I’m so tired

This is killing me. I’m gearing up for Nanowrimo and with every second that the clock counts down I fall nearer to falling into a comatose sleep. It’s not that waiting is boring, Lord knows there are a million things I could be doing. It’s this darn disorder — it’s pulling the stuffing out of me. I might as well be a scarecrow, working as hard as I can without moving a muscle, because I haven’t a single one.

If I only had some energy, a brain, a heart. No, really, if I only had some energy. It’s sad when caffeine has as much energy boosting effect as a glass of tepid, filtered, purified tap water. I don’t know how I’ll nanowrimo — hopefully, embarking on a lunatic mission with 90,000 maniacs will do for me what coffee cannot.

On the brink of NANOWRIMO

I’m working on clearing my desk, my calendar, and my mind. The first is the easiest, followed by the calendar, and for some reason, my mind  is reluctant to empty.  Perhaps it’s afraid come Thursday I’ll have nothing to say.  At this point a brain dump will contribute an easy 50,000 words.

There’s nothing left to do now but write. With my just completed novel in a neat stack, ready for revision “breaks”, and my calendar pared to only the essential, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let the bell toll, and the time arrive, my pencils are all sharpened and my computer battery charged.

I’m burning up

We all know women experience hot flashes, but what about men? My step-father used to sweat profusely while eating. I never understood it, except that chewing or digesting or something just caused him to become overheated.

I, on the other hand, have always maintained a tendency toward freezing and the chills. That is until recently. The last few days I’ve been on fire. Since my immune system has been out of order for the last 8 months, I just assumed my temperature gauge went haywire along with my white blood cells and joint fascia. Or, it’s a physiological empathy with my old communities and friends who live in southern California.

Really, my point is that body heat is a wild thing — especially when it doesn’t work. Men and women all seem to know the experience of being a furnace on high. Maybe, we are all much closer to self-combustion, which was it seemed a fairly frequent occurrence when I was growing up, than we know.

Another Sunday

I love Sundays. Even when I feel like trampled dirt, still, I love a Sunday in fall. The breeze blows brilliant yellow leaves across the sky, onto my deck, around my garden; the wind colors my life with happiness. The cats get lazy in the sun, and Kathy hums while gardening. My disability prevents me from spending too much time doing anything, but that brief hour I spent standing, picking a tomato or two, watching the clouds of October pass overhead — well, it was a wonderful hour.  I had a great day today, I love Sunday.

Chemical fatigue

My immune system has gone berserk. I don’t know why, except that maybe four surgeries in two years had something to do with it. I can tell you though, biochemical fatigue is debilitating. One can’t do anything to recover from this relentless exhaustion — can’t sleep, or drink caffiene or do anything to ease the weakness and lethargy that diminishes the energetic output of every cell.

I’m suffering right now. Accomplishing even the smallest of things feels like a great victory. So I’m patting myself on the back for this blog entry, as boring and uninteresting as it is.

Cold in my bones

I’m having a horrible day. My shoulder aches in one of those “you can’t touch it” ways, and when I position my shoulder to ease the pain, my spine is compressed and feels like it’s been crushed by a steamroller. There’s no good position, or activity or inactivity for me to do to find relief. Essentially, there is no relief.

I’ve been feeling relatively good, so I’m not sure why the pain is so intense today. This flare up despite the same old regiment of pain relievers. Perhaps I was holding off the pain so I could finish the book. That being done I’m now in a world of hurt. So much so that cliches are all I can write.

To top it all off, all I can think to say is that I’m trying to get all my ducks in a row before NANOWRIMO. If this isn’t the most pathetic blog posting ever.

Oh well, tomorrow is another day. : )

The finish line

It’s done. The first draft of my second novel is now complete. Well, it has a last line, at least. This, and remember I’ve only written two, novel ends with an ellipse. My agent or editor will probably make me change that…but I think, in this case, it works.

I know it’s tacky, overdone, it points to a writer who just doesn’t know how to finish a story. And, maybe that’s all true. However, it also speaks to the newness and every changing present. At least that’s why I ended the book that way. A group of teenagers were meditating and then celebrating, and laughing, and experiencing joy in this moment, and this, and this… you get the idea.

I can finish it, if that’s what you really want. But, I like, that for at least a moment or two, it ends like this…

Fires raging

Fire, flood, famine — global warming appears to be a biblical threat to the plant’s future. We have so many bad habits to break — I myself am continuously stunned by the amount of electricity being consumed by quiet appliances. You know, the thermostat — it used to be a mechanical device — the microwave with the never used clock — and, all the devices ready to be turned on by remote.

My house is overrun by clocks I don’t ever use. Gregory Kramer, a meditation teacher, stayed at my house once and he synchronized all my clocks, because they all seemed to keep their own time. The thing is, without being aware, I knew exactly how incorrect each time piece was. I was late almost every meeting for weeks after my clocks were corrected.

I want them all to be turned off, to stop drawing energy from the diminishing reserves of power. I’ll wear a watch, a perpetual motion watch, one where you exercise your wrist to produce energy. We’d save only a teaspoon if we got rid of all these idle unused clocks, but, let’s face it, we have to do something.  The planet is going to solve the problem if we don’t. And the planets solution may be to get rid of the inconsiderate, self-centered human race, opting for a planet of beings who know how to live in balance with all of life.

The climactic scene

It’s the most difficult one to write. The chapter where all the suspense, that’s been building for over 100 pages comes to a head. I’m wrung out at the end, spent, exhausted. There’s still more to do, I just need a day or so to recover. I usually have to write the chapter short and bare bones, just to get through it. I’ll expand on revision. Even so, I’m still spent at the end.

That’s where I am in my work-in-progress — I’m resting after the collision.  And, I’m so, so tired.

Book covers

 I’m speechless today…not healthy for a blogger, I realize. I can’t help it though — I received the front cover image of Running for My Life. It’s a humbling and amazing experience to be looking at proof that one’s dream of writing a book has been realized.

Like I said…I’m speechless. (Sometimes a picture is all we have to represent a thousand thanks.)

Running for My Life