Per my promise

Here’s the next piece of writing for you, babe. I created a tumblr so that I could keep my character’s stuff together. Meet Viveca Leigh Gideon, a character I’ve created for World of Warcraft (retail) on Wyrmrest Accord.

Roses and Dandelions

If such things as crystal balls that conveyed the past existed, and a person of wilful mind could gaze into the abyss within and view a person’s existence, then one could deduce that Viveca Leigh Gideon lead an extraordinarily dull yet fortunate childhood. Born in April some twenty or so years ago, a snow white babe if there ever was one made two proud parents of Rose and Jachaery Arterton. Since her conception, the pair had found nothing but luck in their lives. During pregnancy, Rose hardly fell ill, and though her husband insisted on bed rest in the end, it’s said that she could walk about, work the gardens, and keep the kitchen going without much fuss. There were no unusual complications during the birth of Viveca, their one and only daughter, and she took to the breast without any inconveniences. The babe was hardly ever sick, and she was without collick. She slept through the night, and grew to each upon routine. The sound of her father’s laugh was hardly matched by the song of her mother, and both aided in keeping the child mostly happy throughout the formative years of her life.

Though they never had enough to dress of value or buy frivolous things, Viveca’s parents did well to be certain she wanted for nothing. The thing was, though, that Viveca hardly seemed to want much more than they had. From her mother, she learned to garden, learned the plants and their uses. From her father, she learned to fight. He refused to teach her with a blade, but unarmed, she could get in a few punches before fleeing for her life if the situation rose for it. Growing up, she knew she would take over the apothecary of her mother’s creation and Viveca accepted this with hardly any resistance.

For years, the Artertons appeared untouched by time, fame, or wealth. Kingdoms fells, Theramore Isle grew stronger, and the Kul Tiras were proud members of the Alliance still. The first mark of tragedy to fall upon the happy trio was the assumed loss of her father, one of many who sailed in the fleets for the Alliance under the Kul Tiras banner. Though Viveca, in a morbid fashion, had been prepared for the potential loss of her father ever since she truly understood his line of work and the risks involved, Rose Arterton took this news hard. She was never quite the same.

This left Viveca to man the apothecary, to seek the sales. She had to use the soil herself, will the plants to join her in keeping up the family’s money, cook and clean in a house meant for three, and into growing from a young girl into a woman, she had to keep up her guard for would-be suitors. She could not bare the thought of leaving her mother behind, and there would be no guarantees she could get her to join her wherever she went. It would just be best for all involved if Viveca let that part of her life slide by.

However, even for the luckiest of us, life has a funny way of forcing a person along when they become too stagnant.

The man she came to know as Arrick Gideon entered her life in the same way many greet Theramore Isle, a boat. Though he never gave her a clear answer on why he happened to be there that day, the moment they met, he insisted he never wanted to leave without her. The prospect of her daughter getting married seemed, for a short time, to heal Rose Arterton’s grief. Infatuated with the pair almost as much as they had become infatuated with each other, none were surprised by the announcement of their engagement.

This, though a joyous occasion altogether, was the first major decision Viveca would make for herself.

When Rose claimed she would keep up the apothecary there, Viveca left her stubborn mother in Theramore and sailed back to the Eastern Kingdoms with Arrick. Across the sea that took her father, Mrs. Viveca Leigh Gideon was eager and anxious to take on the new responsibilities of being someone’s wife in a land she couldn’t remember ever having seen before, in a family she’d never yet met.

With luck ever on her side, any tension or ill-will addressed to the woman who would steal the heart of Arrick Gideon while he was away from his rather close family was cast aside as soon as they met her. Together with her husband and the land his family owned in the Redridge Mountains, the life the newlyweds led was busy, but not unusual. Arrick, as it turned out, was an explorer who’d dreamed of reaching the unknown areas of Kalimdor as soon as travel there was safe and resources readily available. He was not so much interested in discovering new land as he was procuring rare items and artifacts, learning rich history, and studying the affects of the ancestors on the likes of Azeroth. Much like the relationship with her father, Viveca’s love for Arrick only solidified further when he was away and burst with enthusiasm when he returned.

