How I’ve Become My Parents

Courtesy of The Daily Post:
Do you ever find yourself doing something your parents used to do when you were a kid, despite the fact that you hated it back then?

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Upon my first glance at this prompt I would say that I’m really not all that much like my parents at all, but that’s not likely since the overwhelming majority of people turn out to be very, very much like their forebears. My reaction, then, is probably just a result of the fact that, in general, most people never really see their parents in themselves. Parents often see themselves in their children, but children often deny it vehemently. For instance, when I was younger I was constantly being told how much I look like my father. It was absolutely true – I look much more like my father than my mother – but I denied it like my life depended on it because what I was hearing was that people thought I looked like a man.

But I’m a grown adult now, so I should be mature and reasonable enough to accept that yes, there are things about me that are just like my parents, even the parts that drove me insane as a kid. So let’s just sit back and think about it for a moment…

Well, the first thing that comes to mind is that, as an adult, I have a pretty intense hatred of snow. It’s funny because as a child I loved snow so much that I would spend hours out playing in it until my nose turned blue, and it would drive me up the wall when my parents would complain about it and wish for it all to melt. I still love snow in the sense of it making the world feel Christmasy, and it’s adorable to watch my daughter play in it, but after a few short weeks of shoveling, and poor road conditions, and delayed flights I begin to develop a hatred that would rival the intensity of a small sun.

Another thing, which will probably give my parents a good chuckle, is that I can’t stand when my kid is being “saucy” (i.e. talking back). I was an outrageously saucy kid myself, and I hated how my parents would always get so mad at me for it, because in my mind I was just telling it like it is and/or standing up for myself. But nowadays I catch myself seething with barely-contained rage when my daughter gets saucy. I try to tell myself that she’s just saying things as she sees them, but like most parents I can’t help but feel like she’s being a saucy little brat and she damn well knows it.

Something that’s more specific to my mom: my temper. I feel pretty strongly that I’m significantly better at keeping mine than she is (yeah, you heard me, mom), but I’ve definitely inherited her ability to Hulk-out. When I was a kid I used to think she was nuts; sometimes it felt like she was getting unrealistically angry at me for no good reason. Now I find myself in the opposite position…I’ll be fine many times in a row, but then there will be this one little thing that my husband or daughter says or does that snaps something inside my brain and makes me want to put my fist through a wall. The key is that I manage to not punch any walls (or anything else), which is now something that I can appreciate she was capable of as well.

And something more specific to my dad: a complete inability to read instructions properly, in particular when building something. It always used to drive me mad when I’d be helping him build something and he’d skip a step, resulting in a need to backtrack and deconstruct several steps before being able to continue. Now, for whatever reason, I seem to have become the exact same way. It’s like I’m genetically predisposed to glaze over certain crucial information whenever it comes to household furniture and appliances. Honestly, it’s rather quite amazing that my husband has never murdered me while attempting to put up shelving or a new installation in the house.

I’m sure there are many more things that I can’t see. I’m sure my husband could point out a few, and I’m quite certain my parents will have compiled a mental list if they’re reading this post. Hell, my daughter could probably point out a similarity or two. But I’ll end it here, because I’m feeling a strong urge to go out and reconfirm my individuality. ^_~

How are you like your parents? Don’t be shy now, go ahead and share!

Smell You Later

This post comes to you today from a Daily Post prompt:

Humans have very strong scent memory. Tell us about a smell that transports you.

Scent memory is something that genuinely amazes me. Normally, on a day-to-day basis, I have a pretty terrible memory, but sometimes when I catch a whiff of a particular scent I’ll recall the past as though I’d somehow returned to it. There are lots of examples I could give, but the first one that comes to mind is the smell of gasoline. That may seem like an odd, not-all-that-pleasant choice, but hear me out.

Back in late elementary school I was always writing. I carried a notebook around with me all the time so I’d always be able to write. And even though it wasn’t always easy – or legible – I often wrote in the car while my parents and I were driving somewhere. The best time to scribble quickly was, of course, while we were stopped for any reason, and often that reason was to fill up the tank.

