On Being a Writer

 I have had many careers in my life and I have always been a writer.

The use of the word “and” in the line above is important. Many people would have chosen the word “but.” The nuance of word choice is important to a writer.

I kept a diary for a while in my youth, until it ran out of pages. I turned to spiral notebooks. My writing became a venting of my feelings, opinions (personal and political), short stories, speculations on spirituality, and drafts for “letters to the editor” of my local newspaper. I also drew things in my notebooks, like room arrangements or blueprints for building something myself.

My early writing relieved me of obsessive thoughts swirling in my brain. After writing it down the all-consuming thought was vanquished, sometime later to be unceremoniously pitched in the trash.

My early political writing often resurfaced in public speeches or everyday conversations.

Sometime along the way, like a kindergartener with a crayon masterpiece, I wanted recognition of my work. My blueprints for a bookcase became one. My garden design sketches resulted in vegetable and flower gardens many people enjoyed.

I began the task of submissions and tracking them for my “articles” to magazines and newspapers. I began a collection of rejection letters, taping them to the wall and keeping count, because somewhere I read you are not a serious writer until you have accumulated at least five hundred.

Having a family, running a business, and simple everyday events kept me busy. The only time I wrote was to get those obsessions out of my brain.

Sometimes a story would form and I would fill spiral notebooks. (This was before I could afford a computer.) I wrote several not-so-great masterpieces. Those fantasy worlds I created are now a part of landfills in places unknown, or living forever on hard drives of broken computers stored in a garage. A few of my stories still live in magazines, most of which I am sure, are also fodder for landfills.

And, my world changed. I now have an external hard drive for back-ups. I have no family at home or job to distract me---only emails and Facebook and the World Wide Web.

With the support and encouragement of my family, friends, and a great writers group, (Bartlesville WordWeavers) this year, two of my books are going to be published. One is non-fiction with a targeted audience for real estate professionals and frugal homeowners. The other is a fiction stalker-thriller geared to women, eighteen and over.

Four of my short stories can be found in Seasons Remembered, an anthology which I will be pimping this weekend as a free giveaway on Amazon.com.

Future posts on meanderingmentalmusings.blogspot.com will be geared toward the challenges of being a writer in this wonderful world of computers when one is computer challenged, the celebration of those writers who have overcome the obstacles, and of course, those times I just have to have a mental dump.

Questions and comments are usually appreciated. And, there is a gadget thingy on the side of this page where you can put your email and follow my posts. To be followed and read thrills the heck out of the kindergartener in me.

Please visit my website at Barbarashoff.com

Nothing Like Leftovers to Make My Day!

This will be short and to the point. I loved this 4^th of July celebration because I spent it with family and friends.

I forgot to get my camera out of the drawer. Bummer.

Everyone cleaned up after themselves.

I went to bed with a smile on my face.

I woke up, dressed, and went outside.

I returned to grab my camera, I have an even bigger smile on my face.

A Quick Update on My Juicing Adventures

For those who missed my last post, I began juicing about May 18th. I am determined to lose the forty pounds I have put on in the last couple of years. About fifteen pounds jumped to replace the smoking monkey I had on my back. That monkey keeps trying to jump back on, and we have had repeated scuffles. 

I refuse to discuss what my weight was when I started this juicing adventure. Let me just say, the four times I have tipped the scales that high in the past, I was pregnant.

I was only able to continue the total juicing diet four days. I have challenges with will power and I got HUNGRY. 

So, I started eating the swill. That's the pulp left over after one puts the fruits and veggies through the juicer. After four days of only drinking juice, the swill was DELICIOUS cooked as a gruel. The addition of a little Greek seasoning really helped. I lost eight pounds, and used four rolls of toilet paper in four days. 

I continued juicing twice a day, and ate plenty of fresh veggies, fruit, eggs, and tuna.

The juicer died last week... after less than a month of use. Bad news, I threw out the box. No box, no return. Good news. I wrote Black and Decker and got an email saying they will replace it, after I jump through a couple of hoops. I am working to get both feet of the ground... at the same time... without sitting down.