In the months that he was gone, Viveca grew close to the soil of their land and began to work it once more. As soon as she’d sprouted this idea and grown comfortable with the life she now had… Once again, life forced a hand.

Rumors of Theramore’s destruction came swiftly to her hears in waves of people having found out sooner than later, and even aftermore. Well wishes and condolences were sent to Viveca on behalf of her mother’s death counted among the others, and worry grew in the pit of her stomach for the sake of Arrick’s life.

Fortunately for the Gideons, Arrick appeared to be no where near the catastrophes that took place during and just after Theramore’s demise. He returned home the following winter just in time for Winter’s Veil, and since the recent events and then the cataclysm that shook the world, the lovers decided home may be the best place for him to be until stability was a part of their every day life again.

And so the garden and apothecary they grew only flourished in Lakeshire, where Viveca set up post once a week and made decent enough profit to continue living. Over the years, Arrick’s own parents and extended family began to perish. Some to the war, some to the events of the world, some to taking risks beyond their expertise. Yet, Arrick remained alive and for Viveca, this was all she could ask for.

Enter in the most recent invasions of the Burning Legion and you have yourself the backdrop for another unfortunate event in the otherwise extraordinarily lucky life of Viveca Leigh Gideon.

To be continued…

And then, to make things current:

Poor Unfortunate Souls

The latest invasions from the Burning Legion last season came, conquered, and destroyed thousands upon thousands of lives in the blink of an eye. One moment, time stood still and while life wasn’t absolutely perfect, it wasn’t a tragedy for just one fucking minute on Azeroth.

But, like all good things, Arick’s life came to an end before Viveca’s eyes.

“Travel to Westfall, he says,” Viveca teased her husband from behind the caravan. The pair were on horseback riding alongside a cousin’s caravan as they took to Westfall in hopes of taming land that was otherwise recognized as untameable. Jokes had been made about the poor condition of Westfall’s soil, and even further serious comments had been made about how this had directly affected the hunger strike in the countryside. Surrounding the pair and the caravan of luggage were a dozen or so volunteers to guard them, though all would be paid if Arrick had any say in the matter. Beggars with haunted faced and swollen eyes looked up on them as they passed, and the bravest of these even bothered to come closer with anger. They never made it far.

“It’ll be fun, he says,” she continued to tease him, and only when he looked over his shoulder at her and tossed the blonde mane of his did she smirk up and blow him a kiss with her gloved palm.

“Come now, country living has done you wonders. You went from some sea urchin to a right farm girl in no time.”

“I can hardly claim our garden a farm,” Viveca laughed up at him with mirth, shaking her head. “And there’s a difference, darling. This place has.. little hope. It would take a miracle, more than that to get it back on it’s feet.”

“It’s their choice where my cousin decides to start and waste away his inheritance. We aim to serve our family, remember?” His horse, on command, lingered back a bit to walk in stride with her mare.

“Yes, I remember,” she confirmed.

“If it bothers you that much, we’ll see to it that we return home swiftly,” He reached for her hand with his, and between the pair of horses, they lifted their arms and locked digits. “Maybe,” he added with a wink, “we’ll pick up a few animals on the way. Make it a real farm, eh?”

“And where are you going to keep a few extra farm animals?” The dark haired woman’s laugh almost grew to a pitch that would disturb the evening of sleeping homeless and helpless people, and thus, her husband brought a finger to his lips to remind her.

“We’ve got an extra room in the upstairs, don’t we?” He lifted a brow at her, his voice lower still.

“You’re going to keep chickens and a mule upstairs in the spare bedr–” She began, but realization set in on her hard and fast. Her eyes went wide with admiration and her heart threatened to burst louder than their voices could ever have been. “You don’t mean?”