It may seem like strange, convoluted writer logic, but I’m being totally serious here. Because of my habit of writing in the car, to this day the smell of gasoline makes me remember being curled up in the back seat of my parents’ car, feverishly scribbling in a Gilroy notebook with a blue Bic pen. And the thought makes me smile and long for the days when I had endless time to just write and write and write.

How about you? What scents transport you to another place and time?

Internal Interpretations

The other day I was clicking through some daily prompts on The Daily Post and I came across this one. It piqued my interest, so I thought I’d take part.

Do you remember a recent dream you had? Or an older one that stayed vivid in your mind? Today, you’re your own Freud: Tell us the dream, then interpret it for us! Feel free to be as serious or humorous as you see fit, or to invent a dream if you can’t remember a real one.

This prompt caught my eye because I dream a lot. I don’t know if it’s because of a sleep disorder, or if I just have a super-overactive mind, or what the reason could be, but I seem to spend an inordinate amount of the nighttime hours in REM sleep, just dreaming away. If I’m woken up in a shocking way – such as an annoying, blaring alarm clock – I tend to forget those dreams pretty much immediately, but if given the chance to wake up naturally I’ve found that I can remember so much detail that it makes me wonder if I got any deep sleep at all. I’ve grabbed notebooks and scribbled down my dreams only to find my hand starts to cramp up before I can finish.

And most of those dreams, while extremely detailed and vivid, are so odd and random that I couldn’t even begin to interpret them. For example, there’s this one recurring dream that I had multiple times throughout my last two college years. In it my husband (who was, of course, my boyfriend at the time) and I are moving through this huge building. Each floor of the building was something completely different; one floor was an enormous mall, another floor was a sprawling park. And there were no stairs; in order to move between floors we had to find a ladder or something else to climb in order to reach a trap door in the ceiling. We would steadily move upward, until eventually we would come to this one floor that was like an entire town – houses, trees, roads, the whole works – and in this town a war was going on. Everyone my age that I had ever known – schoolmates, college friends, etc – were there, but no kids and no older folks, and everyone had huge, sci-fi-style guns. My ex-boyfriend was always the one to meet us at the trap door and shove guns into our hands, begging us to help out. Everyone would be camped out behind bushes, cars, houses, and everyone would be shooting off into the distance but I could never see what it was they were all fighting. The remainder of the dream would be hubby and I trying to make our way through all the gunfire, trying to stay alive while searching through the next trap door. I had that dream more than a dozen times, and each time it was super-vivid – like, I could remember the clothes people were wearing, and which stores we ran past on the mall level – but I couldn’t even begin to tell you what it was all about. I mean, you tell me: what the hell could any of that mean?

But I have had dreams that I could pretty much interpret instantaneously. For instance, there’s another recurring dream that I’ve had for years. It’s not always exactly the same, but it’s always very, very similar, and it crops up in my mind every so often. Without going into huge amounds of detail, the dream always begins in an important place from my childhood, like my parents’ or grandparents’ houses. It’ll be early in the morning and I’ll be trying to get ready to go to school. I won’t be a kid or anything in this dream – I’ll be my fully grown adult self – but I’ll be getting ready for school none-the-less. And it will be an utter disaster. It will seem like everything in the world is trying to keep me from getting to school. Every piece of clothing I own will be dirty, the car will break down, one of my family members will show up and start demanding something of me; just in general I’ll be a nervous wreck just trying to get out of the damn house. Then, eventually, I’ll make it to school, but the school will be this enormous, winding labyrinth of hallways and staircases and I’ll have no idea where my classes are. Around this point my best friend usually shows up, talking like everything is super normal, and I’ll start following her, hoping that she’ll lead me to wherever the hell I’m supposed to go. We’ll push through hoards of teenagers on their way to class, and somehow I’ll finally wind up in a math class. But that’s not where my torture ends. Sitting in that class, I’ll suddenly realize that, somehow I’ve managed to go almost the entire school year without sitting through a single class or doing any homework. Without knowing how I even managed to pull that off, I’ll just intuitively know that I’m pretty much completely screwed and have, like, a week to teach myself the entire course in time for the final exam.