(If you will click on this link, Mary Kincaid has her thoughts this week on gadget boxes.) 

If I were a conspiracy theorist, I would suggest the possibility that manufactures of gadgets implant a data strip thread in their boxes. If that data strip is not within x number of feet of the product, its absence triggers a switch within the gadget, causing the gadget to fail. This theory reveals the truth of the ultimate in planned obsolescence. 

Hey! I write fiction as well as non-fiction. 

However, I already believed everything Snowden said, before he said it. And let me say for the record, to those who know me, I TOLD YOU SO!  

Hmmm. I wonder what Snowden would say about the data strip in the box theory?

But, back to the juicing, weight loss, and getting healthier. 

My sister surprised me with the gift of a fancy-schmancy treadmill a few days after I bought the juicer. 

The treadmill is a way for me to combat peripheral artery disease. When I began on the treadmill, I could only walk two minutes at l mph before my legs cramped, seized up and my calves would become as hard as concrete. I can't begin to describe the pain. Just think, charlie-horses in both calves and feet... at the same time. I have doubled my endurance time, and speed, and have gotten a little smarter. I only walk until it starts to hurt before I quit. A little pain, a little gain. But I would say doubling both speed and time is pretty good in a month.

I have done no juicing for a week. I continue eating fresh fruits, veggies, eggs, tuna, and have added some chicken.

And, as of today, stripped naked, and leaning a little to the left on my scale, I HAVE LOST 17 POUNDS! 

Woo hoo!

My motivation? All the professionals were doing, was telling me to watch my diet and giving me more, and more medications. I wasn't getting any better. My diabetes glucose levels continued to climb, (even with controlling carbs) and I was instructed to increase the volume of insulin,  an additonal kind,was added, and I had to increase the number of injections.  

And, of course, I want to feel better because I have two books coming out soon. One fiction and one non-fiction. I need to be in condition to get out and hustle those babies.

Also, some of my friends suggested we need to become leopards. 

Is that right? Suzanne K? Carolyn B, were you going to join us? 

 I was a Wildcat in high school. A Mighty, Mighty, Wildcat.

By the way, I love reading your comments. You can add yours by clicking on the link below. If the link says NO COMMENTS, that is not an instruction. It simply means yours will be the first for this post. Also, if you enjoyed reading this I would really appreciate it if you share it with others. 

I am working diligently to get up to speed on this social networking stuff. There are still things I have to learn. I have been assured by Amazon, The Dummies books I have ordered, are on the way. 

A Little Prickly Might Be Good For You

Prickly Lettuce

It will come as no surprise to those who know me; I sometimes do what others might consider some pretty crazy stuff.  Still other people just give me a thumbs-up and say, “Cool.” Hey, at my age this is my idea of living on the edge.

So today I have decided to share a new adventure. 

I watched this really amazing movie on Netflix a few days ago, Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead.

Because I have felt lousy for over a year, and despite following doctor's orders, and taking pills that seem to make me feel worse, I have decided to follow the lead of the star of this movie, Joe Cross, and perform a reboot of my body, by doing what is now popularly being called “juicing.” The idea, detoxify your system by ingesting nothing but vegetable and fruit juices for a period of time.

Because I don’t have a lot of money to throw at this project, I decided to purchase the cheapest high-rated juicer I could find. And since even Craigslist had nothing but machines way out of my price range, I researched Amazon customer reviews. Most of what came up on my search were still expensive.

I found a Black and Decker juicer for around $40 at Wal-Mart, but I hadn’t read any reviews on that particular juicer. I came home empty handed not wanting to waste $40. I checked the Amazon reviews for the Black and Decker juice extractor and was happy to find the juicer had lots and lots of five star scores. I checked Big Lots and they had the same unit for $10 less. Oh yeah!  I was out the door. I was pleased, excited and I decided to take it as a sign from the heavens that I am really suppose to do this juicing thing because I was able to snag the display model for only $19.00. (They still had some in stock, but I grabbed the display because it showed the cheaper price---which means of course there is another display unit out now. Go for it!)

