How do you pick up something you put down 6 months ago? And when you do simply pick it back up, how do you compensate for all that time away? It’s difficult. Whether its a barbell or a blog. Although, its a little more straight forward with inanimate objects. You know its probably going to be painful. You can avoid or embrace. Ok, maybe not so different from here. But, blogs and readers and spaces seem more difficult. They feel neglected. They lose interest. They move on. And really who can blame them? Because isn’t that what I did? For half a year or so. Read more
This time last week I was stuck in the hospital. In fact, I’d been stuck at said facility for nigh on 4 days. My baby was here… inevitably, finally, amazingly, at long last. But, due to the loooooong process to get him here, we were held for observation. Testing. Sepsis. Glucose. Temperatures. Heart rates. Stool softeners doled out on the regular. Percocet should I so choose. Funny that I chose the former over the latter. Eagerly. Missed opportunity, that. Lots of pestering and interruption in a very small recovery room, with limited and sometimes no hot water. Well meaning pestering. Professional pestering. Slightly obnoxious nonetheless.
The last few weeks have been…”eventful”. Not in the traditional definition of that word. It’s not as if much is happening. Here I sit, 31-ish weeks, increasingly uncomfortable. I’ve begun referring to this as the doldrums of pregnancy. Still afloat, but not able to go much of anywhere in a hurry. By eventful I’m referring to the quiet death of Hope and Fake Budgets. Long ago mentioned, never followed up on, for precisely this reason. Yet, it stuck around for a long time. Long enough to look promising, really, really promising even. Bright and shiny and looming on horizons. Before snuffing out rather unceremoniously. But, that wasn’t even the event. The event was everything that came after. Read more
I recently found myself in the rather awkward situation (for me) of having to define Dogs or Dollars. Repeatedly. To people who’d never read it. And didn’t know me. Huh. There’s a task that shouldn’t be hard. And sorta was.
Mumble, bumble, leaving corporate servitude, uhhhh saving money, erm growing shit, and how ’bout those dogs? Personal journey? Anyone? I conveniently managed to put myself at the intersection of two of my favorite bloggers: Northwest Edible Life and Mr. Money Mustache. Both of whom, I had the distinct pleasure of being in the same room with at that particular moment in time. Read more
I’ve had a ton of time off. Restating that: It feels like I’ve had a ton of time off. When I look at the calendar, I actually only took 7 days of vacation. Add weekends. Add Holidays. Stir in the slower pace of operations during this weird year end period, I’m going back to: I’ve had a ton of time off! But, today is it. Back to work. Resume Corporate Servitude. More than that. Pregnant Corporate Servitude. Literally pregnant (me). Figuratively pregnant, awaiting the pause (at least) at the end of that term.
I certainly need the time, as I need the income to further my preparations. All those goals need funding. I’m trying to remember that. Constantly. Incessantly. Because I’m not looking forward to it. Appreciating your Corporate Overlords is even more challenging when there’s barely enough energy to go around. When that required time of butt sitting is much more exhausting than it should be. I always feel like there are better things I could be doing – more productive ‘things’. Wheeling, dealing, empire building. Which actually looks much like email writing, chicken tending, hanging clothes to dry, cupboard cleaning, and the annual pouring over of seed catalogs. Read more
Wait, wha? Pregnant? Who said anything about being pregnant? Certainly not me. Not here. Until, just now. Oh, right. Pregnant. Knocked up. In the family way. Me. We. Currently. Surprised?
Apologies for the crappy picture. There’s a humanoid in there. Believe me. Via Ultrasound via cell phone camera, does not make for the best image quality. Plus Ultrasound pictures are always kind of creepy.
I’m not. Or I shouldn’t be. Because it was ‘planned’. At least as much as anything in life can be ‘planned’.
