My sister just posted her own Johari window and I thought it was an interesting idea, so I set up my own. (And by "set up" I mean I signed up...I didn't pick any of the words). Please, do drop by and click a few boxes, won't you?
Basically, you click this link and it takes you to a page with a bunch of adjectives and you pick the five or six that you think most closely describe me. You can leave your name or be completely anonymous, whichever you prefer. And then we see how others see me in comparison to how I see myself. You see.
I'm hoping for eight responses. No particular reason, just a nice random number that far exceeds my actual expectations. :)
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
My morning routine
My morning routine starts with my alarm going off at about 6:15 so that I'm at least partially toward awake by the time Jody calls me at 6:30 (5:30 her time, the crazy wench) to roust me out of bed for our respective exercising. Then when I hang up, I'll lie there all muffled and grumpy until my snooze goes off for (hopefully) the final time about a minute or two later.
Thus commences the wrestling out from under multiple blankets pinned down around me by purring cats who suddenly weigh about fifty pounds each. I usually manage to make it out, but there are days I give up the fight and just hit snooze again.
Once I do struggle free, I stumble off for the living room, eyes wedged nearly shut at the light and the cold, forming a permanent vertical crease between my brows. There's usually a fair amount of grumbling -- audible or not -- as I throw in the appropriate DVD, change into workout clothes, and lace up my tennis shoes -- that last I have to do perched carefully on the edge of the couch, because if I sit too far back I will either not have the motivation to get up again or my lap will be immediately filled by a pleased and purring cat.
Once I'm laced up and the DVD is running, I'll stand and start shuffling either my feet or my arms, while trying not to kick whichever cat is twining lovingly and helpfully about my legs. Every other day the routine also includes floor exercises near the end, which necessitates both cats rushing over to wriggle about my head in an ecstatic welcome to floor level--makes doing anything a bit difficult. This is why I no longer do yoga.
I usually wake up pretty thoroughly about halfway through, sometimes before. By the end, I'm up, I'm good, I've done something nice for myself. So I take a bit of a break. I take off my shoes and head back to the couch for a ten to twenty minute curl up with the lady cat to watch the morning's news and weather before I pry myself back up and head for the shower, quickly followed with at least minimally presentable clothing, and finally out to the car to sit and wait five or ten minutes for it to warm up enough to shift.
There's rather a lot of cat in my mornings.
Thus commences the wrestling out from under multiple blankets pinned down around me by purring cats who suddenly weigh about fifty pounds each. I usually manage to make it out, but there are days I give up the fight and just hit snooze again.
Once I do struggle free, I stumble off for the living room, eyes wedged nearly shut at the light and the cold, forming a permanent vertical crease between my brows. There's usually a fair amount of grumbling -- audible or not -- as I throw in the appropriate DVD, change into workout clothes, and lace up my tennis shoes -- that last I have to do perched carefully on the edge of the couch, because if I sit too far back I will either not have the motivation to get up again or my lap will be immediately filled by a pleased and purring cat.
Once I'm laced up and the DVD is running, I'll stand and start shuffling either my feet or my arms, while trying not to kick whichever cat is twining lovingly and helpfully about my legs. Every other day the routine also includes floor exercises near the end, which necessitates both cats rushing over to wriggle about my head in an ecstatic welcome to floor level--makes doing anything a bit difficult. This is why I no longer do yoga.
I usually wake up pretty thoroughly about halfway through, sometimes before. By the end, I'm up, I'm good, I've done something nice for myself. So I take a bit of a break. I take off my shoes and head back to the couch for a ten to twenty minute curl up with the lady cat to watch the morning's news and weather before I pry myself back up and head for the shower, quickly followed with at least minimally presentable clothing, and finally out to the car to sit and wait five or ten minutes for it to warm up enough to shift.
There's rather a lot of cat in my mornings.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Peregrination #3
I’m beginning to notice something that shouldn’t surprise me, but does rather. Now, I know that a lot of my stories are very introverted—they’re the story of one person, one experience, internal and thought-driven. That in itself doesn’t surprise me in the least. I am, after all, an introvert. I don’t quite know how to think in any other way, but I also know that the richness and depth of what’s inside my head doesn’t translate well and on the outside I just look like a ditz—which I’m mostly okay with, really. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. It just means that one of the reasons I have trouble with dialogue in stories is because I have trouble with dialogue in real life. So my characters think things instead of saying them out loud to someone else in the story because that’s what I do.
As I say, I knew that. I wouldn't be surprised if EVERYONE knows that. Here's the thing I'm surprised by: somehow I hadn’t noticed how often what I write has to do with the hidden, the secret. Things that appear to be on the outside, but are not truly on the inside. And I’m guessing that’s why they so often seem to come out creepy or vaguely horror-like, even though I don't intend that at all. Because we like to be able to count on what we observe. When we can't, we fear it.
This was mostly brought to mind when I noticed a quick little sentence I’d dashed off in reaction to a story prompt. The prompt said, “Finish this sentence: ‘Evening was the time for…’” My sentence ran, “Evening was the time for movement, buoyancy. Daytime was the cowering time.”