On a roll, I headed to the grocery store. Good grief! The cost of fresh produce has gone up over night. I purchased a few things to get me started and here is where I decided to take this project to a whole new level. A level which might be considered crazy by some. (I will share more crazies about this adventure in future blogs.) I started studying the contents of my yard. A yard that hasn't been mowed since my son, Stonie blessed me several weeks ago. (Since then I have used the excuse that the yard has just been too wet.)

I identified one weed known as “Prickly Lettuce” and discovered it is not only edible, it is  also very nutritious. So, out I went this morning and harvested enough for at least two servings of juice today and left at least a weeks worth still growing in my backyard and driveway.

Feeling quite brilliant and smug I set to the task. My new juicer went to town.  I was surprised at the amount of juice in those freshly picked and washed Prickly Lettuce leaves. There was no doubt, I had harvested enough leaves for at least three, maybe four glasses of juice.  

I read up on the plant and should have known enough to pay attention to the information, “mature leaves can be quite bitter.”

Now the idea of juicing is to add a mix of 80% veggies and greens to 20% fruit, such as Granny Smith apples, lemons, and limes. The key word being MIX.

Whatever possessed me to stick my finger in the catch cup of the juicer to taste the beautiful deep green Prickly Lettuce juice I do not know. 

Let me assure you, it was the vilest, nastiest, most disgusting, BITTER (in capital letters, bold and red, to the point I had to spell this out instead of just doing it) taste I have ever experienced in my life. 

But what to do? I hate to waste anything. And I knew there sat a full half container of all sorts of nourishing live micro-nutrients and anti-oxidants and phyto-thingys that were really good for me. A quick Google search gave me my answer. I added half an apple, 2 stalks of celery, and a whole lime. It was still bitter, and nasty but I managed to get it down. The mix probably needed another half an apple, a couple of carrots and a handful of grapes, to make it taste good, but the idea is to keep the natural fructose limited.

You might want to skip mowing a week or so and traverse your yard to see if you have this nutrient rich weed growing wild and join me in my adventure of juicing.  Or just try some Prickly Lettuce to cut your produce costs.

I understand Prickly Lettuce is quite tasty cooked and sautéed in bacon fat with crispy bacon sprinkled on top. But hey, I’m juicing. The fresher the better, so I'll hold firm for harvesting and juicing my Prickly while it's standing at attention straight and tall. 

I will keep everyone posted on my juicing progress. 

WE WERE ONE

Listen to Your Mother-OKC  2013

  

Julie Bohannon, Misti Pryor and Heather Davis were the producers and directors of this single event smash hit that reminded OKC what real connection is all about. Thank you. You did a fabulous job.

But I must confess---it was the audience that made the Oklahoma City premier Listen to Your Mother presentation the awesome spectacular moment in history that it was.

In an early celebration of Mother’s Day, over 400 people crowded into the Will Roger’s Theater to listen to a group of writers sharing with strangers, family and friends their personal perspectives on motherhood.  (Tickets were sold out three times and seats kept being added until the event became standing room only.) The audience didn’t really know what to expect and was ready for anything.

I was blessed to be one of those writers.

As a group we had one “sit-around-a-table” read through rehearsal with most of the writers a week ago. (Thank you Girl Scouts of Western Oklahoma.) It took two days for my snot filled sinus cavities to clear. And though I am not certain, I think I developed a hernia from laughing so hard.

On Sunday May 5, 2013, we congregated in the green room a couple of hours before show-time. We did our best to soothe each other’s nerves with deep breathing exercises, small talk, munching on snacks and to-die-for-smoothies provided by Juice Blendz. Thank you Juice Blendz.

Shortly after everyone arrived, Misti Pryor lined us all up like a brood of ducklings and marched us to the stage, instructing us to find our “comfortable spot” and take a seat on the beautiful set provided by NorwalkFurniture.

