"And the stars look very different today..."

It was July 28, 2002. I was 20 years old and on summer break between my junior and senior years at James Madison University. I likely spent all of my time figuring out the perfect away message for my AOL instant messenger and playing Snake on my Nokia phone with the Roxy print cover. Also, along with three of my best friends, I had scored a ticket to the Area: Two festival, a show put on by Moby where the line-up included Blue Man Group, Busta Rhymes, and David mutha-freaking Bowie.

We road-tripped from Richmond to Bristow, Va to the Nissan Pavilion, where we cranked Reggie & the Full Effect and called 911 due to a brush fire on the side of 95 North. On the way, we discussed how we'd heard this rumor that he wasn't playing the classics anymore, and we desperately hoped this wasn't true. We all had songs we wanted to hear: Sherry hoped for a Ziggy Stardust (a song we all loved thanks to our time as fans of the X-Ray Dudes), Becky wanted a rendition of China Girl, and Amanda clearly longed for Let's Dance. As for me, I couldn't think of one song I absolutely felt I had to hear; more than anything, I just wanted to see the man in person, in all his glory.

So we arrived. We found our seats. We watched Busta Rhymes completely lose his shiz. We crossed our fingers that Bowie would go on before Moby so we didn't have to sit through his set. And finally, as the sun set off in the distance, we got our wish.

Years before this, my brother played Life on Mars? for me, and it changed my life. I dubbed it "the perfect song" because I feel that every note, every chord, every piece of it is perfectly placed. It doesn't progress the way you think it will. It goes beyond the scope of what I knew to be music-- to me, this transcended into pure artistry.

Back in 2002, the set began. I heard the opening chords to Life on Mars?, and I stood up without thinking. That beautiful man walked out on stage and began to sing, and I sang along too, knowing that I was witnessing something I would never see again-- the perfect song, pure artistry, live and in person. I was in the presence of a legend, and he was just killing it. This was the song I wanted to hear, only he knew it when I didn't. I couldn't stop smiling.

We all got our wish that night. He played all kinds of classics, plus all kinds of new songs from his then-just released album Heathen. Becky cried when we heard China Girl. We danced with the girls around us when Bowie played a stripped-down version of Let's Dance. And we all sang along to Ziggy and the Spiders from Mars.

We left that night feeling invincible, the way you can when you know you've seen something amazing, when you're 20 and the world is wide and open and the rest of your life lies ahead. I still remember so many details of that night like it was yesterday-- Bowie on the big screen, singing along to "Dwarf Invasion" on the drive up, the four of us running out of the amphitheater before Moby started with the chorus, "Nobody listens to techno, now let's go."

And now I am heartbroken. My brother eulogized that, to us, Bowie was like a family member, a distant uncle you've only heard tall tales about, who has an incredible record collection who really only exists in stories of legend. That's so true for me too. I cried myself back to sleep this morning when I read the news, knowing that this Earth wouldn't be the same when I woke up.

I've included a video of Life on Mars? below, recorded live in 2002 around the time I would have seen him. It's the best way I can think to honor this brilliant, unique, otherworldly, talented, remarkable man.

The Last Few Weeks aka The Birth of the Twinkies

This is the true story of what I've been through over the past few weeks. I know there have been a lot of curious folks, and I don't blame you at all. I did sort of disappear without warning, but to be fair, I didn't have much warning myself. So, grab yourself a snack, sit back, and listen to the story of how I owe everything to modern medicine and yet never want to be admitted to a hospital again in my entire life. Ever. I'll be adding some gifs to keep you scrolling.

j/k this story is like the story of my LIFE

On March 19, Jack and I went to our regularly scheduled appointment with the high-risk doctor at Inova Alexandria Hospital. I'd been seeing them for months because I have chronic hypertension (but I would have seen them anyway due to the fact that I was pregnant with twins). I was nervous for the appointment because a few weeks prior, we found out the babies weren't growing as fast as they should, which meant they would likely be born early. I'd changed my diet and been crazy about checking my blood pressure, and I was hoping for good news.

Instead, I found that my blood pressure had skyrocketed seemingly overnight, and the babies were still too small. They sent us upstairs to triage for monitoring. It all happened very quickly, but I still wasn't too scared. I thought I might end up on hospital bed rest for a while, which wasn't the best news of all time, but better than anything else I could think of.

