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Catastrophe and the Cure

In 8 weeks, I'm having a baby boy.

And I'm oddly not frightened. Sure, labor scares me a little, but it's something that I have to do, and it's going to suck every which way. It's uncontrollable and I'm made peace with it.

So what brings me here?

I haven't written in ages. Don't ask me why or how, but I stumbled upon a profile of a girl who is the better version of me. This girl writes and is good at it. She's working at a job that she loves, and her face glows with happiness.

Me? I'm counting down the days until I can leave my job. I am not happy here, and I haven't been for a while. I can't handle the stress. I'll just be honest. This department is short-staffed and the workplace is very demanding. Oh, and I don't care anymore. I'm tired of the condescending people, the unrealistic expectations, and the fact that I am wiped out by 3 pm every day. By the way, I'm ignoring a rush project to write this post, but that's beside the point. I almost had a mental breakdown 10 minutes ago, and I need this. I really need this.

I'm finally leaving. I have a plan in the works people. So I've been thinking long and hard about what would make me happy. What does everything stem towards at the end of the day?

I want to do good for others. I want to interact. I want to engage. I want to teach. I want to change.

So I'm changing professions. I'm applying to a teaching program that starts in the Fall, and I plan on teaching elementary school.

But wait, what happened to the writing? What happened to the cooking? Why are you allll over the place?

I realize these are things that definitely make me happy, but not aspects of my happiness on which I'd like to focus 100%. However, they are things that I can definitely incorporate into teaching.

So there. I need to be happy for my son. I need to be happy for my husband. Most importantly, I need to be happy for myself. And that's that.

#ramblings #writing #happiness

home is just a figure of speech.

I imagine that in a past life, if I were to believe in such things, I was a traveler, a nomad/gypsy of sorts.

I cannot sit still.

When I was younger, and I would do something my baba found outrageous, he would scream obscenities in Arabic, and then proceed to say that I am either out of mind; out of control; or a gypsy. He would end his tirade with "Sharshoor, you're going to kill me one day."

But he is just like me. Restless, too ambitious, constantly moving, or not moving at all. According to his timeline of our family's history, he and my mom moved at least six times before not moving at all. But they're now separate, and since he's moved three times.

My mom's grandfather was the same way. They moved constantly. From Egypt to Sudan to Egypt and then to America. As a child, my grandparents moved four or five times until they stopped moving after my uncle married.

When I finally convinced my baba to let me move onto campus my second year of college, I realized my choice of roommate was horrible. She was constantly homesick while I was embracing my new found freedom with every pore of my being. One day, I decided to open up about this; I needed advice. My living situation had become extremely uncomfortable. Baba looked at me and said, "when I was in my early twenties, I moved to Saudi. I shared a flat with another young man, but I never saw him. He worked at night while I worked during the day. Best situation. I never saw him. No trouble. Yalla, move back home."

I found myself moving every six months to a year after that point.

Now, my husband and I have our own home. I'm displacing that desire to move around with a desire to travel; leave work; sleep. Well, I'm actually already dreaming up our next place to call home. We just moved in a month ago.

I'm constantly restless. Always searching for something. Always confused. Never satisfied. My appetite for experience insatiable.

thinking man #100happydays #day25

#100happydays #day25

bluebell loves Craig #100happydays #day24

#100happydays #day24

Pineapple kale protein smoothie #100happydays #day23 #NotWineISwear #BFAST

#100happydays #bfast #notwineiswear #day23

what did I do? #100happydays #day21 #squeekytoyfordays

#100happydays #squeekytoyfordays #day21

after a long work day, this does the trick. #100happydays #day20 #winetuesday #salud

#100happydays #salud #day20 #winetuesday

I like to be alone. Too often. I'm a self-professed control freak. When I'm alone, all I have to control is myself. I've literally created a self-controlled environment. I can drink alone. As much as I want. My tongue can roll off as many consonants and vowels. My mouth can belt out of tune tunes without judgment. I can wail my sorrow. My loneliness breaking me. I can stop whenever I want. There is comfort in being alone. The pillows hug back. Molding and melting into the crevices of my body. Legs tangled within white sheets. No one to tug accusingly, whispering, stop hogging the covers. My thoughts alone are often not incriminating. I, being the judge of these thoughts, watch my lips in the mirror. My eyes can widen or narrow creasing wrinkles around the sides of my lips and edges of my brow. Alone, I offer soliloquies as grand as Shakespeare. My words reaching far beyond the poetics of Solomon and Dante. My symphonies more eloquent than Mozart; more deaf than Beethoven. I am the composer, the conductor, the playwright, the marveling actor, the light footed ballerina, the - Until the phone rings.