   

It was then---looking out at the auditorium and all those empty chairs crowded together, empty chairs that would soon be filled with real live people, real live people that would include for me, a sister, a niece, a son and a daughter---it was then--- I realized I was going to need to pop an Imodium and pray it would be fast acting.

Misti must have noticed the look on my face. She smiled and said, “Don’t worry, the house lights will be down and you will see nothing but stage lights and a black void.”   I think she meant to be reassuring.

 

We each did a walk to the podium practice--- stepping up on a two-foot by two-foot wooden riser. We each spoke a few words to make sure the microphone was adjusted properly before returning to our seats.

Then Misti asked, “Any questions?”

I had an immediate flashback forty-four years, to a small group tour of the labor and delivery room where I gave birth to my first child. Three women behind the curtains were obviously in “transition.” The nurse giving the tour asked that very same question.  And the exact same thought played in my mind. “Is there any way I can back out now?”  And in almost the same moment, I remembered the result of moving past my fears forty-four years ago. I was blessed with a remarkable son and the entry into the awesome and sometimes heart-breaking world of motherhood.

“I can do this.” I repeated that mantra all the way back to the green room where I immediately found the Imodium and downed it with a swig from a bottle of water.

When Misti finally called out, “It’s shoooow-time!” The Imodium indeed proved it was fast-acting. However once on stage, I noticed the two-foot by two-foot wooden platform had shrunk to a 2-inch square.

But, as Misti promised, beyond some vague outlines in the front row, I could see no one.

But each and every one of us on that stage could feel the audience. The energy of their spirits reached out--- enveloping us with compassion and love, and there was a transformation---there was no longer --- a “me”, a “he”, or a “she”. There was no longer an “us” or a “them”.

WE WERE CONNECTED.

WE WERE.

ONE.

And that’s what motherhood is really about.

Oklahoma's Inagural Production Cast- Listen to Your Mother 2013 Back row, Left to Right: Lisa Raley, Brandi Barnett, Erika Cerda-Dixon, Amy Herrington, Sheradee Hurst, Alexandra Bohannon, Julie Bohannon, Front row, Left to right: Liz Cole Parker, CW Bardsher, Barbara Shoff, Mari Farthing, Suzanne Kelley, Jennifer McMurrain, Carolyn Bechtold, Heather Davis, Misti Pryor.

Santa

I guess it was sometime between the first and second grade, I was probably not yet seven, that one of my older siblings informed me there was no Santa Claus. I refused to believe it and ran to my mother so she would set them straight. I could tell my mother was upset---someone was going to get a spanking for lying, and I was ready to watch.

But instead of getting the tattle-tale satisfaction (okay, I could be a disloyal, poopy little brat when it came to my twenty-one month older, twin brother and sister siblings) my mother told me--- they were right.

I was devastated. How could so many people have lied to me for so long? How had I been so deceived? I had been made to look the total fool. For probably one of the first times in my life, my little over-inflated ego had the wind knocked right out of it. 

I ran to my bedroom crying.  I refused to be consoled. Mama tried to sit on the bed and explain to me, but I just shoved and kicked her away. There was nothing I wanted to hear from her. She was nothing but a big fat liar. She had been asking me just the day before what I wanted Santa to bring me that year.  It was all a huge joke. ON ME.

I guess I cried myself to sleep because the next thing I knew, Daddy was waking me up for dinner. I was experienced enough to know that Daddy wasn't someone I could kick and get away with it. Besides, I remember even now how my head hurt. The fight and angry had been cried right out of me, replaced with the aching, gnawing pain of disappointment.

Daddy sat there telling me how upset I must feel. Boy, my Daddy was smart.  He consoled me and was finally joined by Mama who sat with him on the side of my bed. Mama explained, “Honey, Santa may not be a real live human being. And the make believe Santas of the world may dress up in red and white costumes with beards---but there is still a part of Santa who is real.”

