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Just Skip This One

I’ll level with you.  I have this blog on queue, and I try to work on it a bit every week, along with my Facebook page and my draft work.  And today is my day to work on this.  And this is not what I want to do.  It’s not the writing or anything like that.  Generally, I still like writing.  I still like working on projects and all that other nice shiz.  Today, I just don’t like much of anything.

Story time!

I’m not new to depression.  In the past I’ve been to counseling over it and a couple other issues, and I’ve also been on medication for it for…oh…let’s say a little over two years if my memory is correct? 

I’m no longer in counseling because talking to a stranger doesn’t work for me and I’ve never really found one who I liked to talk to where I didn’t feel judged.  That’s not a comment on their professionalism or anything like that.  I’m sure they are good at what they do.  It just didn’t work for me.

I’m no longer taking medication because it kinda stopped working.  I tried Zoloft and did fairly well on it, but I started having problems with clenching my jaw 24/7, and after some research of my own and confirmation from my doctor, I weaned myself off it and switched to Wellbutrin for about a month.  My body and my mind did not take the switch well at all.

Wellbutrin and Well are two words that should never go together. Pun was unintentional. Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I felt like I had the flu for weeks when I was on it.  I went through the worst low of my twenty-nine years of existence, which ended with me curled up in the bottom of the shower bawling because I thought I was going crazy and my boyfriend sitting with me trying to convince me I wasn’t.

It.

Sucked.

Balls.

So, I called my doctor and got the okay to slowly get off it, and had to deal with the withdrawals from not just one but two medications.  Phew.  Not good times.

So yeah, me and depression are long time friends.  Like, not the kind of friends you want to go hang out with on weekends, but maybe the kind a friends you dread going to the bar with because you know they are just going to ditch out on you and leave you to walk home by yourself at two in the morning through alleys and the streets you don’t really like to drive past even in broad daylight. 

My analogies suck, but work with me here.

I guess the point of this post is to show that even when it hurts to get out of bed or eat when you’re supposed to or breathe when you’d rather not is that sometimes it’s better to force yourself to do it.  Even if you would rather do anything but be productive.  Keeping busy is important especially when you are on a low because if you don’t, then the self-depreciation thoughts kick into overdrive, and that shit is scarier than anything else.

This blog post is nothing but an exercise in forcing myself to do what I don’t want to do and seeing how many times I can write a few words before I delete paragraphs because everything I put to page sounds petty.  These feelings don’t go well with expository writing, in my ever so humble opinion.  Here’s a poem instead:

Late night early
morning late night again
and still I cannot get
these thoughts
out of my fucking head.
I don’t think I want to die in earnest,
but I do think that existing is
harder than what some people
make it out to be.
Whenever someone says something
less than satisfactory to me
(in jest I think it’s in jest I hope it’s in jest)
I tell them that the joke is on them,
because no one can possibly hate me
more than
me.
I say it so often, I’m not sure
which of us is really
joking
anymore.

Little red Minecraft dude doesn’t like this blog post either. Photo by burak kostak on Pexels.com

I don’t know.  I think that’s as far as I can push this issue.  I guess what you can take out of this is that depression sucks, that getting medication is almost too easy and that just because one thing works doesn’t mean another one will, and that I don’t know which thing sucks more.  That’s probably a good topic for another post now that I think about it.

I usually like to end all these things off with a question that has to do with what I wrote about, but fuck that on-topic bull.

Do you like puppies?

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Gone, but Never Forgotten

This.  Fucking.  Book.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BuRyzz9AQlX/

Where do I even start?  The believable, relatable characters?  The phenomenal descriptions from beginning to end?  The total twist at the end that I did not see coming?

Nah… Let’s start instead with the subject matter of the book.

I feel like rape stories are done time and time again, but I haven’t even seen one from the point of view of someone not directly involved in the act.  This story is told through the daughter of the accused, who allegedly raped her best friend.  WAIT it gets worse.  The dad allegedly raped his daughter’s best friend, who happens to be underage.  WAIT WAIT!  The act allegedly happened while the daughter was in the same room, sleeping.

What.  The.  Fuck.

