Micromanaging my emotions

When I get frustrated and angry it sometimes helps to focus on something else, preferably something pleasing and/or interesting to look at. Something with different colors and textures, sizes and shapes, and quality of light.  penstemon

Something that reminds me of my tiny role in the universe.




One of those days

Oddly enough, this seems like a fair representation of today:0017

I was very tired and so didn’t accomplish much. I felt a bit, you know, pointless. So it’s weird that this is the photo that jumped out at me from Morguefile.com when I went cruising for photos. But somehow these pointy-headed mannequins capture my mood.

Two positive notes regarding today:

  1. Loki and Marcel took turns curled up on me as I read and napped on the couch.
  2. No one used my head to play Ring Toss.




Punching is for expression

GET FUZZY by Darby Conley
Get Fuzzy on writing as expression

This old Get Fuzzy strip does not represent any personal animosity toward poets.
Rather, it’s more a statement on my current state of mind.
Specifically, my desire to punch something.
Although, stabbing would be equally therapeutic.

As Zebu would say, “Mom’s feeling a little stabby today.”

“Stabby and punchy.”
That’s me.

Shouldn’t there be a t-shirt or bumpersticker?



Monday Attitudes

My default outlook on Monday mornings is this:file0001003820993

But if I try faking my way into a more upbeat and optimistic attitude, I could end up with sore facial muscles:file000502394427

So I’m aiming for a more measured approach to this particular Monday:file0002039134823

Thoughtful and slightly wary. Ready to take flight should the need arise.

I’ve Seen the Light!


This is NOT me.

                                                                                     image from morguefile.com

The photo, however, represents how I feel right now.

Just one week ago I was a weepy little mess as I struggled to learn Scrivener.
Today I’m thrilled to announce I understand the basics of this writing software,

and that I’m looking ahead to a more streamlined, organized approach to writing novels.
I’m still a huge fan of carrying around a notebook, and that won’t change.
I appreciate the words of encouragement and tips shared in my original post.
Thank you, friends!

Exhilaration vs. Hyperventilation


I love roller coasters.
But I also panic at the thought of roller coasters.

I’m feeling those same mixed emotions as I prepare to embark on this revision.

I’m thrilled at the thought of finally creating the book I’d intended
but also a bit nervous about what I might experience along the way.

I know there will be thrills and spills.
And undoubtedly this revision will involve some screaming
and white knuckles.
Followed by more screaming.
Let’s just hope I don’t ever wet myself,
not even a little bit.

Okay,  here goes . . .

Dreary With a Dollop of Optimism

The sky is gray.
The temperature is below average.
The sun is nowhere to be seen.


I’m feeling something today.
Something positive.

It makes no sense.
And I’m almost afraid to admit all this.
But I’m going with the optimism.

EDITED TO ADD:  The sun just came out.  Hooray!


Give Up the Funk

It’s been one of those weeks.
A week-long funk.
Yesterday I felt crushed under the weight of it all.
But I forced myself to spin my hoop
while Zippy did his treadmill workout.
As we twirled and walked, we listened to an album that came out 25 years ago.

And I thought about where I was 25 years ago.
I remembered listening to that album (tape) in my car during lunch hour
when I worked for Giant Turd Enterprise (GTE).
I’d eat my fish sandwich from McDonald’s
and think about, well, I don’t remember what I thought about.
Probably not much.
Maybe I thought about the sweltering parking lot and
how my boss was the world’s biggest asshat.
Or that maybe the next day I should pack a lunch.

Fast forward to this week
in which I’ve had feelings of being that gerbil in a wheel,
always running and moving,
but never getting ahead.

It’s no fun feeling that way.
It crushes your spirit.

So I say to myself:
Tracy, you have made progress.
For one, you’re no longer spending time in a paint-peeling ’64 Ford Falcon Sprint,
sweating and ingesting questionable food.
And you don’t have to answer to that horrible boss-man ever again.


Give up the funk, Tracy.