Hey, fool me once--- I may have been a little kid, but I was a lot smarter than they gave me credit for--- but to appease them I listened.

“His spirit lives right here…” Daddy took my hand and put it on his chest, “in people’s hearts. Santa is the spirit of giving---just to make people happy.”

I thought about that.  I wasn’t sure I believed it, but I thought about it.  

And every year after that, at Christmas when I got a gift and the card read “Santa” (and I got them as long as my parents were alive---until I was almost forty) I knew who to thank.  And my parents would smile and act surprised, like they didn’t have any idea where those gifts came from.

I am--- well we won’t go into exactly how old I am, because a part of me is still that egotistical little brat--- anyhow, last week, with my Daddy and Mama long gone--- a girlfriend called and said that an anonymous source had a gift for me.

I am so thrilled to let my writer friends know--- I will be in attendance with you at this year’s Oklahoma Writers Federation Inc. Conference in Norman.

So, thank you Santa.  Thank-you for your spirit of giving---you made the little girl, in this old woman very, very happy.

Thank-you too…whoever you are--- for proving to me, Mommy and Daddy were telling me the truth, after all.

Home Stretch

Words of encouragement from fellow writer, Jennifer McMurrain, prompted me to dust off a fiction novel I have been writing on again, off again, for the last two and a half years. Writer's block seemed real for me. I discovered the reason; I only thought I knew the story I wanted to tell.

 I set a June1st deadline for my first draft completion.Since April 5th I have spent a minimum of five hours a day glued in front of my computer writing, cutting, re-writing and cutting some more. Before I knew it, some of these writing sessions stretched to ten and twelve hours, as my muse (see last weeks blog) whispered in my ear. (Hey, writing is cheap entertainment.)

Then, suddenly, again, it seemed like I had written myself into a corner. I was stumped for solution of how to arrive at my climatic scene of chase, terror and blood. It took me a day and a half of stewing and forcing myself to write something-- anything--- that my characters might do. I wrote a delightful scene that seemed to go nowhere toward advancing my story line. But I had fun writing it. I loved the dialogue in a situation that was totally a surprise to my characters and myself. I hated to cut it. Was there anyway I could save it---make it work? That's when I realized this was the scene that would springboard me to where I wanted to go in the first place.

Update: My first draft completion date, 6 p.m. TODAY.

Tomorrow, the really hard works starts.

The Muse

 

The thing I enjoy the most about writing fiction is being visited by The Muse.

I meticulously set my story-line, getting my butt planted firmly in the chair, for a required five hours (so I can at least act professional). I’m following my story-line “just so”, struggling with dialogue that will make the plot move forward, and then it happens.  Instead of me writing the story I am a conduit for The Muse. 

My fingers strike the keyboard 

like lightening through the air.

I am no longer thinking, 

the words just magically appear. 

I simply record the conversations, 

From some unknown ethereal sphere. 

I am laughing, crying, fighting--

 because I am with them there. 

My adrenaline is pumping, 

because I just heard the sound, 

the bullet zipped right by me, 

and laid my hero on the ground.

Okay, so she's a Muse in Training.

They Want My Ass Back

A couple of months ago at a Bartlesville WordWeavers writers group meeting we were told about the Listen To Your Mother-Oklahoma City project.  If we wanted to participate we needed to submit a piece, anything that had to do with motherhood. Men were encouraged to enter as well. If the piece was accepted, we would be extended an invitation to audition. Some of those auditioning would go on to be cast in the live performance in May to read our work and our performances might eventually be uploaded to the LTYM YouTube site sometime after the performance.

Did I have a story that I could tell, in something other than my normally long story-telling style?  Well, I decided to give it a shot.

I wrote and read the piece out loud to my only children still at home---my dogs.  I was so taken back by their response---whining, barking, jumping up and down at my feet; I rushed to submit the piece.  Sitting at the computer after I hit the send button, I realized my four-legged children were continuing their antics.  Then I realized it was past their dinner time.  I immediately began to have misgivings about my submission but couldn’t find the un-send button in my email program. (I am computer challenged at times.)

