April12012

Day 40: Cool Unfuckings

We have a TARDIS house full of people!

That means awesome conversation and cooking and late nights. With my heroes and towering legends, because that’s how we roll.

That means little to no writing.

But I’ll tell you what I DID do, for it is a MAJOR THING.

I got amazing astonishing nigh godlike produce at the market LIKE AN ASPARABOSS and I could not fit it in the horrible fridge face putting it in with the three months old leftovers.

SO I UNFUCKED THE FRIDGE.

Now, I was so focused on AW YEAH JUST TACKLE THAT BITCH DON’T STOP DON’T LOOK JUST BRAWL that I forgot to take a before picture. You are just going to have to trust me that it was a

There were like four things of cottage cheese from 2011 and unnameable unimaginable horrors and possibly the Wicked Witch of the West melted in my crisper drawer. And because Beastly was raised behind the Iron Curtain he literally clasped an old-ass plastic wrapped chicken leg to his chest and insisted BUT THIS CHICKEN WILL MEAN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. And I was all:

But now the fridge looks like TA DA:

   

Also that is my dog.

Possibly next week I can triage the deadlines and fix it up. Possibly I have entered the Gonna Be Late, Nothing To Be Done Zone. Either way, CAN I GET A FRIDGE AMEN?

March222012

Day 30: The Bridge on the River Unfucking

Welp, I broke the Not Posting gap by answering a question so I might as well TELL YOU ABOUT MY DAY.

Basically, my body has adjusted to my ADD meds—which also help my anxiety and depression immensely—and I need to increase my (really very small) dosage. I found myself all:

And it wasn’t normal or good. I stopped making my bed or doing the dishes, I didn’t get any writing done at all—though I did keep practicing my accordion. I’m not proud. I’d been hiding under the couch all terrified of the sun and anxious and depressed and avoidant and like I WILL NEVER FINISH EVERYTHING HUG ME FELINE FRIEND. EMAIL IS TERRIFYING.

TURNS OUT I ACTUALLY NEED TO BE MEDICATED WHICH IS WHY I HAVE MEDICATION DUH GURL. I’m a little better now, having doubled up my pills until my doctor appointment on Monday. Yesterday was not too bad. I practiced, did the dishes, made the bed, wrote a short-short story and made roast chicken with chard and mushrooms and garlic for dinner, then conferenced with a student for the better part of an evening.

I have not been great with getting up early (my goal was before 9) BUT I have been up by 10:30 every day, and usually by 10, which is WAY BETTER than I was averaging before when up at noon was a good show. I have cleaned the kitchen, tidied up the living room, taken care of the chickens, practiced my accordion, and tweeted and blogged a bit.

But now I have to go to my office and work and SHIT YOU GUYS I have let this get bad. I have two poems due Saturday, neither of which I have any ideas about, a novella by 4/15 and a novel by 5/1. I think I still have it mathed so I only have to do 2000 words a day if I start the novel on Monday, but that still means doing the novella alongside the novel, which sucks anyway, but if I do 1000 words on that a day I’m still within my 3000 word limit and it’ll still be the most pleasantly paced novel writing I’ve ever done. Just have to get those poems done. Always knew the writing would be the hardest to unfuck.

Can you tell I used to be an obsessive counter? (Knitting fixed it, yo.)

I have no idea what to make for dinner tonight. Something with food. I’m trying to just get dinner ready before Beastly gets home—not because he’s a MAN and I’m a LITTLE LADY with slippers and cocktails at 5 and shit, but because we can be done eating by 6:45 and have an evening if I just organize my time and turn it out.

I love cooking, it’s the figuring out what to cook that sucks.

Or we can be done eating at 8:30 and have barely any time fore Mr. 6 am needs to go to bed. He makes breakfast and lunch on the weekends. I feel secure in my feminist boots.

So yeah. Slowly coming back to the land of the living. I should get my tits on and go to the office. Latrice, mama, you wanna play us out?