“I do,” He nodded to her.

It had been a point of conversation at once point, certainly, but between the pair it had been decided the world simply wasn’t worth raising a young boy or girl in until it was a bit more stable, safer. They were waiting, though exactly what for, Viveca had never known.

“And you think now is the proper time?” Viveca questioned, her heart in her throat with all her hopes and dreams.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” the tone of his voice grew firm, serious. The blonde brows that knitted on his face were a telling sign that he’d already made the decision and wouldn’t be swayed. “There’s no point waiting for a world that will never be perfect. Our world wasn’t perfect when we were born, you know.”

“Oh, Arrick,” She breathed, straining to keep her voice quiet despite how loud she’d wanted to shriek with delight. “I agree! I mean to say, we should! When we get back, then?”

It was one of those moments where the light in her eyes threatened to stay there forever, daring the world to throw whatever it could at them for she would never falter in her faith.

The world listened, or, someone from another world did. The same sky that caused her eyes to glitter with joy grew dark, disturbed and outlined in green. Funnels from deep clouds above sprung from the heavens and pulsed into the ground all around them as demons of all shape and size began to walk through various portals all about the countryside.

“Go! Go with her, now! Eight of you go, and take her back!” Arrick wasted no time with the orders, and Viveca both loved and hated him for it.

In protest, despite the fear that prickled her spine, she began to slide off of her horse and run towards him in defiance. His horse led a charge to speed up to the caravan and attempt to turn it around, to take it to safety where there was none. As her feet hovered above the ground, a hand swooped in and gripped her by the waist, pulling her up into the air and pinning her to their chest. Another arm grabbed at her flailing legs, shouting at her of all the times to be stubborn, this was a time to flee. “He’ll be joining us. He’ll be right there. He’s going to meet us in Goldshire. Let’s go, m’lady!”


No one, not even Viveca could convince herself that anyone would be there to reclaim her from Goldshire. This last memory with her husband would be all she had left of him in Redridge.

I want flatlands
I never cared about money and all its friends
I want flatlands

I want flatlands
I don’t want precious stones
I never cared about anything you’ve ever owned

I want flatlands
I want simplicity
I need your arms wrapped hard around me
I want open plains and scattered trees

I want flower fields
I want salty seas
I want flatlands soft and steady breeze
bringing scents of lined-up orchard trees
dripping heavy with pears and dancing leaves

I want flatlands
will you go there with me

when it’s said in the dark and you know it’s always there
when it’s dead in our heart but your mind is unafraid
when it’s said in the dark and you know it’s never coming back
when it’s there in your heart in your mind you set it free

Love you,

Kettle

Advertisements

Dear Catie, I’m writing again and here’s a shameless plug.

Sorry I’ve been scarce. A lot has happened, and I’m thankful for our phone calls as of late to keep me from drowning. It’s all good things, and eventually, even better things. In the mean while, I’ve still been writing, and in addition to that, my fellow-author-to-be cousin and I have created a website called WHAT THE PROMPT? in order to spark out writing style. For me, it’s great. I get to create on an outlet that is not my main novel, but I don’t have to stand around for hours for roleplay chances – which used to be my old outlet. Anyway, check it out. Love you, and here’s my first response to the very first prompt:

 

“Let’s pretend the year is currently 1995, and you’re still the current age you are now. You’ve fallen asleep, and you didn’t wake up until 20 years later. It’s now 2015. You’ve missed everything in your 20-year-slumber. Write what happens next.”

-WHAT THE PROMPT?

There are three certain ways to wake up from a good nap. The first one is waking up with an acute awareness, alert as if someone just blew a bugle to remind you your work shift started twenty minutes ago and you missed the alarm. The second is not as panicked. It’s relaxed, but not to the point that you feel you can’t manage to move a limb. You twist as you pop this joint and stretch that muscle. A smile creeps on your lips, a kiss from the sun peeking through your window shades. It’s time to get up, but take your time. Today is a gift.

