The Proper Capitalization of Titles.

Sometimes I get hung up on ridiculous things.

As an exercise, let’s try to turn that sentence into a properly capitalized title:

Sometimes I Get Hung Up on Ridiculous Things

‘Sometimes’ is capitalized because it’s the first word as well an adverb. ‘I’ is a proper noun. ‘Get’ is a verb and ‘hung up’ is acting as an adjective describing ‘I.’ ‘Ridiculous’ is an adjective, ‘things’ is a noun, and that just leaves ‘on’ which is not capitalized because it is just a plain old preposition consisting of only two letters.

So, did you catch that? Sometimes I get hung up on ridiculous things.

As in, I miss the point of life because I’m busy googling proper capitalization rules.

I’ve been trying to write a novel for about 6 months. But let’s really focus on how many dresses I own. For what occasions are my dresses appropriate? CAN THEY BE BELTED OR CAN THEY NOT BE BELTED?

Who cares, I ask you, Self? I would really like to be wearing a dress to my first book-signing one day, but let’s cross that little bridge when we come to it, yes? I’m pretty sure dresses will still be sold in 2085, or whenever you finally get your ass in gear. By then, you’ll be a great-grandmother who wears floral nighties to every occasion because she doesn’t give a shit about your new-fangled fashions, so problem solved. (Can a floral nighty be belted? I say yes. But Great-Grandma? She doesn’t care.)

I need to stop distracting myself from important things with unimportant things that I will literally kick myself for in years to come. I’ll look back and want to punch myself for EVER thinking it was a good idea to watch every episode of an idiotic-yet-addicting show like Nashville. Seriously. Those hours could’ve been invested in online shopping reading blogs writing. Or, I don’t know, exercising – so I can spend my great-grandmotherly years being active and showing off those floral nighties all over town.

Flash those veiny legs, Grandma!

That’s off-topic. (But fun!)

Anyways, here’s to a little bit more focus and a little less frenzied obsession over ridiculous things. My mental life could use some paring down and some direction – I already have an idea of what that will look like, but it’ll take some quiet time with some lists to really get things going.

Well. That Was Monday.

I’m pleased to report that with minimal resolve and maximum procrastination, I managed to survive the first day of this dreaded week.

I am procrastinating even now – putting off the reasonable bedtime that will allow me to wake at an unreasonable hour to accomplish the things.

I don’t want to go to bed because I don’t want it to be tomorrow, because tomorrow is the day of reckoning for all procrastination heretofore.

Is that an appropriate use of the word heretofore?

Is that even how you spell it?

I don’t know, I’m busy.

Still striving for balance. Smiled a lot more than I thought I would, though. Check!

 

 

Get Away.

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It’s good to get away every now and then.

Sometimes I get away in my mind – by reading, reflecting, or retreating. I may rely on my imagination or the imagination of others to transport me to another place, maybe even another time.

But there are those rare moments when I actually get away, and they are so refreshing. It doesn’t need to be far. It’s just the act of letting go, of leaving. It’s a reminder that the world is bigger than my little corner, that no mountain of possessions is so great that it can’t be left behind, and that no amount of stress is so pressing that it need consume my every thought.

We can’t get away all the time, nor should we. Sometimes we can’t get away at all. But we can get away sometimes.

Here’s to the now-and-then.

Plans.

I have a lot of plans, people. Big plans, little plans. You name it. I got it.

Here I have kindly compiled for you A Completely Random Selection of Some of My Plans in No Particular Order:

(Lucky. Lucky. You.)

1. Write stuff. Doesn’t have to be good stuff. Just some stuff on a page.

2. Scratch that last part. Write BEST STUFF EVER.

3. Live a humble existence.

4. HAHAHAHA, NO. Be incredibly famous.

5. Learn to play a drum. Notice that I did not say ‘drums.’ Just one is fine. I’m only human, people.

6. Play my drum somewhere where other people can see and hear me playing it. This does not sound scary to you but that is because you are a normal person who does not begin to sweat from every single pore of your body whenever more than one person’s attention is directed at you. Evidence of my fear of the public: I have been writing this blog for two full months and have literally given NO ONE the url as of this post.

7. Maybe I’m adding overcome self-consciousness to my list of plans right now because #6 made me self-conscious about how self-conscious I am.

8.  😥

Ok, enough of this. It’s turning into a tail-spin. #8 wasn’t even a plan, it was just an emoticon.

If you’re wanting me to explain the point of all this, you’re about to be very disappointed.

Got Anxiety? Get in Line.

The other day at work I was in a meeting and was having a bit of trouble catching my breath. You know, just your average ‘we’re talking about site stats, no time for breathing’ sort of thing. My coworker asked me if I was okay and I said ‘gaspyesIthinksogasp’ (dramatization) and then he casually asked me if I was having a panic attack while flipping through his meeting notes.

Not like, OMG Are You Having A Panic Attack?

Just an offhanded nice weather we’re having, can I get you a paper bag to breathe into?