#poetry #writing

optimismfreak-deactivated201901

writingworkshopsla

Writing Advice from Joanna Rakoff

Fiction and non-fiction writer Joanna Rakoff will be presenting at WWLA: The Conference as part of the panel “Oh, the Humanity!: Creating Complex Characters on the Page.”

Joanna shared a few pieces of writing advice, for us brave, enthusiastic and talented:

1. A couple of years ago, I read a profile of Jodi Picoult, whom I’d never heard of at the time, and I’ve never read a word she’s written (and likely never will). She described her approach to writing as “ass in chair.” I was at a rough point with my new book and it was enormously helpful to tell myself “ass in chair” — in other words, just sit there and write. Truth is, it worked, I broke through and the rest of the book came quickly.

2. This summer, Jamie Quattro quoted one of her mentors as saying that a story needs to have the same level of urgency as a close friend sitting down with you, leaning across the table, and saying, I HAVE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING RIGHT NOW. This basically encapsulates my own feelings about all writing—for me, even a book review, an essay on waste removal, needs to have that urgency, that sense of a larger framework—and it was hugely helpful to have it tossed back at me in a different form.

JOANNA RAKOFF is the author of the novel A Fortunate Age, which won the Goldberg Prize for Fiction and was a New York Times Editors’ Pick, a winner of the Elle Readers’ Prize, and a San Francisco Chronicle Best Seller. Her memoir, My Salinger Year, is out in June. She’s written for the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, Vogue, Marie Claire, O: The Oprah Magazine, and many other publications.

she's learning about love again

it's almost like she forgot how.

she misses the days where writing took precedent

and it didn't matter how many drinks you had

or how late you stayed up.

but she's looking forward to babies

kisses

writing during free moments

and endless love.

there are still days when she wants to throw everything into the back of her car and drive into the sunset, middle finger in the air, and bare feet on the gas pedal. those thoughts are blown away with exhales and closed eyes.

Um so I just found out that the Food Network has a librarian.

That is my new DREAM job.

Who wants to help me overthrow the current Food Network librarian?

please?

The hubz and I are working on a writing project together. To stir in some writing action, I purchased a white board to get the deets down. It's still white, but we're still in the research phase. He's a lot faster at getting through our research. Luckily, it's been somewhat slow in the evenings for me at work so I'm catching up. Slowly.

He and I have very different methods of writing. I like to dream up my characters, inflate their personalities, and let my imagination soar. He's more of a theme-driven writer. Get the themes down first, and then start. I've also never written a screenplay before so I'm not thinking of the visuals the way he does.

I've also been bouncing some ideas off my mom for a short story compilation. It's the first time my mom has ever encouraged me to write.

I need to dedicate more time to my research and writing.

I don't really know how to balance work and life very well.

Do you remember the computer game, The Sims? The one where you can lead a simulated life, and have your Sim do whatever you want? I purchased Sims 3 recently out of nostaglia and nerdom. A few days after playing, I realized my Sim leads a life parallel to my own. It works all day, comes home, makes dinner, goes to bed, repeat. Only on her day off does she call friends, hang out, etc.

I'm absolutely horrible at life. haha. I used to be much better. In college, I worked two jobs, took 20 units every quarter, maintained good grades, and still went out with friends. Where did my energy go?

It left my body when the gray hairs starting coming in, but hey, who's paying attention. ;)

scratch

starting all over again.

from the beginning.

where my heart has been and always will be.

I'm going to write and write and write. I'm going to cook and cook and cook.

I'm going to be where I am supposed to be, and everything else will be background noise. I will disappear otherwise. And then, I will hate myself.

I've seen what working a job that's bad for you can do. It brings about cancer and the black decays your insides. You become a shell of a person.

So I'm going to start from scratch. I'm not sure if that will be here or another blog forum, but I will begin again.

And, that is that.

bdgarp

To know yourself is to admit knowing nothing at various times in your life.

story-dj

Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.

Ernest Hemmingway (via story-dj)

I have not cooked for almost two weeks. And, that's probably the reason I'm so restless.

This week my ego was bloated and then popped all in the same day, and then I went to a party and felt like a fraud. I can't remember the last time I felt comfortable in my own skin.

Comparisons are futile, but I can't stop being so cognizant of my surroundings.

Sometimes I want to be satisfied, but then I remember frustration is the fuel of creativity. I just need to find the gas pedal. It takes everything in me not to quit my job and become some chef's apprentice, or some wallowing writer in the corner of my bedroom staring at closed blinds. Sometimes I feel like it's too late to start from scratch, but I can't think like that. I just don't want any of this any more. I need to learn patience. I can't just throw everything into my car and drive away anymore. I want more than that too.

I can't stand being so dull.

Why am I always so honest?

#ramblings

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