The third way is so crippling that it’s almost as if you never fell asleep at all. You wake up with more exhaustion tugging at your shoulders. Your eyelids protest the signals from your brain, concerned that you haven’t opened them yet to find that, in fact, your nap lasted much longer than it needed to, and it wasn’t for the better.

This time is the third, and it wasn’t hours late that I woke up.

After what feels like five minutes, i split the shade over my eyes and find myself in the closet I had fallen asleep in. For some reason, I cannot remember why it was that I went to the closet in the first place, or why I had decided it’s floor would be any aid to fatigue I must have felt; the worsened condition I felt now.

I lift my hand, a finger digging at the crust that formed in the corners of my eyelids. Out of habit, I lick the tip of my index finger and begin rubbing underneath my eyes, just in case mascara has made a smudgy home there as it’s want to do. My eyes begin to focus and I can see wrinkles on the back of my hands that weren’t there before. Good lord, I’ve become my mother – not over night – but in a matter of a nap.

I push this thought from my head and rise from the ground on wobbly knees and uneasy ankles, parts of my body that aren’t sure if they can bear the weight of the rest of me so quickly after their rest. My hand clutches the pole that holds empty hangers, all white. There are no clothes on them, nor on the floor where I am certain to keep my dirty laundry despite the overpriced woven basket hamper from Home Goods. The floor beneath my bare toes feels damp, as if recently shampooed. How hadn’t I noticed that before?

I open the door slowly, disgruntled as the light showers me from the darkness of the small, dark room. There are no blinds, no curtains. There is no furniture in what should be my well-worn bedroom. The walls are no longer adorned by painted sunflowers on a dull green backdrop from Lowes. My eyes scan the corner for the stain of coffee that fell from my bed years ago and wasn’t retrieved until last month, when I remembered it had happened at all. The carpet? It was the same color, the same texture, but the stain was gone.

I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until I’d opened three more doors: my bathroom, the hallway, and the room to my littlest sister. All remarkably cleaned and remodeled. All notably… empty.

Adrenaline met with the panic that filled my throat, disabling my subconscious ability to breathe. Where had everyone gone? My lungs pumped with oxygen at such a quick rate, I forgot to exhale. I was a balloon, expanding until my head began to ring dizzy. I opened my mouth to call out but only a whisper escaped, “Is anyone there?”

No reply.

I fought the urge to buckle at the knees, to cry out. There was an explanation for this, there had to be. Seek it out. Keep your shit together. It’s just a puzzle. More than likely, a dream. With this newfound determination, I descended the stairs. The banister had been replaced and what had once been carpet covering were now fresh planks of wood stained in a red color that reminded me of bitter wine. More empty rooms. The kitchen to my right was hardly recognizable and had been walled up where an open bar once stood. I don’t bother searching any more rooms on my way to the front door. My assumption is that they are all as empty as I felt. The front door is locked from the inside, and I struggle to pull the deadbolt in the other direction before I hear a successful ‘click’.

I pull the door towards me and open Pandora’s box.

Dear Catie, I’m between a rock and hard place.

On the one hand, I really want to focus very much on my book this year. I want to begin writing /it/. Researching /it/. I don’t want to just do my little writing exercises. I want to make progress! Go, go, go!

On the other hand, I really really really want to lose 50 lbs. Just fifty. That’s all I want. But the extra time I would find to use to write, I could be using to work out and plan my meals and all of the B.S. it takes to lose weight.

I cannot do both and still breathe because you know me. Narrow-sighted and driven, but only on ONE thing at a time.

What do I dooooo?!

 

Miranda

Response to this like a Dear Abbey! Go, go, go! (Inari, if you’re reading this, you can respond too! your advice is stellar!)

Dear Catie, I found the ‘Summary: What a Hot Mess’ of my memoir. Wanna read it?