Spoiler alert: the news wasn't great.

Turns out, I was right. I was diagnosed with preeclampsia. They admitted me to the maternity ward, and they told me to expect to be there until I needed to deliver. The doctors didn't know when that might be, but they were hoping I'd be staying there for weeks. Frankly, that's what I hoped too. I would be more than happy to use them as a hotel, albeit a strange hotel that fed me okay-ish food and constantly took my vital signs and occasionally slathered my belly in jelly to listen to the twin heartbeats that sounded like wild horses running. I watched princess movies on ABC Family, I brought in clothes from home, and I got ready to settle in for the long haul.

That all changed on Monday, March 23. My liver enzymes tripled overnight, which is the thing the doctors were fearing. After a quick scan of the babies, it was decided that they needed to be delivered via c-section. I was 27 weeks 4 days pregnant. I thought it was too soon. I was terrified. I spent the next few hours crying and worrying.

I joke now, but seriously, lotsa crying.

The first step of the c-section was the magnesium IV drip. The nurse warned me that it would make me feel pretty freaking terrible, especially at the beginning. And it did, believe me. But after the bolus was done, I kept feeling awful. And then, the pain started. Out of nowhere, I had this terrible sharp agonizing pain in my shoulder. I told Jack it felt like a wing or a horn was trying to come out of my shoulder. Looking back, it was honestly the only pain I felt at the hospital that was a 10 on the 1-10 scale. I was especially over it because I was having a c-section, so I felt it was unfair to experience this kind of pain as well!

Finally, they wheeled me in, and it all began. It was strange and bright and somehow both incredibly slow and entirely too fast. Victoria Jane entered the world at 2:43 pm, and her sister Avery Francis followed shortly thereafter at 2:44 pm. I saw them both for a brief moment before they were taken up to the NICU. They weren't officially named for about a week, because I didn't want to name them until I was able to get a good look at them, and my one second, high-on-painkillers moment didn't count.

Why did it take me a week to be able to see my daughters? Well, that's the next part of the story-- the liver part.

Apparently, neither could half of my liver.

I went back to my room to rest and recover while I was still being monitored. My liver enzymes continued to rise. The next day, I got a diagnosis of HELLP syndrome. Honestly, I don't know when I received this diagnosis because no one ever explicitly said it to me. It just happened. My HELLP complication came in the form of a hematoma on my liver-- a 13 cm bleeding gash. This is a very rare complication (I read somewhere that HELLP happens in 2% of pregnancies, and a liver hematoma happens in 1% of those), and it was also the cause of my intense shoulder pain. Something about "referred pain." Suddenly, I became the most well-known patient in the hospital as I met a surgeon, hematologist, nephrologist, infectious disease doctor, and a whole slew of nurses. They wheeled me down to get a CT scan to see how bad the damage was and possibly get a procedure done to stop the bleeding.

The scan showed that the bleeding was isolated to under the cap of the liver? (again, I think, but it was a lot of information all tossed at me while I was on painkillers and entirely confused), but I had the procedure to stop the bleeding. Afterwards, I was taken to ICU instead of back to maternity.

This was possibly the worst part of the entire process.

I definitely needed to be in ICU, but not for as long as I was. After about a day or so, I felt trapped there. I felt like no one listened to me, like no one understood what kind of patient I was. I came from having a c-section, from the maternity ward. They kept treating me like any other ICU patient, and that wasn't the case. There was a constant stream of people coming into my room at any time without warning-- nurses, doctors, hospital administrators. I was being hounded to start using the breast pump to get my breastmilk supply up, but no one would give me the privacy to do it.

Plus, ICU is very loud. The nurses' station is in the middle of all the rooms, and we had sliding doors and curtains, but that didn't keep the sound out. During a shift change, I couldn't sleep because it was so loud. I heard other patients screaming in agony for help, constantly pushing their Call buttons. It was an awful experience. This is what I never want to go through ever again.

There was also a truly agonizing ordeal with another CT scan where my nurses got my bed stuck in an elevator and decided the best plan would be to SHAKE MY BED WITH ME IN IT to get me out. Yes, shake the girl with the excruciating liver pain. Brilliant plan. But I digress.