The daughter, Katie, has to go through the next six years of her life without her father.  She is fiercely loyal to him, and grows up hating her best friend, Lulu, for ruining her family’s life.  She cuts contact completely, not only because the lawyers tell her to do so, but also because she wants nothing to do with her anymore.  Katie was in the same room, for godsake.  She would have known if something was going down that shouldn’t have been.  Besides, her father loved those girls.  He accepted Lulu as one of his own.  He was a well-respected man of the community.  There’s no way in hell that Lulu’s allegations could be true.

Right?

The closer it comes to her father’s release date, the more unsure she becomes of what exactly happened that night.  Had there been a fight between herself and Lulu?  Did Lulu have motivation to get Katie’s father a one way ticket to the jailhouse?

There’s a blank spot in her memory (some forgotten hours, ROLL CREDITS) but when she goes back to the cabin they spent those summers at to get it ready for her father’s return, she finds a box of letters and receipts that offers answers if only she is brave enough to follow the trail.

Did her dad do it?

Did Lulu lie?

I’m not here to spoil that for you.  Read this book.  It’s not one I would normally pick up, but it was a freebie on Amazon one month (yey prime!) and I’m glad I chose it. 

The Forgotten Hours delves into a subject matter that is uncomfortable but necessary.  There’s the #MeToo movement happening (wow girl welcome to the party like fifty years later seriously), and I first want to say that I stand behind it completely.  Consent is an important thing to give and receive before any sort of bumping of the uglies commences.  With more and more people coming out and saying that they’ve been harmed in one way or another by another person, it can be hard to trust in someone.  And I’m not saying that it’s just for women, either.  For men, too, it can be hard to trust.  And I feel like this is because the whole concept of “consent” is a tricky subject.

Now, backtrack a little bit.  When I say that, I don’t mean blatant rape.  Like, violence against a person is bad.  Date raping a person is bad.  If someone says “No, don’t touch me,” that is obviously rape.  If someone is passed out and you choose to feel them up, that is bad.  There’s things that are obvious.

You still with me here?

So, consent.  It’s tricky.  It’s tricky because both people are supposed to be mind readers.  In the case of Lulu and Katie’s father (NO SPOILERS okay some spoilers), there is no violence.  There is no “No, don’t touch me.”  There is the thing of being underage and statutory and all that shiz, but that’s a different subject.  Let’s take that out of the picture entirely.  Let’s pretend she’s eighteen for the sake of my point. 

Okay, we pretending?  Sweet.

If Katie’s father and Lulu sleep together, and Lulu didn’t really want to, but she didn’t say anything otherwise, is it rape?  Or did they consent?  I don’t know, because what is considered consent varies from person to person.

Which is why it’s important that people talk about it.

Where do we draw the line?  Katie wasn’t completely sure.  Lulu wasn’t entirely certain.  Katie’s father, well, he goes to jail over it, so you can draw your own conclusions on what he thinks.

One final point I want to make is about character.  As I said before, Katie’s father is a well-respected member of the community.  He’s involved in his family.  He is a friendly, outgoing man.  He’s always ready to welcome people with open arms.  He likes people and people like him.  He’s always ready to turn any bad situation into a new opportunity.  He has all these good qualities, and so his friends and neighbors can’t believe that he is capable of doing something as terrible as what he’s accused of.

What people forget is that every person (both in real life and in good fiction) has multiple qualities that make them who they are.  Very rarely is there a human being who is all good or all bad.  Katrin Schumann, the author of the book, made it a point to tell all the good about Katie’s father all the way through, and that’s important.  People who are considered saints by all that know them are still capable of doing horrible things.  People who are labeled as criminals can still help those in need.  There are no monsters in this world. 

I’ll say it again:

People are not monsters.

Big Foot might be where I draw the line Photo by Gratisography on Pexels.com

People you don’t like are not just like Hitler, and Hitler was not a monster.  He was a man.  A man who committed atrocious acts and convinced a country to dispose of an entire group of people for reasons I cannot pretend to understand, but he also did a handful of good, too.  In no way does that excuse what he did.  But at the end of the day, he was a man.  Not a monster.  I feel like society is quick to label people monsters because they don’t want to accept that anyone is capable of doing bad things, but at the end of the day, at the end of right and wrong, we are all capable of anything.  And that’s scary.