Can you interpret that one? I think it’s pretty easy myself: it’s all about stress. In the dream I’m feeling battered, lost, confused. I can’t figure out what I’m doing or where I’m going, and everything in the world seems set out to stop me. And then, just when I think I’ve finally reached my objective, I realize that I’ve completely dropped the ball and put myself into a super bad situation. The fact that the dream involves places from my childhood, school, and my best friend, is probably my brain longing for simpler times amidst all the chaos that I can’t seem to escape. My theory is furthered by the fact that I always seem to have this dream when I’m having a rough time in real life; I’ve had a really awful day at work, I’ve gotten into a huge fight with someone, the little missy had whiny, sooky day that made me want to pull my hair out…you get the idea. It makes sense, right? What better way for a person to deal with stress than to be forced to deal with even more of it in their dreams? 😛

What do you think? Am I probably right, or do you have another interpretation? What kinds of dreams do you usually have? Can you usually tell what they mean or are they totally off the wall? Please share!

Moved to Tears

Describe the last time you were moved to tears by something.

I was clicking through random prompts on The Daily Post one day when I came across this one. It made me stop and think for a moment because my response is not the kind that you might expect. The last time I was “moved to tears” was a couple of days ago when I was curled in up bed at my work camp. Was I upset about something that had happened at work? Nope. Was I lonely because my family was 3000 miles away? Well, always, but that wasn’t the issue in question. No, this particular night I was moved to tears because Detective Ryan escaped a near-death experience just in time to meet his newborn baby girl and hold her for the first time.

Yeah… I was totally watching ‘Castle’.

The thing is, when it comes to real life, I don’t cry very often – pretty much only when there’s been a death in the family. But get me invested in a fictional character and woo-ee…the dams break right open.

I don’t know what that says about me, exactly, but I have a theory. See, I tend to internalize a lot because I’m not great at expressing my feelings to others, even the people I’m closest to. Some of those internalized emotions come out in my writing, but definitely not all of them. The rest is reserved for fiction characters created by others. It’s almost as though I’m emoting vicariously through people who are safe targets because they’re not real. Does that make any sense at all? I feel like maybe that only makes sense to me.

Now don’t get me wrong: I’m not bawling my eyes out every time one of the “good guys” dies in ‘Game of Thrones’ (can you imagine? I’d have chronic dehydration), but I do get choked up quite often when a character I love is going through something horrible, or having a super-emotional moment. I thought I was going to have a complete breakdown during the opening scenes of ‘UP’, and there have been episodes of ‘Supernatural’ during which I had to turn my head so my husband wouldn’t see the glimmer in the corners of my eyes. And then there’s ‘Full Metal Alchemist’… Guys, I can’t not speak enough about how amazing this show was – even if you’re not normally an anime fan – and there were a few scenes that made me weep, no joke.

Anyone who has seen the show is bawling like a little baby right now, I guarantee it.

And sometimes, honestly, that can feel nice. Crying, even if it’s over something fictional, can be very cathartic and a huge stress-reliever (see aforementioned problem with internalization). Honestly, all you guys who play by the rule of “Boys Don’t Cry” are really missing out.

What do you guys think? Am I crazy for sniveling over fictional characters, or do you totally get what I’m saying? When was the last time you were brought to tears (by something fictional or otherwise)? Please share!

Also, a reminder that I am running a contest throughout the month of March. For each comment you post on my blog throughout the month, you will receive one entry toward a draw for a hard-copy of my zombie apocalypse novel, “Nowhere to Hide”! Please note that in order to accept the prize, I will need you to give me a mailing address where I can have the book sent. If the winner drawn did not intend to enter the contest and/or does not want the book, I will draw another name. Please also note that obvious spam/duplicate comments/etc. will not be counted toward an entry…play fair! And good luck! ❤

Skeletons (or Not) in the Closet

Today’s post comes to you from “642 Things to Write About”, which asks the question: “What’s stored in your closet?”