12PM

Anonymous asked: A suggestion. (Anxiety and bipolar; a year and a half ago I couldn't leave the house. I know a bit about unfucking a life.) There is no moral high ground to putting away clothes. It's just clothes. No adulthood badge conferred for waking up at 7. Writing a book in 3 months instead of 4 weeks is not a more perfect method. You are already a functional person. So rather than try to change, or 'unfuck', yourself by some scale good to bad, just figure out what works, what keeps you sane and happy.

Here’s the thing. What makes me feel better isn’t universal. It will not make everyone feel better. In the popularity of this blog it seems to have gotten lost that this is my space, and it was never meant to be anything more than that. I’m glad people like it, but it’s meant to be a shield to keep out sadness, as Movie!Max would say. If I feel like I’m a better person for having put an article of clothing away (believe me, it was just the once) then I should be able to say so without being told I’m fine as it is and there’s no point to that.

I’m not fine as I am. God, obviously, or I wouldn’t have started this thing. I’ve not posted in over a week because I have had excitement with medication adjustment and have been depressed and anxious and miserable—and I’ve let the house and my work go and it’s all piled up again. I’m not fine. By MY standards. My current situation does not make me sane or happy. But I’ve never talked about good or bad, or implied that I’m better than anyone else for trying to dig myself out of a hole entirely of my own creation.

I’ve honestly managed to get pretty frustrated, as the mild, kind suggestions that maybe I shouldn’t use the f-word anywhere that can be linked back to me because I sometimes write books for kids have started to crop up. I feel like my job weighs down even this thing that makes me happy and more functional. So to be told on top of it that there’s really no point to anything I’m doing here, don’t try to change, I’m fine if I don’t wake up early or clean my space or fix my work habits really is just the cake and the icing too.

Yeah, I know I don’t get a badge. (Except my beloved gifs!) Thanks. But this IS figuring out what works and keeps me sane and happy. That is the same thing as unfucking, for SERIOUS. There IS a moral high ground because one makes me feel competent and able and balanced and one makes me feel miserable and my morality involves not making more misery in the world.

Please, please don’t tell me not to do this stuff. It’s not helpful. It doesn’t release me from some great burden to be perfect. I’m not perfect! IT’S A FACT. If it triggers some trauma in your heart from your own past, don’t read girlunlocked anymore. But I need this, and I shouldn’t have to feel bad for needing it. I also need to wake up early and put things away and write more slowly because these things objectively improve my life.

I realize I’ve unloaded on you a little here, but it’s very upsetting to be trying as hard as you can to fundamentally change your life and have someone dismiss those efforts in this way. I’m not functional. Or else I wouldn’t have to blog about making my damn bed like it’s some kind of Red Sea parting miracle.

March152012

Day 23: The Prisoner of Unfuckaban

I put my clothes away after taking them off to put on my BADASS BEAR PAJAMAS instead of leaving them on the floor!

I HUNG UP A BLOUSE. RIGHT AFTER I TOOK IT OFF. I may not have actually done that since like 10th grade.

SHUT UP, you know it’s easier to just be like: YOU! CHAIR!

YOU ARE NOW A HAMPER!

March92012

Day 16: On the Flipside

THAT IS ME RIGHT NOW YOU GUYS.

I decided to do one of UFYH’s 20/10 thingies—20 minutes of work and 10 minutes of rest. And that led to more and more until I accomplished the following.

I cleaned the kitchen! And the living room!

I took off the ugly pink runners on the french doors in said living room and cleaned the glass (twice, because apparently Simple Green is Not Rated for glass)!

I cooked roasted dijon cream chicken for dinner! We ate it at the table without the TV on like MOTHERFUCKING ADULTS.

I UNPACKED.

And then, dear Reader, I attacked the closet.

Basically, I’d let it get to a point where I couldn’t unpack without broaching the unfreakingodly mess that is our closet. I’ve basically learned to unsee it City and the City style for like six months and, well, this is the result of that FANTASTIC PLAN.

GLAMAZON.

Using my 6’2 husband’s skills at Reaching Things, as well as a Brutal Ninja of Entropy Executioner approach to what to keep and what to let go of, in the space of an episode of Survivor I managed to turn that into this:

Now, it’s not done, there’s still that mess of chaos and the bones of the damned in the back there, but it’s MUCH IMPROVED, yes?