I suppose this is also an indicator that I like to turn things upside down. I like to see what happens when the opposite of the expected steps in. I like to discover the effects of showing that the things most people find safety in are the things that have no safety at all for one character or another. Does this make them mad or the truly sane? What if a whole world is turned inside out from our expectations? What if night is safe and day is dangerous? Doesn’t that somehow take all our normal, deep-seated fears of the night and make them exponentially worse because they happen in the light that should be safe?
I love the idea of this exploration into what trips our psyche, but I don’t know that I’ve ever REALLY connected it with my writing before. I hadn’t noticed how pervasive that is in my stories. I’m not entirely sure what it says about me. I would say something like, “Writing about it helps me conquer my own fears,” but I don’t think it would be true. I think what I hope is that I can share this fear with someone who might not otherwise by tormented by it. The whole “misery loves company” schtick, I guess. Except I'm not miserable. I'm also not as sadistic as it makes me sound.
Maybe I just want people to understand why I fear. Because everything can twist when you’re not looking. But that also means that even the dead can become beautiful, the mundane can become extraordinary, and the harshest experience can be the most moving. It’s not all fear. It’s also the essence of hope and wonder.
As I say, I knew that. I wouldn't be surprised if EVERYONE knows that. Here's the thing I'm surprised by: somehow I hadn’t noticed how often what I write has to do with the hidden, the secret. Things that appear to be on the outside, but are not truly on the inside. And I’m guessing that’s why they so often seem to come out creepy or vaguely horror-like, even though I don't intend that at all. Because we like to be able to count on what we observe. When we can't, we fear it.
This was mostly brought to mind when I noticed a quick little sentence I’d dashed off in reaction to a story prompt. The prompt said, “Finish this sentence: ‘Evening was the time for…’” My sentence ran, “Evening was the time for movement, buoyancy. Daytime was the cowering time.”
I suppose this is also an indicator that I like to turn things upside down. I like to see what happens when the opposite of the expected steps in. I like to discover the effects of showing that the things most people find safety in are the things that have no safety at all for one character or another. Does this make them mad or the truly sane? What if a whole world is turned inside out from our expectations? What if night is safe and day is dangerous? Doesn’t that somehow take all our normal, deep-seated fears of the night and make them exponentially worse because they happen in the light that should be safe?
I love the idea of this exploration into what trips our psyche, but I don’t know that I’ve ever REALLY connected it with my writing before. I hadn’t noticed how pervasive that is in my stories. I’m not entirely sure what it says about me. I would say something like, “Writing about it helps me conquer my own fears,” but I don’t think it would be true. I think what I hope is that I can share this fear with someone who might not otherwise by tormented by it. The whole “misery loves company” schtick, I guess. Except I'm not miserable. I'm also not as sadistic as it makes me sound.
Maybe I just want people to understand why I fear. Because everything can twist when you’re not looking. But that also means that even the dead can become beautiful, the mundane can become extraordinary, and the harshest experience can be the most moving. It’s not all fear. It’s also the essence of hope and wonder.
New year, new entry
Apparently when I decided to take the month of December off writing Lulu's story, I simultaneously decided to stop writing ANYTHING. But this morning I started again. I've been itching to do so all week, especially since I now have my very own laptop, courtesy of the Apple clan. It's the one Apple and I trucked around Ireland a year and a half ago, actually. It needs a wee bit of help, but Word works beautifully and that's all that I really care about in the end. (Also, Appleman uploaded all our Ireland pictures onto it, and I spent a very nostalgic hour looking at those last night).
Anyway, I kept wanting to write all week, which is the first time I've had the itch in a few weeks. Finally, I sat down and started writing "Mist," a story inspired by one of the Ireland pictures, actually. This one, I believe, though it could really have been nearly any from that day:
It didn't get very far last night, but I still wanted to do more with it this morning. So I did. And there's more to come. I haven't the faintest idea where it's going, but I know who Myra is. I'm not sure precisely where she comes from yet--then again, neither does she. I guess we'll find out together. The way the story is going sort of tickled something in the back of my brain though, and then it solidified as I was going through other files and saw something. Which will be the next post I make. Two in one day! Aren't you lucky?
For now, I'm back, I'm still rambling, and you're all welcome to join in.
Anyway, I kept wanting to write all week, which is the first time I've had the itch in a few weeks. Finally, I sat down and started writing "Mist," a story inspired by one of the Ireland pictures, actually. This one, I believe, though it could really have been nearly any from that day:
It didn't get very far last night, but I still wanted to do more with it this morning. So I did. And there's more to come. I haven't the faintest idea where it's going, but I know who Myra is. I'm not sure precisely where she comes from yet--then again, neither does she. I guess we'll find out together. The way the story is going sort of tickled something in the back of my brain though, and then it solidified as I was going through other files and saw something. Which will be the next post I make. Two in one day! Aren't you lucky?
For now, I'm back, I'm still rambling, and you're all welcome to join in.
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