Of course you do.

 

What a Hot Mess

It’s a total bitch to have forgotten the past. My entire childhood is scattered in bits and pieces that I attempt every now and again to shove in to place. Sometimes, I get so frustrated that it’s like when you’re at the end of the 1000 piece puzzle and all you really desire in the entire world at that moment is to finish the damn thing, so you almost try to force the holes to be perfect fits for each appendage of the cardboard cut out pieces.

I’ve done that a lot in my life, shoving all of the pieces where I think they need to fit because all I’ve cared about was completing the puzzle and ending the game. It’s the most frustrating feeling when you squint your eyes and try to imagine how the image will look when everything is finally in it’s place, but life happens and the next thing you know, your son has knocked a few pieces out of place and on the floor and then your cat eats the corner piece as if you hadn’t just fed it an entire oversized bowl of Friskies. Thanks a lot, Lily.

However, has anyone ever stopped to wonder to themselves, What the hell am I even going to do with the thing once I’ve finished it? Do I become one of those people who glues it together and mounts it on the wall like some great achievement because buying a twenty dollar puzzle of Thomas Kenkade’s artwork was cheaper than buying a replica to frame and hang over the fireplace like the fancy folk? Or, do you scatter it all over again to see if you can beat your last time. Seventeen days: personal best!

If I continue to use the metaphor of a puzzle to explain how I continuously, royally fuck up my life time and time again, then I guess I’m between hanging everything that I’ve accomplished on facebook to show people I’m not some worthless, perfectly symmetrical piece in Jesus and Satan’s chess match and I actually have my shit together… Or, you know, taking it in strides that once I finish this particular thing, there will just be another one to pick up right after. Dealing with life’s punches again and again to beat my last personal best score?

Where do I even start? Why does my brain continue to ask all of the hard questions at night? To keep me up well past the time I’d like to call ‘my bed time’, which really it’s about two to three hours past the ‘bed time’ I had originally scheduled. They – you know, doctors, therapists, counselors – say that you should record these thoughts, these feelings. It will make it feel better, and it may even open up some clarity to… to what? What’s wrong with me, doc? Can’t you just prescribe me some drug and make it all better? What’s that, this thing is only in the beginning stages of being a diagnosis? You need to see me more? You need to discover drugs that will actually affect it other than substituting it with bipolar medication in hopes that it assists?

I suppose I will write this in the same way that the puzzle pieces (re: memories) come to me. Maybe we’ll both learn something.

Fuck. What a hot mess.

Dear Catie, A Happy Self.

When I woke up this morning at 9:00am, I didn’t really have a ‘plan.’ I knew I was off, I knew I wouldn’t have Elijah until tomorrow, and that I had just me, myself, and I for the next 24 hours. It’s a Thursday, but it’s also New Years Day. Is anything open? I bet not, but I bet the movie theater is. For some reason, they’re always open and it kind of makes me feel bad for the workers, but not bad enough that I didn’t get my ass up for the matinee showing of Wild (Starring Reese Witherspoon) at 10:40am.

So in I walk to the theater, having no idea what this movie is about – not even a trailer of it. Someone I loosely know knew of my situation (‘divorced’) and thought to tell me to go see it, with urgency. They were not mistaken in this suggestion. This is my first text after seeing it, to my mother:

It’s about a woman who’s had it all and lost it all and made a lot of mistakes and so she goes on a journey for herself to find the woman her mother always wanted for her (to be her Happy Self). It was just really therapeutic. I thought to myself, “Maybe I should go on a little thing, too.” And then I realized, “I already am.”

It just gives me hope that this isn’t for nothing and I will come out of it all a Happy Self.

It’s true. I really am already on my own adventure. I live by myself (sometimes with Elijah) in a new city I’ve never lived in that is much bigger than the suburbia I grew up in and the small towns I visited. The dynamic of people, their mannerisms, everything is different. At the mall, once the movie was over, I realized that sitting on the bench drinking my smoothie – no one noticed me. No one spoke to me, no one saw me — I wouldn’t even have to go on a hike across the PCT to feel solitude. Life was happening all around me – yet separate from me.