In a rush of victory I put a load of laundry in, unloaded the dishwasher, tidied up after dinner, made myself some green apple, ginger, and cucumber juice, and am now settled down to an episode of Blackadder with my lynxy kitty and two giant hounds cuddled up around me, with my clothes picked out for tomorrow and no immediate housework to do when I get up.

NOT FUCKING BAD.

March52012

Unfuck and Desist

Still in New York, back on Wednesday. Am itching to get more unfucking done!

Since I’ve been gone the little bird of the Internet told me that a few kids went over to Unfuck Your Habitat and got all cease-and-desist on her ass about this blog, misunderstanding the directionality and thinking she was using my idea.

I’m gonna use this opportunity to say NO.

You guys, I link to her all the time. I tag her. The first entry says I got this idea from her, and a couple of other ones do, too. I really do not want to stop using the word unfucking so as to keep it clear, because it is a WORD OF AWESOME. Don’t take my words!

Let me say it CRAZY CLEAR: I got the idea for this Thing from Unfuck Your Habitat, an excellent blog of excellent things. I am pursuing my own goals, but she is my genesis, my Gandalf, my Yoda. She’s Kirk, I’m Picard. Dig?

I am SUPER HAPPY so many of you are following her now! POWERS FOR GOOD. She is elemental awesome (and casts Vinegar 3 spells, obvs). But though I know you just want to protect me and look out for me, you MUST DO YOUR RESEARCH.

Also?

Please, for all that is holy, do not send cease-and-desist letters on my behalf without consulting me. IT IS MADE OF OH HELL NO.

February272012

Volcanos and Bacon and Me

Two hours later:

Not shown: living room and dining room, equally unfucked!

Then I put the chicken we had for dinner last night in the stock pot with some onions, hard chorizo, and apples so that I could have amazing stock for all my cooking needs.

Chuffed with victory, I decided to take Unfuck Your Habitat's advice and go after our kitchen floor with VINEGAR. Our floor is off-white and seafoam green checkerboard, which is a really hard color to keep clean as it looks slightly dingy even when clean. The vinegar worked well! So I decided to put some baking soda in the spray bottle to help whiten up the squares.

Only for a moment did the back of my brain go: wasn’t there some kind of science fair thing kids did with this in movies where they have science fairs, but you did not do because your school didn’t roll that way?

FUCK YEAH VOLCANO IN MY SINK. It was like a LAVAGASM OF CLEANLINESS.

So basically, I just stood there letting it spooge all over itself and onto the floor which is where I was going to clean anyway. A WINNAR IS MY SCIENTIFIC EDUCATION.

I’m kind of skivving off dinner and making BLTs, which is my favorite sandwich OF ALL TIME. In the sandwich Olympics, it salutes the goddamn flag and makes the East German judges cry tears of bacony redemption.

But also, you know, dead easy to make and on top of that I am not actually making the important part which is the bacon because though I can make French pastries and shit when I make bacon, no matter what, this is pretty much what goes down:

WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU JUST LAYING THERE BURNING? STOP IT!

So my dinner duties will consist of slicing bread and tomatoes. IRON CHEF CAN’T BE ARSED BATTLE.

Now on to work-work. It’s only 5:30 pm. Should be fine.

12PM

Day 6: Unfuck Troopers

My house full of guests has dwindled to a houseful of me.

And the mess.

Not shown: dining room and living room, also a mess.

And I got up at 9! I made my bed! I got dressed! (Wearing my Hipster!Maine shirt, which is a long sleeved, low cut long-john style thing with a plaid patch in the shape of the state of Maine on it because I LOVE MY STATE IT IS THE BEST ONE SHUT UP I WILL HEAR NO ARGUMENT. LOBSTER OWNED.)

And then, ADDGirl forgot she had two back-to-back Skype school visits this morning. Literally until the T-5 minutes ping.