Get me OUTTA HERE!

Finally, after almost a week, I was transferred out of ICU (but NOT back to maternity/postpartum for some reason) after way too long, and finally finally finally I was able to go see my girls. I was apparently so excited about this that doctors called the NICU to check on me because my heart rate increased so much! They were so small and delicate, but they're my girls and I adore them. They are my fighting warrior ladies, so strong despite their size, and I love to stare at them while they wiggle and wave and live.

I stayed in this new not-postpartum department for a few days, but it wasn't the best place for me either. I was still constantly interrupted by any number of people, and I still couldn't consistently pump. The nurses told me to put up a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door to alert them and others that I was pumping, but many doctors ignored it. One morning, no less than 20 different people came into my room before noon. I had to wear a heart monitor for reasons no one could adequately explain. I still felt very trapped.

Finally, my on-call OB came to check in on me, and she went through all of the things I needed to be concentrating on in order to get discharged-- a whole laundry list of things that I'd been trying to do but couldn't thanks to the constant interruptions-- and I lost it. I had an epic meltdown and laid it all out there for this poor doctor who just happened to be assigned to me that day. At this point, I'd been in the hospital for almost 2 weeks with no end in sight. I was exhausted in every possible sense of the word.

All the shambles. So much shambles.

And she saved the day by getting me transferred to postpartum that very night. It took a few hours, but I felt so much better as soon as I got there. I finally felt like someone understood what I really needed. I started getting stronger, where I would walk up and down the hall (albeit very slowly). I was able to pump without interruption and sleep for hours at a time and get to the NICU with less stress. They worked together with me to try to get me back home rather than keeping me trapped there.

After a few false starts and setbacks, I finally got out of the hospital on Friday, April 3, two weeks and one day after I was admitted. This was my very first hospital stay, and I really hope it is my very last. I never want to go through this ever again. I am very thankful for every doctor and nurse who took care of me, for every person who cleaned my rooms and brought me food. I am grateful that I was in the hospital when I was, so the complications were caught in plenty of time. I am so glad that I am alive to tell this story. However, I never want to go through any of that ever, ever again.

I've been home recovering for a while now. My days are spent resting, pumping, and visiting the girls in the NICU. It's not very exciting, and I have my good days and bad days, but mostly I do my best to stay stress-free and try to "enjoy" this as best I can. Hopefully we will be able to bring our girls home soon (whenever it's best for them, of course) and start the new phase of life as Mom, but until then, I need to take care of me.

And speaking of taking care of me, that guy I married? IS A SAINT. He has been beyond amazing from the moment this all began. I didn't even think it was possible to fall more in love with him, but hot damn, I really did. Even though all of this, I must say I am so, so lucky to have married this man. I'm so glad he wore that Ben Folds Five shirt 15 years ago so I decided to become friends with him. It was definitely the best decision I've ever made.

You and me both, Rach.

So... that's my story. I hope you enjoyed it! If you made it all the way here, you deserve a cookie. Also, if you're reading this and looking to do anything to help us out, you can consider checking out our registries on Babies R Us or Target (which is much smaller and apparently nothing is in stock anymore-- SIGH), OR you could just send a message of encouragement. I'm entirely overwhelmed by the response I've gotten from friends and loved ones during this time, and I often don't feel emotionally equipped to handle it all. I can't believe so many people care about us so much. It's amazing. You're all amazing.

I got some 'splainin to do!

It's time to dust off the ole blog, but it's for good reasons.  Seems I went and got myself into a situation of sorts...

And with this situation comes a lot of joy and a lot of people saying incredibly nice things to me and also a LOT of questions.  I thought this would be the best way to answer the ones I can think of.

Q: ARE YOU SERIOUS?
A: Abso-friggin-lutely.

Q: How far along are you?
A: As of today, almost 13 weeks. My due date is mid-June, but for twins, full-term is 38 weeks. So we shall see!

Q: What did you do when you found out?
A: Well, nothing really? So, I found out around 8 weeks, at my second ultrasound at Shady Grove. They'd only seen one on the first ultrasound 2 weeks prior, so I wasn't expecting any big news. I told the AMAZING Dr. Levens I'd been feeling super zonked-out tired since my last appointment. Then, he and the ultrasound tech went quiet, which isn't something a brand new pregnant lady wants to experience. Right before I shouted, "I AM STILL PREGNANT, RIGHT?", Dr. Levens finally answered. "I see why you've been so tired-- there are two of them!"

