Unabridged Me

JUST ANOTHER WRITER

Editing in the Way

December 31, 2017

“This is not what we are talking about.”

I just stared, trying to process the adult sentence emerging from a tiny mouth. 

She was right, of course. Vivian was making a point. She preferred one cat over the other, as one is friendlier and a better pet. I was making it a lesson about personalities and boundaries. 

My next move in this game of parenting? I laughed.

Game over. I lost. 

At least this round. Her little face scrunched, and her eyes took a steely angry look. Shut down, you are unworthy of conversation, mom.

I apologized, affirmed her statement was accurate, and moved us past. But that very grown up thought rang a bell in my head. 

How often do I think these words when in a familial argument, or even an intellectual debate? I make a statement, and the response makes my internal voice say, that’s not what we are taking about. 

In moments of little filter, I say as much. Usually with my mom. Usually with attitude of a sixteen year old girl. 

I would like to think the attitude has diminished, but for some reason I believe attitude oozes in interactions with my mom, regardless age.

When in a discussion, it’s easy to miss the point. Especially when opinions and biases are involved. 

On the flip side, we can shut down creative resolutions or new connections when we insist on being detail focused. But this is not what this blog is about. 

Let’s be honest. Words fail at precise communication. Rough for a writer to admit, but language does not do its job sometimes. A writer’s job is to get as close to the emotion or thought as possible, then throw it to readers saying here I tried. 

And if you are a good writer and editor, you succeed. If you are talented but suck at editing, you succeed in a way. If you are a decent writer, readers bring enough of their own worlds to create something with the words.

But this very thought can get in the way of writing. At least for me.

If I have an idea I’m set on, forget it. I will create the most uninteresting, intellectual goop possible. Because anytime I drift, my brain says this is not what we’re talking about. 

I course correct. I edit as I move. I construct form. And… My writing is uninteresting, though well written, crap.

When I jump myself into the primordial ooze, I get something worth reading. 

And the result is not what I thought it would be when I started. What starts as me working on a bench outside a library becomes an announcement of a life changing event. 

What begins as satirical diologue on writing becomes a short story of manslaughter. 

Here’s the crux of it. Writing is a career full of cliches, everyone supporting us while telling us how to do it better. And most times I nod, say uh huh,  and do it my own way. I’m oppositional like that. 

But once in awhile I have a moment where a cliche clicks, and my writing benefits. Like don’t edit while writing your first draft. When I first heard that I said excuse me? I always read what I’ve written to catch myself up, editing along the way. And that’s how my mind works, keeping track.

However, if I say to myself this is not what I’m talking about while moving through my process? I will write drivel. 

Instead I have to jump in, let the thoughts flow naturally as I read myself, and let the current go where it wants. Otherwise my left hemisphere will doom my writing career before it even starts. 

And be subjected to a toddler’s condescending attitude. 

Pop quiz: is the image convex or concave?

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Sickness and Sleeplessness

November 20, 2017

The last few days Vivian has been sick.  Okay, more than a few days. Six days to be exact.

Though I am not using this as an excuse of not writing. Even though I want to.

Rather, the sickness brought all activity to a halt. Namely because she was horrible coughing, mucous oozing every where, sick. And as normal with toddlers, she was hard to contain which means germs were hard to contain.

In the best possible manner, I isolated her and me from the remaining individual in the house. I knew I was collateral damage, but it had to be stopped.

Which meant I slept on the couch near her room. Or tried to sleep. It didn’t work any of the nights I did it.

The first night was the worst.

Anyone who has an infant can tell you stories of sleeping upright while the little being in your arms attempts to breath and cough without much muscle memory to assist. If you are lucky, you own a recliner or a bed with lots of pillows. If you aren’t, sofas are the next best thing.

It was one of those nights. Vivian woke up every hour, crying and uncomfortable. Resorting to what I knew, I propped both of us up on the sofa so I could adjust and pat her as needed.

Unfortunately, Vivian is no longer 15 lbs and under 2′. She is now close to 40 lbs and more than twice my length.

Which resulted in zero snooze time for myself, my arms falling asleep due to being at odd angles while I watched my phone or tried to doze.

Several friends asked about taking Vivian to the doctor. Meh. I knew we were in day one of full symptom explosion. If night two offered zero relief, then I would consider the doctor. As I see it, Vivian’s system was doing what it is designed to do.

If we happened to get into Vivian’s doctor, he would have said meh it will be okay, it’s just a cold, here’s a flu shot for the family. No thanks.

Given the time of day, it would be an urgent care clinic which would have probably prescribed something unnecessary because I would be the upset mom who just needs something for her baby to sleep. And here’s a flu shot for the family. No thanks.

Before anyone gets in arms that I neglected my child, her fever responded to basic ibuprofen and her breathing was not labored while sleeping propped up. Please shush.

My system is another matter entirely.  Namely, I am older, have more breakdown in my biology, and apparently did not develop the immune system needed to deal with petri dish explosions toddlers heap upon household heads.

Of course, getting sick was not an option for me. We are traveling to my father’s house tomorrow, in celebration of the wondrous gluttony that is a national holiday. My system needed to be the best it’s ever been.

For anyone who has travelled ill, you understand the plight. No amount of medication will ever assist when trapped in a tin can of recycled air. Of course, fellow passengers become no fans of yours either.

Secondly, my father has slid into, for a lack of better terms, elderly living. While I admit I do not age in my mind, it’s hard to deny the aging of a parent when you see them once every couple of months.

Exposing my father to anything will not do, not at all.

Lucky for me, my mother was there for the rescue. Of course, I should use quotes for lucky but I’m going to leave voice creation up to you.

Let’s lay down the background. At least once a month my mom sends me anti-vaccine information, usually surrounded with the-man-is-spending-money-hiding-this-from-you propaganda.

Everyone makes their own educated (or not so educated) decisions. I lean slightly in favor of science, so Vivian has already had her full course. However, each parent makes their own decisions.

My mother is a firm believer in supplements, organics, and has limited her diet to very little because of leaky gut syndrome (learned about online) and thyroid issues. She also enjoys her wine and eats out frequently.

I am not criticizing my mom, I have my own things to be sure. However, the above is important for the following.

My mom offered to pick up something for me, and I requested Vitamin C. In fervor my mother brought over an entire apothecary of oils, potions, feet reflexology, and other things to bombard my system.

The first item, a potion that tastes of cherry juice and seaweed and looks like sediment from the bottom of the ocean. I read the ingredients, mostly B-complex Vitamins. Okay, not going to kill me, it will give me energy after sleepless nights.

The oils I treated with more suspicion. Especially the one to go on my feet. Full transparency, didn’t do that one.

So while Vivian’s body does it’s thing, assisted by ibuprofen and quiet time (which is nearly impossible with a toddler, no matter how bad they are feeling), my body was assisted by ibuprofen, Vitamin C and B complex, and… cherry flavored seawater.

As of right now, Vivian is on the last legs of expulsion. I am fighting the good fight. Towards the end of the day my head hurts and my throat aches slightly, but no mucous or coughing, making contagions easier to contain.

And after all this, there are some things that just have to be faced.

No matter how good a solution was a few years ago, you have to take in account different environmental factors. You can’t prop up a toddler and expect to doze.

Suspicion of western medicine might be a genetic trait. I have to watch this, as I know for a fact I do not want to end up on the other side of that pendulum. Why nature and not nurture? My inherent nature is to reject most things that are my mother’s traits.

That discussion is way too long and for another time.

Nighttime without stimulus can do odd things to a mind. Insomnia has taught me this already, but taking care of a sick child provides a different environment for the mind.

My Twitter feed took an interesting turn those nights.