Jenn vs. Brain

Last Wednesday I blogged a reprimmand to my brain for misbehavior and conduct unbecoming a brain with the responsibility of managing my life. Kind of a "mind over mind" attempt.

Saturday I got to Fred Meyer and discovered that I had six blue primroses in my cart and no good idea of what I was doing there. Imagine that all of a sudden instead of being present in your life, you're watching a real-time video of yourself. The difficulty really, is the lack of a script. Really, if I was quick-witted enough at these moments I could pretend I was in a Christopher Guest movie about myself and probably do just fine.

Jennifer is learning to adjust to these moments. She has her cel phone, she knows she's not too far from home. Why is Jennifer at Fred Meyer? To buy primroses? That doesn't seem quite right, although she likes them and she has a place for them at home. She looks at Valentines Day boxer shorts. That doesn't seem quite right either.

Fred Meyer. Fred Meyer. Jennifer's brain, watching through the Jenn-cam, reminds her that she bought really cool greyhound statues here before Christmas. She makes her way to the home decor department and checks out those aisles. No greyhounds.

Memo back to the brain. That's not why Jennifer's here. Politely invite brain to re-join the life-party. Brain IMs back that no-thanks, it's too scary. Jennifer wanders the aisles for a few minutes, hoping to convince brain that Fred Meyer is not Freddy Krueger.

Brain slowly starts to re-associate. The Jenn-cam dissolves, and I start thinking in first-person again. White-boards. I wanted white boards. Since I'm practically standing in the white board aisle, my sub-conscious clearly knew something.

Okay, Brain. I'm starting to catch on to you and your little game. Watch out. I'm smarter than you are....

Are You There Brain? It's Me, Jennifer...

Okay. I’m officially tired of this neurological wiring problem. Whoever attached the green wire to the blue wire, or whatever the hell it is that happened, the joke is over. I am not going to blow up.

“They” tell me I have a chemical imbalance that causes the wiring problem. The chemical imbalance comes from years of living in “fight or flight” mode. That’s called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder by “they” that need to name things. Apparently, I was in a war and didn’t get the memo.

Actually, that isn’t true. When the war memo got delivered I read it, dealt with it, and I waited. Me and Chamberlain, we could’ve been a real pair. I waited to see if you, Brain, could deal with peace. I wasn’t giving up thirteen years of marriage without giving peace a chance. Apparently, the wounds of war ran deeper than I thought, Ye Olde Brain has forgotten how to live with peace. And I get to continue to live with those scars.

But here’s the deal, Brain. Yes, you put up with a lot of crap. As “they” tell me, “most people don’t have to deal with those things”. That’s nice. You did. Deal or No Deal, for Chrissake. This whole “disassociation” phenomenon? Where you see me outside my body driving down the road or sitting on the couch and think you are someone else on the outside looking in? Get.Over.It.

So Brain, the fact of the matter is that you’re not going to crack up. Even when you want to. Eventually, like soon, I will have had enough of this crap. And when I’ve had enough, I’ve had enough. And then, Brain, it won’t matter what colors the wires are.

Bite me.

Dear Literary Agent:

Dear Literary Agent:

Please read my delightfully quirky query letter and be so amused and captivated that you would like to see a synopsis of my very funny and highly entertaining novel.

I will happily provide said synopsis and sample chapters promptly. I promise that you will be equally charmed by the potential oozing from the pages.

I promise to be punctual with deadlines, and provide all requested materials for you to present to publishers. And, if it isn't too much to ask, can you get me a really good deal so I can quit my day job?

Sincerely,

JATC

Tagged, by Patience

Patience, at Patience Please tagged me to post a photo. What she said exactly was:

"I was challenged to publish a photo from my computer by taking the sixth photo in the sixth folder on my computer and below you can see the result." (You'll need to go to Patience's blog to see her fun photo.) She challenged me to do the same.

I take some freakin' weird photos, so I was a little relieved to see what turned up as number six in folder six. My babies! Princess Tara on the left, and the Amazing Nike on the right. Thanks Patience, I needed a pick-me-up today!

All Terrain Brain...

Allloooo Blogland!

I'm writing to you because I'm cleverly avoiding Chapter 3. Chapter 3 is a transitional chapter, and those are the hardest to write. We've arrived at the setting, we've discovered the crime, we've introduced some main characters, so now the weaving begins; plot, backstory, real clues, red herrings, sub-characters. My GPS is now "not on the digitized road".

Time to engage the writer's 4wd.

Cheers!

Interdict

It's my word of the day today. It means:

MEANING:noun: A prohibition, especially a formal one, as by a court, church, etc.verb tr.: To prohibit or stop. (courtesy wordsmith.org)

Use in sentence:

I'm interdicting Stan from going outside with Tara in the morning. It's freakin' freezing out there, and Stan doesn't come when he's called. He runs and hides under the deck and laughs at me in his evil little cat chuckle. Then just when I give up and I'm settled with my coffee, he decides he's cold and he wants back in.

Therefore, Stan is formally interdicted from playing hide and seek with JATC at 6am.

Did everyone learn something? Everyone but Stan, probably.

Cheers

Why Do I Have An Emu?

I'm taking advantage of my unanticipated vacation to work on my book. After reading every publication on the planet regarding how authors should organize their ideas, I finally have been able to put those books to good use.

They're sitting in an intellectually artistic casual assortment on my coffee table.

I'm beginning to suspect that one of the problems my brain has dealing with the world is that it doesn't like being stuffed into rules and structure. I find that confusing, and stressful. My wiring can't process it.

So I sat down to just plain old write yesterday. Start at the beginning and let the stories tell themselves, as they did when I was a child. The first thing that happened was the damn emu showed up. No idea where the damn emu came from or what he's doing there. Why an emu?

I guess I'm going to find out when I do today's installment. Or maybe the answer to the emu won't come until later. I wonder what today will bring - it's fun and exciting to write this way.

Cheers

Notes on DAFS

My brain should seriously be monitored. Today's chapter of Death At First Sight finds an emu riding shotgun in the front seat of a Cessna while my poor heroine and her dogs are jammed in the back. We hope the weed-wacked pilot gets them home in time for breakfast.

Jello Wrestling - Down and Dirty

So The Blonde One and I were chatting one evening and decided we needed a little more excitement and drama in our lives. So we came up with this great idea for a Blog Jello Wrestling competition. We were even gonna put vodka in some of the jello.



As with most of our great ideas, we found a few flaws with this one right from the get-go.



The greatest of which is, are you ready for this......I.Can't.Make.Jello. Completely incapable. Ask my Momm. It either turns into rubber like goo that will remove coffee stains from dentures, or a half-solidified watery mass that's a bit like walking on thin ice. Never know when you're going to fall through and get trapped underneath.



I do make a mean chicken marsala, Brazilian seafood stew, and chocolate decadence, so it's not a complete cooking failure on my part. Just jello.



So we had to give up on jello wrestling and settle for an advice blog. That's right, advice from a blonde with five kids and a recovering blonde with five pets. The opportunity for entertainment is almost endless.



So stop by and visit us at http://downanddirtyanswers.blogspot.com/ - drop us a note, or leave a question about the world that's been haunting you. But no jello wrestling.




And GO PITTSBURGH