Sure enough, clear as day, two little gummy bears were on the screen. I was mostly just shocked more than anything else. I started laughing a little maniacally as I am wont to do in new situations, and I told a story (shocking!) about how I'd made a joke months before about how it'd be easier if I got pregnant with twins so I'd only have to go through this one.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

That was my last appointment at Shady Grove. I "graduated" to my regular OB after that. But that day, I was the talk of the office. Half the staff came by to see the face of the lady with "surprise twinnies!" Said face was beet red for hours, and I had to GO TO WORK after I found out this news. Believe me, it was the weirdest day of work I've ever had.

So, that's my story of surprise twinnies.

Q: Do you know the genders yet?
A: Not yet, and I likely won't until the beginning of  next year. I'll post that when it happens to see if I have a Cather & Wren or a Fred & George or a Brandon & Brenda. HOWEVER...

Q: Are they identical?
A: Nope! They are fraternal. Thus I'm far more likely to have Walshes than Weasleys. (Here's hoping for some gingers, though!) For now, we've been referring to them as "the twinkies" which is a nickname given to them by my father-in-law or, in typical Futurama nerd style, Wingus and Dingus.

Q: Do twins run in your family?
A: In my husband's but that's not how this happened.  I mentioned Shady Grove above here and I wrote a post over at the incredible ladyblog collaboration I've been involved with called "Good Morning Good Morning" where I came clean about some struggles I'd been facing. Full disclosure: I wrote that blog before I found out, but it went live AFTER I already knew I was pregnant. Either way, I didn't feel bad publishing it because it was all true of what I'd been experiencing for the last year or so. If you'd like to know more about that, I'm more than willing to chat about it. In person or over email, though.

Q: Are you excited?
A: SO.

Q: Are you terrified?
A: SO.

Q: Will you name them all J names since you're Jessica and your hubs is Jack?
A: I don't want to go all Duggar-y, but it might happen. All J name recommendations in comments!

Q: How are you feeling?
A: Tired and, depending on the day, a tad barfy. That should go away soon hopefully. I mostly just want to eat all the things but by "all the things" I mean the four foods I find to be delicious and literally nothing else.

Q: Can I send you a ton of presents to show you how much I love you?
A: Always.

Phenomenal Woman

(I wanted to type this out, physically, piece by piece, so that the words would sink into my skin and my soul would absorb them.  Perhaps you need that experience as well, so I pass this on to you.  Thank you for your soul-absorbent words, Dr. Angelou. The world will miss you.)

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
The palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

20 Ways To Piss People Off in 1999

Look at this treasure of a gif I found today!!

forever lololololol

So, while on vacation last week (oh, I went on a two week vacation to Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco, and I hope to blog about it soon, but that's another story for another entry)... what, where was I?

Oh, right.

While on vacation last week, I was thinking about some old saved emails I have in my Yahoo email account, which I've had since... the late 90s? I think? Man, old lady is old.  Anyway, yesterday, I decided to take a little sneak peek into the email archive to see if I had any beauties.  And boy howdy, did I!

Today, I would like to share with you an email I received from one Ambuler81 on July 28, 1999, entitled, "20 Ways to Piss People Off."  Of course, I had to share this with Ambuler herself, which I assume made her day.  After many requests to share the entire list, I find myself here today.  If you're having a bad day, please see the list below.  I hope this makes you smile.  If it doesn't, look at the gif at the top of this post again.  I will never stop laughing at it.

Right... to the list!

1. Go to the library. About every 15 minutes, walk up to the same guy and joke, "Working hard, or hardly working?"

2. At the dentist, start screaming as soon as you open your mouth.

3. Stand in front of the T.V. when your dad is watching a big game.

4. Every 30 minutes or so, call your friend who is baby-sitting and breathe into the phone.

5. Whenever someone asks you a question, say, "What?" as soon as they start to ask again cut them off with another "What?"