I was really surprised several days later when I was told my story had been accepted and I was scheduled for an audition in OKC.  It was great timing because I was going to be in OKC visiting my son that Sunday.  Then a week before the audition my son called to tell me there had been a change in his plans. 

I was sitting firmly on my Pity Pot feeling miffed and depressed considering possible solutions when my friend, Jennifer McMurrian called to ask if I wanted to ride to OKC with her for the audition.  Well, that knocked me right off my Pity Pot. I was excited all over again.  There were forms I would need to fill out, and the LTYM directors needed an additional copy of my manuscript.

I read though the manuscript again and I wasn’t happy.  I did a little tweaking leaving it basically the same.  Then I used the timer to make sure I was within the time constraints.  I had just edited, cutting the piece down, how had the reading time increased?  I edited out some more.

Finally, it was the night before the audition and I re-read the piece yet again. There was the part about….should I edit that out as well?  I had a piece rejected for publication last fall (they accepted some of my other work) because I refused to edit out an expletive. (Hey, it was the character that said it, not me.) I can be stubborn and often regret it later. So I edited yet again--- I was now within the acceptable time constraints.

I went to bed; I could not get to sleep. The last time I remember looking at the alarm clock the bright red lights indicated it was 3:47 a.m.  We weren’t leaving until noon, I could sleep in. But a little before 7 a.m. I was making a b-line trip to the bathroom.  In the next two hours I made five more trips.  Did I have food poisoning?  No fever, no chills.  I decided to attribute it to nerves and looked on the bright side; I must have lost at least ten pounds.  I prayed for more nerves before noon, if I had already lost ten, I only needed to lose about twenty more pounds to be at my goal weight.

Jennifer arrived precisely as scheduled and we headed out. Once on the road my stomach started giving me fits again.  Bless her heart, Jennifer was very understanding, either that, or she was really worried about her car seats. Anyhow, she promptly found a public restroom. 

We arrived in OKC with an hour to spare. Within ten minutes my picture was taken---the earlier ten pound weight loss was not apparent--- and I was in front of the producer/directors Heather Davis, Misti Pryor and Julie Bohannon. I shook. My stomach would not settle.  I read. I cried.  (I didn’t expect that.)  I apologized for my lack of smoothness and explained my last minute edits and why I made them. The three women all did their best to make me feel better and thanked me. 

I waited while Jennifer, I was sure, sailed quite professionally through her audition.  We went to a late lunch at Earl’s Rib Palace.  I asked the waiter if famous authors came into the restaurant frequently.  He said, “Not that I know of.” So I introduced him to Jennifer and she introduced me. We were having a blast. The waiter gave us some complementary ballpoint pens. (A whole other story.)

Shortly before we arrived back in Bartlesville, Heather called on Jennifer’s cell. It was in speaker mode.  We had both been selected for OKC-LTYM 2013.  But the way Heather told me meant so much. They were the sweetest words, “Barb, we want your ass back!”

Friends, family, Meandering Mental Musings blog readers and PolicyMic followers, I encouraged all of you to attend LTYM 2013. If you are not in the OKC area to see our performance, please support the LTYM production in the city nearest you.  Ticket, location, and time information can be found by clicking on the LTYM link on this blog.

I hope to see many of you there.

Embracing Crazy

People say delusions are bad things.  Are they? This week my deceased son, Ben came to my rescue as surely as if he were with me in the flesh.

A newly downloaded and installed driver failed to work following reformatting months ago of my computer, and a now needed but seldom used piece of hardware wouldn't function.

