A Moment Like This

Hello my loves, When I was 12-years-old, I went to my first writers conference. My middle school English teacher had seen me ignoring all things not my notebook during class and knew I’d gotten the word fever. He gave me the conference info, and I don’t actually recall the process that led to me going, I just remember my mom driving me down to a hotel in Indianapolis in the wee hours of the morning, and being slightly concerned about getting around well enough while there since I’d recently broken my leg and had a cast on up to my hip. It didn’t occur to me until halfway through the day that this was a Romance Writers of America conference. Boy howdy was I rocking some red cheeks that afternoon. It was such an oddity at the time, the conference had a news crew come and do a story on this wee tot sitting there with her legal pads and pile of pencils. Somewhere there exists a VHS tape of that newscast. Please just assume that if you watch it, the consequences will be similar to those in The Ring. I didn’t attend another conference until 2012. I only knew about this one because a new friend on Twitter, Dee Romito, had seen me lamenting the lack of resources in Indiana and 30 seconds of Google served her well enough to guide me to the Midwest Writers Workshop. By then, I was a SaHM of two tiny kiddos, one of whom was still nursing, and a bucket of anxiety. My OCD had gotten the better of me as an adult and I thrived on my schedules and hadn’t been anywhere away from home by myself in…well, quite a long ass time. I’d been writing forever, and really taken it...

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Personal Remix

Hello my darlings, It’s a fairly well documented fact that while I am feisty af for people I care about, I, myself, am a doormat. You’d think this would be something I hate about myself. The fact that I am very easy to dupe, and that I often get my feels stomped on. But I really didn’t hate it. I liked that even though I frequently came across horrible people, I still maintained the ability to see the silver linings, to bounce back and find goodness. I liked being a borderline naive Snow White type person. I waited patiently for floofy forest creatures to help me fold laundry. 2016 changed me as a person. I know I’m not alone in this. Partly, I changed because I was struck down by an illness that keeps trying to kill me. (Rude, amirite?) Mostly, it was the way the election seemed to lift the rock that was covering the people around me, and in their places, I saw the squirming, scurrying, slithering remnants left behind. I live in a blood red part of a super red state. Indiana has only gone blue a handful of times in presidential elections, but in most counties, Democrats don’t even run. Candidates rarely even put information of their stances in ads, they just have to say, “REPUBLICAN!” and they know they will win. I know there are people everywhere that take things waaaaay too far. I always sort of assumed they were the exception to the rule of civility. When I was a kid, my uncle was family-famous for his unadulterated hatred of Democrats. Like, everyone knew you couldn’t even sniff around politics in his presence because he would get so worked up he’d start screaming at anyone in the family he considered to be liberal....

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Blood From Turnips

Hello my darlings. Welp. It’s been forever and then some. I’ve wanted to come onto this silly blog of mine so many times to say…anything over the last few months, but no matter what I came up with, it paled in comparison with the active sewage fire that is the world as a whole right now. I kept thinking I would hop back in once things normalized to a degree. When it felt right to talk about our lives like it’s not a tiny splinter in a termite-infested national home. There’s something to be said for the acceptance that things are just not going to disappear into that goodnight where we can just shut it all off forever and pretend there’s even such a thing as normal anymore. Or maybe there never was. But. As my blog is my mental dumping ground for all things confessional, the place I work through life, and the place I keep everyone up to date on life things, here I am, unpacking. A few Fizzy Family things to note, really. First up: On October 3rd, I woke up in super not okay pain. Hubs whisked me off to urgent care, I was sent to the ER from there, and I’ve been trapped in bed ever since. I’ve lost 60-ish pounds in about 3 and a half months. I had my gallbladder out. Passed my first ever kidney stone. Was hospitalized for a week, missed my son’s birthday, had to sit out every holiday, and haven’t been able to eat much more than Ensures and soup since that random October 3rd. I’m generally so weak I can’t even sit up in bed to read or write. I’ve had more doctors appointments and tests than I knew existed, I have had many of them twice....

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Doctor’s Orders

Hello my loves! I don’t blog nearly as much as I used to. I miss you guys. The reason I’ve been more silent has a lot to do with my general content. I tend to use my blog as a sort of group therapy session. I purge the feelings, and so love to talk with people who are going through, or dealing with, similar situations. Y’all keep me sane, basically. The end of last year was a nightmare and a half. And you amazing, wonderful, glorious people saddled up and rode the the rescue of my family. Which we will never, ever forget, nor stop appreciating. I was so humbled by the absolute flood of support. I still don’t have words for how you all saved the day. What I wanted to do was come back to blogging and say how great things were going, to show you that your hard work and generosity had fixed all our ills, and I’d be back with stories of shenanigans and hilarity. Alas, that’s not how the year has played out. And as much as I wanted to come here and purge, as is my wont, I didn’t want to keep showing this WOE IS MEEEEEEEEEEEE side to everyone. I didn’t want people to see the dumpster fire that is life. Which makes me feel guilty. I take pride in the honesty I put online. And I love when some bizarre thing I’m dealing with ends up being something a reader is dealing with and we e-hug and squeal and talk each other through the rough stuff. Those kinds of things mean the world to me. But the idea of being known as a perpetual train wreck didn’t seem like a fun idea. So, for the last six months or so, I’ve...

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OCDerailed

Hello my darlings, As per my general luck, I’ve had an interesting year, health-wise. I was diagnosed by with a severe autoimmune disease back in March, and things have been a trip since. (That’s a blog post all on its own, but I’ll get to that another day.) By the way, after the skin cancer scare a few years back, I made damn diggity sure on this diagnosis and went to four specialists to get confirmation. FOUR. So, the treatment for this disease is taking chemo every week. I do this on Tuesdays at 4pm, and spend the next 24 hours curled up in a little ball of misery. Every month or so, they adjust the dose of the chemo, going higher and higher until we can find a level that actually stifles the symptoms. As with many diseases, you can’t really see what’s going on most of the time. A weird bonus of this particular ailment is it causes rashes on my elbows, head, ankles, knees, etc. that can last six weeks or so. My elbows are the most common breakout spot. That, combined with deep ridges in my nails are a visible sign of the disease, and whether or not treatment is effective. At my last appointment, I was told that the chemo should be stopping the rash, and they upped the dose to the highest level for the type of chemo I’m taking. The goal was this should stop the symptoms, and I was to watch for another rash outbreak, and should one occur, let the doc know immediately, and we would switch to a different, injectable form of chemo. So, a month ago, when the rash popped back on my elbows, I knew I needed to call the doc. But, like, I super very much hate needles...

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