6. When someone asks to borrow paper, say, "Do you think paper grows on trees?" Then laugh hysterically.

7. Send e-mails to your friends with subjects reading "You'll never believe this!!!!!" Then leave the inside blank.

8. Put garlic powder inside the shower head in the bathroom (of course after you have taken a shower first).

9. Break into your fave celeb's house, wear their clothes and wait patiently to be arrested.

10. Fill your mouth with crackers at the table and talk to everyone.

11. Go to McDonalds and order lobster. After they explain they don't have it, storm out shouting, "I should have gone to Wendy's!!!!"

12. Tell a friend they have something on the face when they don't. Keep telling them to wipe harder.

13. When the lights go out at the movies, make barfing noises.

14. While on vacation with your family, suddenly scream, "Did someone remember to unplug the iron!?!?! "

15. Make up a joke that takes 10 minutes to tell and has no punchline.

16. When answering the phone say, "Yellow?"

17. Go to the store and buy a lot of things, only use all pennies to pay with.

18. Keep asking people at the bus stop "Cold enough for ya?" every couple of minutes.

19. While someone is taking a shower, steal their towel.

20. Speak with a fake British accent all day.

thx for the lols, past amber

"Roll again-- don't be stupid."

This weekend, we hosted my in-laws, as we usually do around this time of year.  I always love spending time with them, and this time was no exception.  We explored the National Building Museum, ate our collective weight in chicken taco soup and banana pudding, and agreed that when someone asks if you're a god, you say yes.

As is our tradition, we also gathered around the dining room table for a rousing game-- this year, we decided to go with Skip-Bo.  Brother-in-law won by leaps and bounds, for which we are equal parts proud and envious.  See, we are a very competitive lot, and while we love one another, we also love to school one another in any way possible.  These games get very intense, and there are often "disagreements" that result in threats of divorce.  Everyone has their own strategy, and no one should ever question it.  In fact, the only thing we agree on comes from Trivial Pursuit: when given a choice between a Roll Again or a Question space, you always "roll again-- don't be stupid."  It can be said in one quick exhale to speed the game along; it can be shouted at your teammate when they try to move your pie in the wrong direction; it is usually declared in unison by all six of us while raising our glasses in the air.  It's not much, but it's all we got.

I bring up games with the in-laws because of an interesting conversation I had with my father-in-law. After dinner, while we were avoiding clean-up, FIL asked me a question that usually sends me into a mental panic.

"So Jess, with all of your reviews and writer friends and such, when are you going to write us a book?"

That is a good question, FIL.

Anyone who's ever told loved ones about their passion for writing has heard this question, and those folks know there were many ways I could have answered.  I could say that writing doesn't interest me.  I could tell him that I don't have any ideas for a good story.  I could change the subject to something, anything, else.  However, I'm going through my own personal things right now, and I don't have room in my head or heart to be anything other than honest.

So, I tell him the truth.  I tell him that writing and completing a novel is ultimately my goal.  I tell him I have story ideas that I need to get out of my head and onto paper.  I talk about my writer friends and how they've been so helpful just by asking me about my progress and keeping me honest.  I even break bad on myself and tell him how much I find myself to be my own worst enemy.  "I'm so full of excuses," I say. "I just need to shut up and write."  He mentions NaNoWriMo (which I tried in 2012), and I tell him the story of how my brain turned to mushy goo when I tried NaNo, how I hid myself away that year while spending Thanksgiving with them to try and write, but it didn't work.  I shrug and say, "It can get a little daunting and scary."

He nods, and with a knowing smile, he says, "Well, roll again-- don't be stupid."

Maybe it's just been so long since I've blogged that I found inspiration in a silly place.  Maybe I need a little more sleep and a little less banana pudding.  Or maybe, just maybe, I should take a breath, believe in my own words, and push past the doubtful demons that live in my psyche.  Roll again, Jess.  Don't be stupid.

In Which I Drop Some Honesty, With Gifs

This is going to be one of those "honest" posts.  I'll inter-cut it with gifs to keep you reading.

it's feelings singing time.