Although, it enhanced the tremendous amount of respect I have for the birth control I’ve always taken for granted. What does surprise me, is the effect it’s had on me. Already. Physically. Mentally. In all the ways. All that time I’ve not been writing, I have been sleeping. Epic sleeps. I’m just coming around from a good solid 12 hours. That’s the new standard. 14-16 hours also pretty effortless. I may take a nap later to up my total. If I’m not sleeping, I’m pursuing other new found past times, like staring off into space, watching past seasons of TV shows I’m not all that interested in. Occasionally, if I’m really with it, I read. It has taken me 2 weeks to write this post. I’m not even kidding. I’m fresh out of giddy-up. This person building, even in it’s earliest stages, turns out to be really, really taxing. And not in a way I can just write a check for. Read more
For a week. Or so. Accidentally. Accidentally, on purpose. I’ve never wanted to be ‘that blog’, just as I’ve never wanted to write ‘that post’. You know the one. Flakey blogger writes heartfelt apology for their absence and recommits to a relationship they are clearly finding unsustainable. Only to produce substandard, hurried content and inevitably fall off the wagon again, and again, and again. I’ve endeavored to do it differently. Since this blog is so much about my life, more so perhaps then I ever realized or intended, I thought I could keep the lines of communicado open. Keep peeps in the know. With what’s going on in said life, and how that may or may not impact my posting schedule. That theory worked pretty well when I posted 5 days a week. Then four. Then two or three-ish, under which circumstances I really could no longer live with myself. Momentum gone. Blog interrupted.
My life has not embarked on some exciting new trajectory. Not hardly. Not yet. Rather here’s where I’ve been. Rain and afghans, old favorite books, not iPads, dogs, always with the dogs, and no writing. I find myself in need of input, unable to produce any output. There are things in my life I can not share with you. Read more
I’m running the risk of repeating myself. The same content creeps through my fingers and threatens to swallow this blog in a tide of repetition. Too many posts are becoming the redux version. Thoughts I’ve thought before, translated into content you’ve read before. Or that would at least be eerily familiar.
How’s about a picture you’ve already seen to top it all off? Well, it was only on Facebook, so that doesn’t really count. (Does it?) Lady Gaga and Rocco face off via Chicken Tractor. They’ve since come to terms with the act of mutually ignoring each other. Good for them. However, their temporary stale mate reminds me of my own. Why am I writing about the same topics over and over? Is it because I’m not making any forward progress? Am I stuck in a rut of my very own creating? Am I not giving myself the time to work my way out of those (perhaps imaginary) ruts to find the shiny new content on the other side? Are my post really that similar or do they just seem that way to me? Have I taken the act of navel gazing blogger to a new high (or low, as it were)? Read more
I graduated from High School when I was 16. About two days after that, I graduated from Community College with a two year Associates in Arts transfer degree. One month shy of my 17th birthday. That Fall, I entered a State University as a 17 year old Junior. Between scholarships and financial aid, I paid only for my books and my housing. I was on my way to a very different life. I majored in English Lit. Not for the employment prospects (clearly). No. Because I can compare and contrast images of God in William Blake like no body’s business.
At that time, I wanted nothing more than to be in school for as long as possible. To work my part time job. To read my books. And lead my little life. Then I dropped out. Not right away. Early in the Spring quarter of my Senior year, with about 24 credits left to graduate (16 of which I was currently taking), I left. I withdrew one day, and I never went back.
Welcome to Corporate America. Read more
When did Dogs or Dollars start? Thats a hard question to answer. Maybe not hard. Squishy. A squishy question to answer. A year ago I was a gal with a neglected blogspot address. Something I’d fiddled with from time to time since shortly after The Leap in 2009. 2009 seems like a really long time ago. ‘Dogs or Dollars?’ the question started even before that. In 2008. When Corporate America laid my ass off. For nearly four years I’ve been wrestling with these choices. First kicked to the curb by my Corporate Masters, then trying and succeeding (to varying degrees) to claw my way away. Four years.
I’ve only been talking to you for one. The bulk of it from the above location. With my return to servitude (not a success really), I rid myself of one of two jobs (the one I liked of course) and thought “Hey, I’ve got some free time. Let’s start that blog again!” Here’s when I thought it. That was also about the time I thought “Hey, let’s start a garden!”, “Hey, let’s can some food!”, “Hey, I bet the dogs wouldn’t really eat chickens!” Turns out I was right about that last thing. Whew. All of that. All of it. One year and 300 posts ago. Today. Read more