Cue scrambling to get hair dry and coffee/meds inside mah body. The next one is in 30 minutes, and I haven’t had a chance to touch the kitchen yet. Arrrrgh.

Also must do today:

  • Fill out form for one of my students
  • Fill out form for being a guest at literary festival this fall
  • Read the things I should have read last week because I have to review them this week
  • Have student conference tonight at 9
  • Pack for NYC

If I can actually get all this squared away, I will be a GODDESS OF PIE AND GOLD STARS.

*wishes she had a goofy furry hat to hide under because the day head is TOO METAL FOR ME RIGHT NOW*

St. Ru, my moral adviser, is unimpressed by both my lack of hats and desire to hide.

February252012

Day 3/4: The Unfuckable Lightness of Being

So, I really didn’t get anything at all done yesterday. THE UNIVERSE WAS AGAINST ME.

We spent the night in New Hampshire and drove back with my singer friend and my cellist friend who are giving a concert at my house this very night. But that pretty much ate the whole day, what with snowstorms and drive time and getting them settled and dinner.

I was feeling kind of crappy about not getting my blog post up at my guest gig til this morning—but my laptop battery died in the car. I missed my conference date with one of my MFA students. I forgot my brush at home so I had weird hair all day.

I feel more or less ok about it, given that guests throw everything into turmoil. Not so great about the missed post/conference, but it was really unavoidable so I am attempting not to tell myself I LOSE AT LOSING and AM A LOSER.

Did not put out my clothes last night either, with the effect that I’m still wearing my Atari PJs at 1 pm (after having gotten the post finished and up). Wow, that has way more of an effect on my likelihood of getting dressed/feeling like Capable Girl than I thought!

Did make my bed. Did feed myself. Put in a load of laundry. Fed the chickens. Mood is kind of flat. Do more coffee to it?

Today I have to make food for the house concert and host. Also make myself look nice for it. Don’t have time to write (I said I could take weekends off though, so I am telling myself I am not allowed to be all APOSTATE! YOU ARE A LAZY SLATTERN! towards myself. Unfuck my Internal Monologue, Yo.)

What can I unfuck today? Email. Ok, email. I can return three emails that I’ve been putting off. That is a thing. That is a thing I can do.

February242012

Day 2 Recap: Everything Is Unfucked

I PUT UP SOME GODDAMN TOWEL RACKS.

There’s a horrible bit of soul-programming that still tells me not to bother with drills and hammers and shit, I will just fuck it up, wait for a dude to do it. Granted, I have fucked things up a lot. I’m not sure anyone taught me specifically a dude would be on standby to do these things so much as I was never taught to do them or included in the doing, so I have no confidence in myself when it comes to fixing and banging and whatever.

But today I was Rosie the motherfucking Riveter.

Like a genius I drilled right into a stud with each of the racks, but I just sort of improvised and got it to work with shorter screws and banging and cursing at it. It did not work right! But I did not give up and wait til a dude appeared magically! I DRILLED LIKE A BADASS BITCH.

We bought those bastards a year ago. THEY ARE UP.

So then I didn’t want to do anything else because the caps and triumph are a NOW thing, not a DURING thing. But I was all:

MUST BE AWESOME. THE TUMBLR DEMANDS IT. UNLOCK YOUR SHIT, GIRL.

So.

Put up pictures. Brushed and matt-triaged the cat. Packed an overnight bag. Fed and walked the dogs. Went to my office, wrote my thousand words, finishing story. Got my submission together for my critique group but then I didn’t get to send it in because I’m typing this ON A BOAT on the ferry and for some fool reason Google Groups is blocked. The fuck.

Will do it when I get real wifi in NH. I’ve forgotten about it EVERY DAMN DAY even though I made the Google Group! WHAT.

I DID NOT WANT TO DO ANY OF THIS STUFF. I dragged ass the whole time. It was like lifting a bus MADE OF MISERY with every single task. The cat hissed at me and the stupid drill died. I had to make the 5 pm ferry to go to NH and it was raining.

But by the sheer power of will and Artax-like one foot in front of the otherness through the swamp, I UNFUCKED TODAY.

← Older entries Page 1 of 2