I am not writing this as a depression piece — I actually find this very beautiful. The idea that I can sit in a populated area and simply be beside myself while having the opportunity to reach out and speak to anyone I wanted, it was like a super power.

A lot of my country-living family and relatives have asked me how I can do it, and that all the sirens and noise of the highway must drive me insane. When I began to speak of the ritual at night time when I turn all of the lights out and lay on my bed, stare up at my ceiling and the noise just… enters. Cars on the highway. People in their apartments (speaking softly). The occasional, nightly sirens going off. It’s all a symphony of hyperactive life all around. You will find each of these things – though maybe isolated – in the country. They won’t be as often, and the country leaves a lot of quiet – too much quiet for me. Too much silence for my thoughts to invade where they shouldn’t and cause problems that never were.

But here? Here, it is a symphony. It is music inside of earbuds taped to my head as I drift off to sleep. I am at such peace, yet I am still able to think – and better yet, control where my thoughts linger. I am able to contemplate the last year of my life, where it ‘all went wrong, and then take a deep breath as I release the burden to the sky.

Every day that I am off, I have ventured in to the city – to a location I’ve never been. I’ve been to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant or two, a privately owned pharmacy, a coin-laundromat on the other side of town, and even walked a mall I’ve never taken time to bother with. Every day, I put myself out there without going farther than 10 miles from my new home. There’s people of all walks of life here, and I finally feel like I can belong in such a new place without everyone staring at me like I am the new girl. I’m not the new girl in town anymore. I’m the new girl in the city – and that’s exciting. I can walk around with the utmost confidence because no one knows me, no one can snoop up who my family is off a whim of asking ‘granny down the street who’s kin I belong to’ or any of the more ‘comfortable’ details of living in a small town.

And I know this won’t last forever. I know, someday I will find someone up to my level who will sway me to move elsewhere – whether it’s in Texas or not – and my single-living-apartment-adventure will end..

But it’s not about the start or finish. It’s about the journey. It always has been. I have been so focused, the last half year, on reaching the finish line of my grief. I gave up a life I had – a beautiful life that I had with a beautiful family. You will be hard pressed to find more decent and considerate folks than Mr. Donald Dyer and Mrs. Debbie Dyer, my ex-husband’s parents. I will be hard pressed to find a more compassionate man than Matthew was – and remains to be. I am so blessed to call him co-parent to my child, Elijah. That young boy will want for nothing.

As the holidays came upon us, I look on it now like it was all a blur, though at the time it was very much not. Thanksgiving came like a slap to the face. My birthday arrived a week later with news of needing to pack everything up immediately and find a place to live, my dad having hardship that aided this, and then being single for my birthday for the first time in.. at least a decade. Then three weeks blew by as I packed, searched, found, scavenged for the money, and then moved in three days before Christmas. I didn’t even have a tree, let alone the amount of presents I wanted for Elijah – but we’re doing fine. He made out like a bandit. But I was single, once more, for the third anniversary of celebration in a row within a month. Thanksgiving. My birthday. Christmas.

It was a lot of grief, a lot of pain they don’t tell you about. I remember texting my mother the day of Christmas, prepared to beg that I stay home because it was all too much. But instead, I decided it was time to get out of bed. It was time to go see my family – because that’s what it is about and I lost sight of that. I went and had the best time at my stepfather’s parents’ house with the whole family, eating, laughing, playing games. My sister, her best friend, and I went to the movies for a double feature and I didn’t get home until the early morning next day.

I feel like I was prepared for New Years Ever, and then Day. I had made it through the past month with my head above water, and a strong mind. Crying is alright, and grief is a place I went for the holidays, but the important thing to remember is not to live there. This, too, shall pass.

