These aren't normal times
It's no good mood that brings me here this morning. It's not alcohol either, so at least there's that.
My good mood lasted all of one day. Maybe a day and a half. Come Saturday night, all was still decent, so we might as well call it two days. The two days in December Ash was happy. Oh, and the first day of December. That was nice too.
If I was happy more often, though, I wouldn't remember it. It would all just blur, and I'd be ungrateful. This way, I can keep track of it.
Again I haven't been here in a while. I feel like I should have that permanently tattooed to my sidebar...Hi, my name's Ashley Chairiet, and even though I used to be a hardcore blogger and considerate reader and friend, I now disappear often and for long stints. I have a decent enough excuse though. A few excuses. We all do this time of year, though I remember last year distinctly...sitting here at my desk, writing away, so happy to be back to blogging after writing that God awful novel, and sad over the fact that everyone else was so busy with the holidays. I was here on Christmas morning. Writing a short story.
My current writing life is unsatisfied.
The rest of my life is overran. A strange combination of inactivity, yet being ten times as busy, what with Christmas. All the shopping now complete. Though my bank account isn't too fond of me. I imagine the people who provide my utilities won't be too fond of me either, not until I pay my bills in January. Which is the breaks. If I had it my way, I'd only give Baby Girl and my parents and my sister and my grandparents a present, and just make cards, and hug and kiss everyone else. I can't afford these big stupid Christmases. I have to buy gifts for all my cousins up north. Draw names at my aunt's house, and trade presents there. And then there's the babies, which I actually don't mind buying for. I'm a sucker for the toy department. The baby aisles. All those cute and snuggly squeaky toys, with mirrors, buttons, little plastic eyes and smiling faces. Those metal keys in back you wind-up to play music. Tinkling lullabies making you cry for the lack of another child.
I feel so alone this time of year. The end of one and the beginning of another, and Christmas, stupid Christmas, for the love of Jesus, I care, and try my best to stay happy, and keep it all in focus. How it's his birthday: let's give presents, and visit. Eat good food. Look at bright lights. Stay up late watching It's a Wonderful Life after my child goes to bed, and maybe, just maybe, Jimmy Stewart will make me realize I’m lucky to be alive.
Remind me of that in January when I‘m stressed out over debt. In February, when I’m lonely on Valentines. In March, when I'm sick due to pollen. In April, when I'm drunk. In May, when I’m mad at myself for not finishing Noah (May is my make-believe deadline). June, I'll be drunk. July, I'll be crazy (July isn't kind to me. Neither is December). August, I'll decide to come back to bloggging after I surely take the summer off to revel in the aforementioned craziness. September, when I'm selfish and write a bunch of stories no one will ever read. In October, I'll be twenty-four. How depressing. In November, I'll write a third novel, and wonder if it's possible for me to write a novel without the pressure of NaNoWriMo. Finally, in December, I'll be sad again, and have nothing to save me but the sight of George Bailey. Maybe that will be enough to propel me through the next year and the next.
It's worth a try, and on my schedule. I'll squeeze it in somewhere between now and New Year's Eve.
Another reason I haven’t been here: My computer's tricky. I was here for an hour or two on Sunday morning, and for no reason at all, the damn thing crashed. I couldn’t get it to come back on. I haven't been back since. Not even to work. I have a nice pile over there, awaiting my attention, but it's better to leave it be, then possibly lose it should the damn thing go out again at an inopportune time, say while entering unsaved data (or for my own personal sake, while writing). So word of a new computer has reached me: a laptop, which delights me! I'll admit. I'm about ready to take a hammer to this one, and then I'll be set up with the freedom to work from anywhere in the house. On the couch, at the bar. In the floor. In the bed. I would write so much more if I didn’t always have to be in this office. I get so tired of sitting here in order to work, write, and socialize. With the laptop, I wouldn’t be faced with this damn uncomfortable chair. With the thought of spending one more second in this tiny room just to get online for a while. Instead, at night, I could just curl up naked and write, read, blog myself to sleep. Get up and go outside, and write my novels on the deck at sunrise. Work in whatever room my daughter wants to play in. We'd be happier. Me, more active...
Yes, computer, please die!
My internet connection has also been tricky. It takes ten minutes to connect.
I’ve spent a lot of time cleaning house. Two days shopping. Despite being sick. Cooking. Baking treats for a certain Baby Girl who is quite excited about the whole Christmas deal. She smiles and says, "Santa Clause coming! Chrisp-miss. Chrisp-miss. New toys in office!"
Tis where I keep them. The big pile of goodies here beside me.
As soon as I wrap them, and have my house in a decent state (I like to start each new year with every room cleaned, and cleaned out), I should be around a bit more often. And hopefully I’ll be all caught up on work, and then on my writing. Perhaps I’ll even be blogging from the comfort of my own bed. All warm and nestled between the sheets. I’m sure that will improve my mood. I am allowed to drink again, but for whatever reason, I don’t think I will.