It was surreal. Because, partly, I was like YES I THINK I AM. But I said, no it’s probably just asthma. Not really sure I have asthma but it sounds convincing and work appropriate. I’ll take an inhaler over a paper bag in a meeting any day.

About 3 weeks ago I was 100% convinced that I had congestive heart failure. Because, hello, I can’t breathe well sometimes for days at a time. My doctor very kindly pretended to consider that this was a possibility and not merely the mental wanderings of a deranged hypochondriac,and gave me a very sweet speech about how that is 100% impossible but hey, great thought coughwhere’dyoupickthatupWebMD?cough.

Not a great thought though, actually, because it turns out that thinking you have congestive heart failure? Makes it kind of hard to breathe.

Because maybe it gets you a little anxious.

Because maybe you sometimes get a little panicky about things.

Because maybe you’re just like everyone else with the anxiety problem they can’t wait to talk about.

Except it’s not like it sounds. It’s not like I’m sitting here stressing about things and I’m so sensitive and then, boom, anxiety. Small things that don’t even matter to me very much will cause me to break into a sweat all over my body and I’ll flash so hot I can’t stand to wear clothes. But I do, because what gives me more anxiety than seeing my own pale legs?

It’s almost like an allergy. My body has been responding to regular life as if it’s earth-shattering catastrophe, kind of the same way my respiratory system responds to a cat hair as if it is an injection of Plague.

I am talking about it here just because it’s been a difficult thing for me lately, made more difficult by the fact that I hate tossing around the word anxiety the way people do, like it’s a beach ball. It’s not a beach ball, it’s an anvil. And when it hits your chest you feel like you might never be able to breathe again.

Re-Reading.

PerilI like to re-read books. Not all of them. Some books I can’t wait to finish because I’m only reading them to find out what happens and then I’ll discard them from my life and never think about them again.

But some books are like comfort food for my brain. I go back to them again and again and they make me feel cozy and take my mind off of things I should probably think about but don’t want to.

I owe so many happy hours to books. Thank you, books.

When I write one of my own, the dedication will be: ‘To Books.’

 

Hello, My Former Self.

I just read through some things I wrote in college and I kind of liked them. And I kind of like the person who wrote them.

I mean, I realize that person was me but she feels very different from the me I know now. She seems more confident that people will find her thoughts interesting. Or maybe it’s just that she finds her own thoughts pretty interesting. She’s a little more artless, a little more naive and yet a little more reflective.

She seems younger. And that makes sense because, well, she was. And she seems like she had more time to think. Or gave herself more time to think. Or thought more.

And questioned herself less.

I can tell that the me who wrote those things was in the midst of a lot of learning. She was learning who she is, defining herself and the world around her. She was absorbing so much, with heart and eyes wide open.

I hope that I am a person my former self would like to know if she read the things I have written, but I’m not feeling so sure about that.

And something tells me that means it’s time for a change.

How I Am the Best.

Having the dishwasher and the dryer going at the same time makes me feel like an incredibly competent, get-things-done sort of person.

I’m drying clothes, washing dishes, and typing a blog post. Right now. Be amazed.

On the other hand, I just had yet another birthday  and still have not written a novel. Or a short story. Or  thank you cards for last year’s Christmas gifts.

I had a motto for a while. It was ‘Great by 28!!!’ With three exclamation points because YAY I believe in me!!!

So did I make it? I don’t know.

I mean I’m drying clothes and washing dishes at the same time today so I feel like, yeah. Maybe I made it.

 

The Case Of The Midnight Vigilante.

I thought I saw his lights go on.

“Oh my god am I being pulled over?”

Deja vu to last month when I got pulled over for making an illegal left turn that everyone makes but I’m the sucker who gets pulled over for it. Of course. And without my license on me or current registration to boot. Oh, and did I mention I was raging drunk as well? I wasn’t, but wouldn’t that have been hilarious.

I make my way over to the side of the road. As I approach the middle lane, his lights turn on. He proceeds to pull me over about half a minute after I perceive him to be pulling me over.

Did I, in fact, just pull myself over? I did? Oh, good. I’ve spent all my life wondering if, secretly, I might be genius. Now that I’ve been relieved of that burden, I can move on to other things like learning how to walk and chew gum. You know. At the same time.

I sit patiently, waiting for him to discover that YES even though a month has passed since my last run-in with the law, my car is still not registered in the great state of California. I’m sorry I have more important things to do with my life than get my car smogged, DMV. Did I mention the thing about learning to walk and chew gum? It takes time.

“License and registration?”

“…About that…” [Lengthy explanation.] “Oh, and why exactly did you pull me over?”

“Well…you were acting like I should pull you over.”

Oh you mean because I pulled myself over? I can see how that might give one a certain impression of things.

$200 in ticket fines later, my car is finally registered. Learning lessons the hard way is my specialty.

Oh, and side note: I left out the part where his first answer was “Because I’m a cop” because, well, that just makes him look bad. And this story is not about how douchey law enforcement can be. This story is about you being jealous of how smart I am.

Good job, me!