New Years Eve was a blast. New Years Day was a revelation, not because of the first day of a new year but because of the events that happened on it.

It’s time to stop grieving.

It’s time to let it go.

It’s time to be a Happy Me.

Dear Catie, I’m pretty sure I got a job.

I didn’t exploit the information that I was even applying for one to everyone because of whatever reason I thought it was a good one at the time, but alas, yesterday I triumphantly peed in a cup that I have a 100% chance of passing since I do 0% of drugs, any time or anywhere. Thus, when they get the test results early-to-mid next week, I will officially be a receptionist.

Can I just say that I am the perfect person for this job? Let’s just do the checklist because I like lists:

  • Talking to people
Let’s just go ahead and put a check here. You know why.
  • Sit at a desk
You should also know why this is a plus.
  • While the customer always comes first, during down times, I am permitted to work on homework. (This from the mouth of my hiring interviewer, offered by him before I mentioned school at all.)
Um. Check. Check. Check. You asked me when I first told you I may have a job if I even wanted one, and I am pretty sure I’m correct in assuming you were concerned about my studies and how concerned I would be about them, on top of a new job! Why would I want a job right now?! Thus, I made this post to explain, and to brag, and to talk about the awesomeness of being a reception. There will be many more posts each day I discover something new that I love about being a receptionist. Anyhow, rest assured that I will be permitted to work on my school work WHILE at work. And did I mention I get paid for it?
Being a receptionist is kind of one of my bucket list things. It’s something that in every aptitude test I’ve ever taken, it has been suggested near the top. Now, many people would think, “Dude, you just got recommended for a job at the bottom of the food chain.” Uh, yeah, I did, but it’s something I am GOOD at. I get to work with people on a professional level, dress business casual, and get my own shit done at the same time. I get to work at a desk! I GET TO SIT DOWN. HELLO, WE HAVE A WINNER!
Seriously, though, I am pumped because not only do I get to do these things, but… If I am allowed to do HOMEWORK at the desk… That means I can get some WRITING done, too!
Really, though. I’m super pumped. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and every other Saturday are going to be fun, and I can still work out around the clock because the schedule doesn’t rotate and is always set, thus making me a routine, indestructible force of awesome.
Hurrah!
Miranda

Dear Catie, About those New Year Resolution things…

I’m am so awful about them. It’s probably the perfectionist / completionist whore in me that feels utter failure when something isn’t done 100%, but that’s how I feel every year when I don’t do something. Example:

Miranda wants to drink NO SODAS. Miranda lasts 31 days and drinks a soda. Miranda doesn’t try harder the next day, because she’s already fucked up and therefor is not perfect, why bother.

This is bad, and I know it’s bad. It’s also probably the reason I haven’t lost weight yet. “I worked out so hard the other day, and here I am eating a Whataburger!… LOLNOPE ON THE WEIGHTLOSS THING.”

But, for you my dear, I will make a list because it’s good to have goals and strive for something, and with your help, even when I inevitably fail sometimes, you can help remind me that I can keep going without the perfection and the world will, believe it or not, still turn.