I'm sure this comes as absolutely no surprise to the scores of people who read this blog (Hi Amber!), but I've been feeling very uninspired lately.  Call it a rut, though it's been lasting a long, long time.  I've even started a few posts-- one about the amazing Postal Service concert I went to last month that I accidentally referred to as a Rilo Kiley concert because I was so into seeing Jenny Lewis, one about books I've read that I was excited about, one about Book Expo America 2013 where there were no star penises but there were tons of laughs and excellent books-- but I've finished exactly none of them.  With the Postal Service one, I was mentally writing it the entire way back home from Merriwether Post Pavilion, thinking about how excited I was to get it all down and how it would be fun to blog again, and then I came home, opened the laptop, and... nothing.  The excitement, the words, the fire-- they all drained out of me in an instant.

much like Dean's coffee

This rutful feeling doesn't just cover my personal blog life.  I haven't written a review for WPP in about a month, despite the fact that I have read some books worth reviewing (in case you're curious, Winger by Andrew Smith and the upcoming Fire With Fire by Richmond native and general awesome lady Jenny Han and her bestie and general awesome lady Siobhan Vivian).  I didn't notice it until I went to update my spreadsheet of Books Read in 2013 yesterday (yes I have a spreadsheet you shut your mouth), and this is the first time I've finished a book since June 19 (thank you, audiobook for Outlander).  I've started a bunch, but they're all in limbo.  That's very rare for me, especially the me of the past few years.

this is how i usually feel about books

Part of it, I know, is burnout.  Writing reviews is hard, y'all.  Especially now, because I know what I like, and I'm growing increasingly tired of reading books that don't compel me.  Being a reviewer means that sometimes you have to slog through a story that you do not care about in the slightest.  I could mark it as DNF (that's Did Not Finish for you folks playing at home), but I really, really hate doing that.  I don't judge someone for it, but I want to finish what I start.  So, when I start a new YA book, and I'm immediately smacked in the face by 14 of the same tropes I've seen in the last 50 books I've read, I just can't imagine going on any further.  I don't want to.

presented w/o comment

There are exceptions to the above.  I've been "reading" this one book since I took the train home from BEA.  It's a short book, and I could've easily finished it on the train, but I reached a certain point where I knew the story was going to break me up inside, so I put it down to finish at a later date.  Now, it sits on my dresser, staring at me, willing me to finish, and I'm too scared and/or sad to find out what happens.  What even is that about?

what IS up, j.law?

I've also been trying to write more since I got back from BEA.  Hanging with the authorly types (especially the talented, passionate, creative authorly types who happen to be my friends) showed me that this is what I want to do.  I want to tell the stories I've carried around for so, so long.  I want to get them out of me and on paper and into the world.  But it's the same as the blog thing.  In fact, just yesterday as I walked home from the metro, I started hearing snippets of conversation in my head, and I knew which characters were speaking.  I couldn't wait to get home and get this out, let these two characters share this nonsensical conversation and reconnect.  However, I get home, complete my Getting Home routine, and when I finally sit down, I actually fall asleep.  I could have picked the story up at any point in the evening, with more than enough happy wishes from Hubs (and begrudging shrugs from the Mutt Who Really Just Wants Belly-Rubs), but instead?  I watch super mindless TV and then catch up on other less mindless TV.  Granted, I was spending time with Hubs and Mutt, which is always a blessing and happy-making time for me, but then I start thinking... How badly do I actually want this?  Not bad enough to look away from Exes Wipeout, apparently.

Okay, so this is a lot more honest than I intended, but it's already out so it's staying.

ugh, the accuracy.

My point is, I'm in a rut.  I'm doing my best to break out of it, but it's like my brain is floating in molasses.  It's like I'm caught in suspension, but not in the good way that it sounds like in the Mae song.  I'm just here.  And I don't know how to do anything more than exist right now.  It's got to be me that breaks out of this cycle, but I don't know how to do it.

I'm not asking for your sympathy, and, unless the advice is something magical, I'm not asking for that either. I'm simply stating my facts right now as I see them.  Frankly, it feels kinda good to get them out of me.  Maybe this is what I needed all along, to get these negative nellie vibes out of my brain so that space can be taken up by, like, more song lyrics or, you know, PLOT FOR A BOOK I SHOULD BE WRITING.  I know what I need to do to break free of this, but (and this will be the dumbest thing I've ever said) it's hard to do the hard thing.  But that's what I need to do.  Here's hoping I stop being scared and just freaking DO IT already.

asking life's important question

Anyway, thanks for reading, if you're all the way here.  You right there?  You're my favorite.