Annddd somehow I went from a book review to the fundamentals of labeling.  I think that’s a good place to stop.

Tl;dr Read The Forgotten Hours. 

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Roller Coaster…of LOOove

Hey you!  Yeah, you!  Kid, you like roller coasters? 

Ya want some candy? Photo by Daria Obymaha on Pexels.com

Well, then do I got something for you.

Was that a stupid enough of an intro for this?  Probably.  But in all seriousness: Joe Hill.  More importantly, Joe Hill’s short story collection, 20th Century Ghosts.  This book has fifteen stories that range anywhere from terrifying to heartwarming to just plain sad. 

This is why I love Joe Hill.

I feel like the best way to do this is to choose my favorite and least favorite story.  Otherwise this will go on for thousands and thousands of words, and, let’s be real, neither one of us have the time or energy to go through that.  😉

So, Pop Art.  The first sentence begins, “My best friend when I was twelve was inflatable.”  I’m thinking, alright, cool, crazy kid with a blow-up doll, or maybe not even necessarily crazy, but definitely lonely.  An imaginary friend story.  Those are fun.  But that’s when things get interesting and Hill forces me to think outside the box. 

First of all, the inflatable friend isn’t imaginary.  He’s real.  He goes to school, other kids acknowledge him, and he’s able to communicate with others via a whiteboard and some crayons.  Him being inflatable isn’t a metaphor for some kind of ailment or disease or anything like that.  He’s 100% full of air; no organs, no openings (save for the spots where he can take in more air), so no mouth.  If he isn’t careful, he can float away.  His parents are not inflatable.  They are normal everyday humans who eat and talk and function like anyone else.  He is not adopted.  He was just born that way. 

When I accepted this fact, the rest of the story was enjoyable, and rather sad.  The protagonist of the story is kind of an outcast with a bad home life.  His mother is gone and his father doesn’t want much to do with him.  He befriends Art (the inflatable kid) at school when a couple of bullies are after him.  After that day, they hang out at school and at each other’s houses, until the protagonist’s father gets a dog and things get a bit tense at his house, so they instead hang around Art’s house.

I don’t want to give the whole story away because I think you should read it yourself.  It’s funny and sad and heartwarming and frightening all at the same time.  I may or may not have cried at the end of it.  It’s a great story about what a person would be willing to do for their best friend.  Ahhh I love it.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BtrCZlNF3LU/

My Father’s Mask.  Now, I can’t say that I hated this one.  It was good for what it was.  I was tense the whole time I was reading it; the story has an uneasy feel, like there’s something under the surface that it’s not letting on.

The short of it is that a boy named Jack goes with his parents on a trip to this cabin and he doesn’t really want to go.  The mom plays a game with him and makes it out to be an adventure and tells him that he can’t be seen by anyone or else they will come to get him.  The kid is too old for these kinds of games (I believe he’s a teenager?), but he plays along anyway.  Cut to the cabin.  There are a ton of masks laying around and hanging on the walls and just everywhere you look, there’s a mask.  If you thought the parents were acting off before, they really act off now.  They wear a mask, and insist that he wears a mask, too.  There’s almost a taboo sexual feel to the whole thing?  Like, the kid wants to leave the cabin because he wants to let them do their thing without having to be a part of it.  He goes into the woods to gather some wood and gets lost, but he meets a kid who he thought he saw the night before who makes him uneasy, so he runs and hides.  Then he meets two other kids who offer to answer one question if he beats them in a card game with ambiguous rules.

Confused yet?

A lot happens in this story, but it’s all rather vague.  I still don’t know what exactly happened in the cabin, or in the woods, or when he gets back to the cabin.  Everything feels off and uneasy.  The entire time I read this one, I had my head in my hand and my face scrunched up the way, as if screwing myself up would help me understand it better. 

That being said, I liked it.  It scared me, and I had no idea what was going on.  I don’t know if that was purposeful or if I was missing some major plot point, but either way, it fucking worked.  I felt like I was in the woods with Jack, but he left me behind, and several weeks later I still can’t find my way out.