Miranda’s New Year Resolutions
  1. Apologize only when I regret. This one if a big deal to me because, as you know Catie, up until a few months ago I would apologize for every little thing. Bumping someone’s shoulder on pure accident, not having a clean house when friends would come over despite the fact that I have no time and a child to raise, being too poor to afford things like ‘going out every night’, or for hurting someone’s feelings unintentionally because they took what I said or wrote the completely wrong direction in which it was meant and didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt. Yeah, fuck that. No more. I spent a month with a counselor this past semester at school and she suggested that to help with all the guilt I felt all the time that made me not want to be in this world, I should realize what it is I feel guilt for and why. And if it was for dumb things like the examples above, then I shouldn’t let it make me feel guilty. Instead, I should base every apology I want to make on this sound question: “Do I regret not cleaning the house instead of playing with my son? Do I regret having no money instead of being home to raise my child and use more time to focus on school? Do I regret saying or writing something because someone’s head is too far up their own ass to realize what I’ve been writing? No? Okay, no apology needed.” Works for me.
  2. Be positive. I know my last paragraph seemed a little catty. Maybe it was. I’ve gone from depressed, innocent, crying, pathetic Miranda and turned in to confident, empowered, motivated Miranda… with a side of catty when people try to pull the old shit on me (and took advantage of how compassionate I really am when I care.) You know the types and people. Anyhow, I want to make sure my catty doesn’t become a side-effect and hurt people more than it does make them laugh. And more importantly, I need to remember that everything is in perspective, and with a positive one, I can get more shit done.
  3. No more sodas. God, I will miss Dr. Pepper. I should make ONE exception rule: On Holidays, I can have up to two. TWO. God, they are so bad for you, though.
  4. No more fast food. I would like to note that this does not include healthier places like Panera Bread in which I get the healthiest, tastiest, over-priced shit. But it is the best.
  5. Plan ahead on school work. Last semester, in almost every class, I was given my assignments ahead of time on a schedule. I had ample opportunities to get my things done way before the end of term, and not taking advantage of this really hurt my grades in some classes. This semester, I am taking 14 hours. This includes an online course (Art Appreciation. Easy enough.), a physical education course (Yoga. Yay! Forced Physical Health!), a language course (More Spanish. All the time.), a history course (God, help me), and a creative writing class. The latter three are going to be heavy in things to learn, and I really don’t have time or money to slack off. It’s go time. Take advantage of all my opportunities school-related, go go go!
  6. Write for 30 minutes, every day. Whether it’s this blog, a diary, role play, a short story.. Anything to keep my mind going and keep up the pace I want to set to write that next great American piece of literature!
  7. Work out. I’m really bad that this one. I really am. When I am working out, I am like ‘fuck yeah this feels great’. Before the work out, I am like ‘what excuse can I come up with to keep me from having to spend an hour at the gym.’ I don’t know why. I need to reroute my brain’s pattern of thinking on this one, but I truly don’t know how to yet. So, I’m going to put work out, because it sounds better than ‘lose X lbs’ when I can’t even focus on the working out part just yet. Maybe in June, I can give you a number. For now, I just want to make working out a routine thing. With Yoga being every Tuesday and Thursday at 4:30, and classes (near my gym) every M-Th, I am hoping I can stop by the gym on the way home every day (4 days of 7, if not also on weekends) and do some work. That is, also while keeping my homework under check.
  8. Flesh out one of the many ideas I have for a book, and write a plot line. You know me. I have a million ideas, and they are all half-assed and never finished. I need to pick one and just run with it. Run it in to the ground. Then I need to write it out as much as I can. Then I need to put it away for 3 months and come back to it with a clear head and write some more, and edit. I also need to figure out how to even get published. Hmm.
  9. God, God, God. If anything, the biggest thing that happened to me last year was finally breaking the barrier where I wanted so bad to believe in God, but he seemed so much like a fairy tale that I couldn’t. When I finally broke that barrier.. It’s magical. To save you guys who may not give a damn about religion, or Christians, some time, I will just tell you that… it’s a big deal. And I’d love to get more involved with Him and our relationship because the more I do, the better things seem to get for me and mine.
  10. Complete at least two of these resolutions. It doesn’t count if I complete one, and then this one is the second and therefor 2/10 are done. That’s cheating.
Hope you liked my resolutions, Catie. Tried just for you.
Hey! It would be super awesome if you could explain Juicing to me sometime. I don’t even know what it is, but people won’t shut up about it. Is it good? Bad? Weight loss related? I don’t speak Japanese. 
Just do a nutrition post in general. Or both. Give it all to me, now!
Miranda

P.S. After your last post, my head is the size of Jupiter’s moon, Miranda. Thank you.