Janbalaya

A Southern Girl Trying to Make a Difference in Sin City

1. Type in “[your name] needs” in the Google search:
Jan needs 7 millimeters of a 55% solution.
Reaction: Math makes my brain hurt.

2. Type in “[your name] wants” in the Google search:
Jan wants to buy 3 yards of fabric at $3.58 per yard for a blouse.
Reaction: I don’t sew.

3. Type in “[your name] is” in the Google search:
Jan is a talented teacher.
Reaction: I would like to think so.

4. Type in “[your name] looks like” in Google search:
Jan looks like the crypt keeper.
Reaction:  I beg your pardon.

5. Type in “[your name] does” in Google search:
Jan does 2015.
Reaction: For a few more weeks.  Heh.

6. Type in “[your name] likes” in the Google search:
Jan Likes is on Facebook.
Reaction: That’s a weird last name.

7. Type in “[your name] hates” in Google search:
Jan Hates Herself 
Reaction: This makes me sad … especially since she hasn’t posted since 2013.

8. Type in “[your name] goes” or “..has gone” in Google search:
Jan Goes Obituary
Reaction: Morbid.

9. Type in “[your name] loves” in Google search:
Jan loves to craft
Reaction: I do … so many ideas, so little time.

10. Type in “[your name] says” in the Google search
Jane Says
Reaction: I might not love that Google autocorrected to Jane (rolls eyes), but Jane’s Addiction is still awesome.

11. Type in “[your name] eats” in Google search:
Jan Eats Shit.
Reaction: That would totally be me if I attempted to do anything in snow.

12. Type in “[your name] has” in Google search:
Jan has 35 teaspoons of chocolate.
Reaction: I’m making a crapton of hot cocoa.

13. Type in “[your name] makes” in Google search:
Jan makes a drink.
Reaction: Duh.

14. Type in “[your name] can” in the Google search:
Jan can cook.
Reaction: All Southern girls can.

15. Type in “[your name] will” in Google search:
Jan will you be my girlfriend
Reaction: George Clooney, is that you?

I did not always do it.  I do not know when it started.  I will never understand why I do it, but I want to change it desperately.

I put the “pro” in procrastination.

I found this post in my “drafts” with the last save date as 1/5/15.

The good news is that I do not procrastinate as much as I once did.  (I have posts months and years older than this one in my drafts.)

I will admit that while writing finishing this post I caught myself attempting to save it until another time and mumbled “No, don’t quit.”

Yes, procrastination is a terrible habit … the thief of time … and thousands of other cliches, but it is not going to take this post away from you today.  I am focusing on the ways I can making writing a daily habit … at least for the month of November.

somethingstaketime

Yes, I have always watched entirely too much television. These are the female characters I identify with most strongly. Can you determine why?

  1. Karen Walker
  2. Laura Ingalls
  3. Peggy Bundy
  4. Mellie Grant
  5. Suzanne Sugarbaker
  6. Olivia Benson
  7. Reva Shayne
  8. Dorothy Zbornak
  9. Patsy Stone
  10. Lucy Ricardo
  11. Mary Richards
  12. Penelope Garcia
  13. Sue Sylvester

A few weeks ago I was on the phone with my dad. I had called to talk to my mom, but I could tell he just was not his usual self when he actually wanted to talk.  With an audible ache in his voice he said, “All my friends are dying.”  That simple sentence has resonated with me since he uttered it.  At the time, I jokingly said, “It’s the circle of life, Dad.  Your time will come, but not until you are at least 100.”  However, I know that my parents will not be here forever.

My dad is 77, and my mom is 72.  My dad is a cancer survivor; he’s been in remission for over five years now after an aggressive treatment for multiple myeloma.  All things considered, he was very active and healthy both before and after his diagnosis.  My mom is a lifelong smoker; seriously, she’s often bragged about smoking since she was 12.  60 years of this deadly chemical addiction has left her with COPD, emphysema, heart issues, and who knows what else.  She leads a sedentary lifestyle, and I worry about her daily.  We have all begged her to quit countless times over the years. She is a stubborn old Southern woman, and I do not foresee it ever happening.  This saddens me profusely.

Today it was my mom I talked to on the phone.  She just called “to let you know that Mr. R died.” Mr. R was a lifelong friend of both my parents.  He was an educator for over 30 years and recently resigned as the mayor of my hometown.  As most with his affliction, he was already in stage 4 of pancreatic cancer when he was diagnosed.  He had some treatment to lengthen his time, but he knew the odds were not in his favor.  He, too, was a lifelong smoker.  My mom and he used to cut class to smoke. After his diagnosis, my parents visited him often.  My mom said goodbye to him on Friday, as hospice indicated it was time.  When my mom called today, she stated that he picked up smoking again a few months ago because he said, “What the hell? I am dying anyway.” She went on to describe his quality of life the past few weeks, and trust me when I said that it was far from exceeding standards.  I bit my tongue and listened.  I waited for her to say, “All my friends are dying, and I want to live just a little longer.” She did not, nor did she say that she was going to “quit for real this time.”  I actually heard her light up a cigarette while we were talking.

I resisted the urge to ask her “Don’t you ever want something more?” In the end, I choked up and responded, “I’m sorry he is gone. At least he is not in pain anymore. He will be missed.”  What else do you tell your parents when all their friends are dying?  I really wish I knew the answer.

“Write without pay until somebody offers to pay.” Mark Twain

I have been writing for my own amusement for most of my life, yet I want to be a published author someday.  I am often in a conundrum of keeping my “relative” anonymity over revealing my true identity.  Then I fall of the word wagon for months at a time. I wake up one day, read something brilliant that someone else has written, and ask myself the inevitable question.  Oh, you know the one all “closeted” writers ask themselves.

WHY AM I HIDING MY WRITING TALENT?  Fear of failure and/or losing my real world job.  

Okay, I know that is an excuse.  Writing is and always has been extremely important to me, and I have to find a way instead of making excuses.  With that said, I am joining one of my cults of insanity again because many moons ago it served me well.  I am also going to unearth all those archived posts I have labeled as “private” and entombed in the recesses of this blog.

The proverbial writing is on the wall.  And now, it is on this blog as well.  Hello there.  Sit and stay awhile.  Welcome.  Nice to see you.  I’m glad you are here.

wall bench

Alternately Titled: Just Because You Are Twenty-Two Does Not Mean You Do Not Deserve A Good Old Fashioned Passionate Ass Whoopin’

I am infinitely disappointed in the way you handled yourself today. Neither your father nor I have ever called you a failure. We only want you to maximize your full potential, and we do not believe you are doing that. Keeping secrets, telling lies, and avoiding us are not helping us to support you. We believe in you and know that you are capable of anything and everything you set your heart and mind to do. In the future, you need to taste your words before you spit them out. Once your thoughts are said, they can only be forgiven not forgotten.

Things I want to punch in the face today:

1. My uterus … Although I am confident it staged a coup d’état and is already retreating out of my body.

2. My husband …

Me: I want some ice cream.

Him: I cooked supper, and I’m not going out.

Me (moaning):  Please.

Him (looking in freezer): Do you want the rest of my Cherry Garcia?

Me: You know that’s not my favorite.

Him (still looking in the freezer): You want some Frosty Paws?

Should I kill him now or later?