Have you read 20th Century Ghosts?  What was your favorite story in it?  And (more importantly for me anyway) did you understand My Father’s Mask??

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Three Down, ??? To Go…

Oh, gaspers!

Oh, jeezums!

Oh, beepers!

Any of those doing anything for ya?  😉

Alright, so no review this week.  Not from lack of reading, I assure you.  Instead, I thought I’d drop you all a line to celebrate!

https://www.instagram.com/p/BtrCwWwF8yo/

MUTHAFUGGIN CELEBRATION!!!

I just finished editing the third draft of my novel!  Now, I got this blog on queue, so this magic actually happened last month.  When you read this, I’ll be working on typing out the fourth (and hopefully final) draft before sending this baby out and praying for something cool to happen. 

Weird little tidbit: I had no idea what was going to happen.  By that, I mean with the ending, and by that, I mean that I had a general idea of how it would close out, but not so clear on how it would get there.  It’s taken three drafts to get the beginnings of an idea, and it took editing that third draft to finally get that little light bulb in my head to spark up.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BtrCwWwF8yo/

So, from my editing notes, I need to:

  • Give the last few sections a major revision
  • Do some more research on what happens when you go blind in one eye (and really I should just be able to ask my doctor at work about that) (perks of being an optician)
  • Set up a timeline (don’t give me shit I don’t do plot for the most part when I do these things)
  • Make a map (physical map) (should’ve done that to begin with) (didn’t seem important at the time) (sue me)
  • Read up on some voodoo hoodoo

I have my work cut out for me.  But I’m one step closer.

And now, to celebrate.  Probably with some San Pedro and a margarita the size of my face.  What do you do for yourself when you meet a goal?

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Am I Too Late Or..?

New Year.  New Me.  Or whatever.

I don’t buy the phrase honestly.  But I do resolutions.  Does that make me a hypocrite?

Hooray hilarious stock photos!
Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

Probably. 😉

So last year I wanted to read more, stay on my meds, lose weight, drink more water, look into freelancing, and get my novel ready to whore itself out to agents.  By the end of the year, I read the same amount I always do (which was already all the time and I don’t know why I thought it would be a good resolution except it was easy), got off my medication completely, lost ten pounds, cut down pop to once a day, started working for four different freelancing places (one was a bust but I’m counting it because I signed paperwork), and got the third draft of my novel complete.

So progress.  Mostly.

I don’t think it’s very productive to make a huge list of things you want to better or accomplish because when there’s too much stuff it’s almost unobtainable. 

Did I mention that I’m a hypocrite? 😉

So, let’s take a second and assume you care (because if you made it this far, you may as well power through to the end).  Here, for your viewing pleasure and eventual ammunition to throw in my face come December, is my New Year’s resolutions (in long unobtainable list form):

  • Lose ten pounds
  • Keep to writing and cleaning schedule
  • Take one day every couple of weeks to do absolutely nothing
  • Go on more dates
  • Do more social networking for writing and less for personal
  • Be more involved with family and keep track of birthdays
  • Pay off credit cards and car loan
  • Go out of town to see friends more often just because
  • Take Jax (old grumpo) to good doggo classes
  • Take doggos for more walks
  • Declutter physical and digital files
  • Locate my self-esteem

Totally doable, right?  Not shooting too far?

Do you do resolutions?  If you do, in what ways are you looking to improve yourself?  Or are you cool with who you are and what you’re doing already?

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Introductions are a Formality

Hi, yo, hello, and welcome to another attempt at a site on yet another platform.  My name is Manda, but I’ll answer to about anything except a whistle.  I write, I read, I organize things when the motivation hits, and I try every day to distance myself further from the clutches of Corporation, America (okay yeah not really).

Speaking of organization, this site will have an uncomfortably small amount, at least for the time being.  Whoopsie.  What you’re going to get here are book reviews, project updates, and links (good god so many links!), with the occasional personal quip here and there.  And dog photos.  Several dog photos.  So…blog.  This is a blog is what I’m saying.  Blog and portfolio?  Eh, you get the picture.

And occasionally my face but not very often let’s be honest here.

😉