Well, right off the bat there are a lot of closets in my house. There’s the one in the hall upstairs, which is where we store our towels, surplus bath and hygiene products, and basically anything you would normally find in a bathroom. There’s the closet in the basement, which is full of a bunch of old computer parts, and is also where my husband hides presents for me. Then there’s the closet on the main floor that serves as a kind of pantry for bottled drinks and discounted Halloween candy, and also has a bunch of board games shoved up on the top shelf. And I haven’t even mentioned the mudroom closet, the half-bath closet, the spare room closet, or my daughter’s bedroom closet.

But this prompt, I assume, wants me to talk about my closet – the one that’s next to my bedside.

The obvious answer, of course, is clothing, but those fall into several categories. There are a handful of sweaters and a stack of jeans and yoga pants that I wear regularly. Then there are a few pairs of capris, shorts, and cute dresses that I only wear when I’m feeling good about myself (*cough*rarely*cough*). On the top shelf are a bunch of jeans, turtlenecks, and winter gear that I only use when I’m on a job that requires me to spend a lot of time outside in the colder months. Finally, there’s a pretty red storage box that contains the dress and shoes that I wore on my wedding day.

But clothes aren’t the only thing in my closet. On the lower shelf there is a container filled with sewing and craft supplies – fabric bits, ribbons, thread and needles, and a mini-hot-glue gun, amongst other things. On the floor beneath my clothes is a tote full of old stuff I’ve kept and things with sentimental value, like the scrapbook my best friend made me back in high school. And on top of the tote is our extra set of bedsheets, which are some of the comfiest damn sheets you’ll ever sleep on.

And of course there are a few things I’m not mentioning, because a girl has to have her privacy. ^_~

Oh, and dust. Because every closet needs a little dust.

This was a silly prompt, but I’ll ask anyway: so what’s stored in your closet? Please share!

Also, a reminder that I am running a contest throughout the month of March. For each comment you post on my blog throughout the month, you will receive one entry toward a draw for a hard-copy of my zombie apocalypse novel, “Nowhere to Hide”! Please note that in order to accept the prize, I will need you to give me a mailing address where I can have the book sent. If the winner drawn did not intend to enter the contest and/or does not want the book, I will draw another name. Please also note that obvious spam/duplicate comments/etc. will not be counted toward an entry…play fair! And good luck! ❤

Something Stolen

Something you had that was stolen.

Have you ever had something stolen from you? I’m fairly certain that everyone has had something stolen from them at one point or another, whether it was something big and expensive, like a car, or something cheap and easily replaced, like office supplies. Myself, I work in the trades, which means that I have a lot of experience with things like radios, tools, and parts sprouting legs and walking away. I even know one guy who had his prescription safety glasses swiped from our trailer, as though they would be of any damn use to the thief.

But when I saw this prompt one item in particular came to my mind immediately: my childhood bike.

It’s almost difficult to believe now that every kid who can dress himself has a $700 smartphone/supercomputer in their hands 24/7, but when I was little every kid’s pride and joy was their bike. We would ride everywhere, sometimes spending the entire day from dawn to dusk just riding around town. On grading day every year the local department stores would have rows of bikes on display because they knew any kid who had outgrown theirs would be asking for a new one. Bikes were serious business. I was on mine non-stop during certain years of my life, but like most kids tend to be, I was careless with it. I would often drop it in a friend’s yard or even right on the side of the road while I was off doing something else. I didn’t think anything of it, until one day when I came back to get it and it wasn’t there.

To say that I panicked would definitely be an understatement. I was only about 8 at the time, but I understood that bikes were not cheap and that my parents didn’t have the money to just throw around on such things. I started searching in a frenzy, certain that it had to be somewhere nearby, desperate to find it before my parents found out it was gone. I tried to enlist the friends that I’d been playing with, but they’d been called home for supper and promptly abandoned me. Eventually my own father came looking for me and I had to admit the horrible truth: someone had stolen my bike.

I’m fairly certain that I recall Niagara Falls opening up in my eyes then.