Frustrated, I chastised my son out loud for dying and leaving me in the lurch. Ben was my computer guru and all things technical problem solver. Following my uttered chastisement, in a flash I began searching a catch-all bookcase in the corner. What led me to that bookcase? I felt my son urging me on, and I pulled a dust covered plastic box from the shelf.  Where had this box come from? I didn't remember it.  And as if I had no control over my actions, I began searching the contents of the box and found the needed original driver disc. But now finding it, what was I suppose to do with it? Again, with seemingly no control over my physical movements, I watched as if outside of my own body, seeing myself insert the disc in the computer bay and I gazed in amazement as the needed driver self installed and the useless piece of equipment now sprang to life.

It had to be Ben. But my son is dead, or is he? I heard Ben’s voice assure me he is not dead, his body is just ---gone.  He is always with me when I need him. Wiping tears from my face, I said “thank-you” out loud, and felt the embrace of his hug.

Surely I must be losing my mind. Then I heard Ben’s laugh and it became louder as I decided I was having some sort of delusion and therefore I was going crazy. I heard him snort and tell me if this experience is a delusion and that means I’m crazy, then crazy is the only way to truly be.

After several hours growing more concerned over my possible deteriorating sanity, I decided to distract myself by watching a dvd university course on writing.

I pondered the fact that my ancient dvd player did not have the capability of selecting each individual class. The remote was long lost. I either had to watch a series of six lectures at one sitting or let the dvd play while I did other things until the class I wanted to watch began.

While dwelling on those thoughts I heard,  “Ma-mom!” Again, it was Ben’s voice. I looked around and saw no one; but he had my attention.

And just as before, I began to move automatically, as if not in physical control of my body. I began digging through a wooden box. A box that still, after six long years, I did not touch because it contained many of my son’s belongings that I still could not bring myself to sort through. What was I doing? Near the bottom of the box, my fingers closed around and withdrew something--- a remote control of some sort. It was Ben's. I studied it, not understanding its function. I compared it to the dvd player. I spoke out loud, “It doesn't go to this dvd player. It’s a different brand.” 

To which I heard Ben with his familiar exasperated sigh answer, “Just find some fucking batteries for it.”

No question, Ben was indeed communicating with me. I installed the batteries. Not knowing which buttons to push, my finger somehow went to exactly the right one, and now I could watch each class course in whatever sequence I wanted. Again I said, “Thank you” out loud, and again--- I felt Ben’s hug. This time, I laughed.

I have since pondered if somewhere in my deep subconscious I knew where that disc and the remote were all along, and despite my total lack of abilities in all things technical, I have somehow tapped into a mechanical knowledge that until last Wednesday lay dormant. I have come to the conclusion that is not the case. But I did tap into something. Something wonderful. Because, I heard him, I felt him and if all truth be known, I smelled him. 

If what I experienced were delusions and I am crazy, I will agree with my son Ben, crazy is the only way to truly BE.

is there a difference between being awake and being asleep

maybe it is called stream of conscious because thoughts just sort of float around like a leaf on a stream so why is it that my thoughts sometimes go into swirly mode like water down a drain but instead of getting sucked away i cant sleep be because the swirling wont stop and then just when i am making progress on the verge of figuring something out or doing something important this drowning feeling comes over me and i am out like a light but lights use electricity and we know that electricity and water dont mix they even made a commercial about it now if someone could figure out how to make a ground fault interrupter for peoples thoughts maybe that is what pharmaceutical drugs are suppose to do but they mess people up dulling all that is good and magnifying the undesirable parts so mass shootings take place which should draw attention to the fact that drugs fry brains just like another commercial used to show but now they dont show it anymore because people might link it to pharmaceutical drugs like they should as if the mass killing arent enough to draw attention to the fact but everything in the media is smoke and mirrors to keep you from seeing the truth by getting you to focus on something else instead of what needs to be considered and taken seriously is that the same as looking through a glass darkly does that mean i am wrapped up in conspiracy theories and i am paranoid but some people say just because you are paranoid doesnt mean they arent out to get you and are some people the same as the they i refer too maybe the solution is meditation and trying to empty my brain of all thought by focusing on just one thing like figuring out who they are and is you me but then i just fall asleep like everyone else who needs to wake up