight Agency is just… amazing. When I think about them, Hogwarts’ theme music starts playing in my head and I get all glossy eyed like I’m dreaming about getting my acceptance letter from an owl.
More news! I am four chapters away from finishing the rough draft on my current WIP. SHOCKED?! Me too. I don’t know if I’m going to quite make my deadline by finishing it by the end of this week, but I’ll be pretty damn close.
Oh, and Christmas! Christmas was awesome. I hope everyone else had a relaxing, joyful holiday. I certainly did… and my mom only succeeded in bringing it down a wee bit by saying that it was probably the last peaceful one we’d have in a long, long time… or ever. Thanks Mom.
For the record, I think I’d be a Hufflepuff. A really bitchy Hufflepuff. +cackles+
There isn’t enough caffeine in the world that can make me as awake, alive, and chipper as the bright orange autumn trees outside my window. But that isn’t going to stop me from trying to slurp down enough coffee to be awake enough to work. Glub glub glub sluuuuurp~!
Ahem, anyway. I have a lit paper due Friday and an article for Carolina Romace Writer’s newsletter (my local chapter, muah~!) to finish. Then all next week is going to be devoted to yard work, grandmother’s house for conversation and Indian cuisine, more yard work, more paper writing, and…. oh, yard work. So much fun, I know!
Oh a brighter note, I just pre-ordered Island of Icarus by Christina Danse. M/M Steampunk! I can’t wait. I guess I’ll have to make due with the eye candy cover. >(*.*)> Check it out here.
Off to be all literary and shit~!
-Darcy
I don’t get teared up about most things, but I’m about to go through two boxes of books that I packed up when I was eighteen. I tucked them away before I moved out of my parent’s house to Greensboro. Four years later, four very long years later, I’m going through them. I don’t remember half of what’s inside the boxes. It’s kind of like a treasure hunt, but a treasure full of memories. A four year literary time capsule.
Just wanted to share this with fellow book lovers. Alright, opening the first box.