Now, it turned out a little while later that my bike was not stolen in the traditional sense. Like any neighborhood, mine had its share of kids who were rotten little jerks for the sake of being rotten little jerks. It turned out that a couple of these bullies had seen my bike laying in the neighbor’s lawn and thought it would be funny to make me think it was gone. Knowing that they couldn’t just take it home without their parents asking where the heck it had come from, they’d tossed it into the trees and bushes in the vacant lot at the end of the road. Luckily my father and a neighbor were able to find it and it was returned to me with a gentle talking to about leaving my stuff laying around.

So in the end all was well, but something like that can affect a kid at that age. For quite a while after that I was pretty paranoid to leave anything I owned unattended for even a few minutes. Even to this day I’m a little bit twitchy about things like my daughter taking a toy to school for ‘show and share’, and I blame it on the fact that this incident taught me not to trust other kids around my stuff.

Have you ever had something important to you stolen? Did you get it back or was it gone forever? How did its loss affect you? Please share!

Also, a reminder that I am running a contest throughout the month of March. For each comment you post on my blog throughout the month, you will receive one entry toward a draw for a hard-copy of my zombie apocalypse novel, “Nowhere to Hide”! Please note that in order to accept the prize, I will need you to give me a mailing address where I can have the book sent. If the winner drawn did not intend to enter the contest and/or does not want the book, I will draw another name. Please also note that obvious spam/duplicate comments/etc. will not be counted toward an entry…play fair! And good luck! ❤

What Does Writer’s Block Feel Like?

This prompt from 642 Things to Write About amuses me, since writer’s block is exactly what the book aims to abolish.

So what does writer’s block feel like? Well, it’s too simple just to say that it’s frustrating, but that’s a good place to start. It is extremely frustrating. Have you ever been telling a story to a friend and got hung up on a particular word? You know exactly what you mean to say, and you can maybe even think of other ways to say it, but you can’t come up with that one word that you really want to use. It’s right on the tip of your tongue – you can taste it – but for some reason it won’t come out and the entire story is ruined because of it. That’s kind of what writer’s block feels like, except multiplied by the thousands of words that won’t come out.

A lot of people think that writing is easy – and for some lucky people it is – but when writer’s block hits it’s like being struck blind, deaf, and dumb. Imagine that you’ve had years and years of training in a particular field, and even more years of experience working in that field. You know your stuff. You’re good at your job. Now imagine that, sporadically and without any kind of warning, all of that knowledge and experience is wiped from your head and you’re left floundering around with absolutely no idea of what you just did or what to do next. That’s kind of what writer’s block feels like, and you have no clue or indication at all of when (or if) your brain might start working again.

Have you ever desperately wanted to finish something, but couldn’t because of circumstances outside of your control? Maybe you suffered an injury during some kind of big competition that you’d been training for. Maybe your car broke down and made you miss a huge event that you’d been planning for months. Maybe you’d gathered the courage to confess your feelings to someone, just before finding out that they’d confessed their feelings to someone else. You had something in your life that felt like the most important thing in the world, but it slipped through your fingers and you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to get it back again. That’s kind of what writer’s block feels like, except that the troublesome outside force is actually an evil blankness inside your own head.

Long story short, writer’s block feels like incompetence. It feels like you’ve been reduced to a base state, a blank slate, and you have no idea how you’re supposed to bring yourself back.

So next time you hear someone complaining that they have writer’s block, maybe consider giving them a hug.

Have you ever experienced writer’s block? What do you think it feels like? What do you do to try and break through it? Please share!

Also, a reminder that I am running a contest throughout the month of March. For each comment you post on my blog throughout the month, you will receive one entry toward a draw for a hard-copy of my zombie apocalypse novel, “Nowhere to Hide”! Please note that in order to accept the prize, I will need you to give me a mailing address where I can have the book sent. If the winner drawn did not intend to enter the contest and/or does not want the book, I will draw another name. Please also note that obvious spam/duplicate comments/etc. will not be counted toward an entry…play fair! And good luck! ❤