You know the times when you feel as though you haven’t accomplished anything in your life? The days when you sit in the chair in tears because you can’t come up with a single thing that you have completed that would be considered meaningful.
A couple weeks ago was the end of a long month of feelings like that. I was in a nearly constant state of depression because of it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t come up with one meaningful thing that I had accomplished.
My amazing boyfriend did his best to help me through that, but like most people he eventually gave up on that and told me the truth; that I was being a big crybaby.
Which is true.
Think about it, each and every one of us has done something meaningful in our lives. Whether it’s good or bad, there has been something you have done for, or to, someone that helped them to remember you forever.
It might have been something as simple as holding the door open for someone, or giving them a hug when they were sad. Or, it could have been something big like publishing a best selling novel and being able to make a living.
Today, I just wanted to say to everyone reading this that you have done something in your life. It may not look big on paper, but it was big to someone, and that’s what matters.
Today I got to go to my very first baseball game. Most people are shocked when I tell them that I’d never been to one before. But hey, my parents weren’t really sporty.
I’m currently thinking baseball is my favorite sport. It’s less stressful. By a lot. While watching football or basketball, I get so stressed out I feel like I’m about to die from a heart attack.
I think I can survive this baseball thing!
Unfortunately, we lost the game 3 to 0. But it was fun!
I have to constantly remind myself that I’m only 20. I even caught myself telling someone once that I was 24 on accident. Oops… I certainly feel like 24 anyway. After all of that divorce business, I feel like I aged a good 6-8 years or something.
But that’s not the point. Not really.
I’m 20, living at my father’s house/boyfriend’s house/car. I don’t feel like I have a home. My boyfriend lives with his family still, so it’s occasionally awkward staying the weekends there. The only times I stay at the place I use as my address, (my dad’s house) is on the workweek nights.
Many people don’t seem to realize how stressful this is. I feel like I need to choose a life. I can’t choose staying with my boyfriend’s h
I’ve been working on plotting on my latest story, Coast Tied. I’ve been working on this book for about a year now. Saying it makes it sound like such a long time! I was about 10 chapters in when I couldn’t do it anymore. It had so many plot holes and I didn’t even know how I was going to end the story. So, I went and bought a notebook.
A plotting notebook. I have found that it makes it so much easier to figure out what’s going on in my stories if I plot. I get to know my characters much faster and the excitement to begin writing is enough to spur me on through the dead zones of the writing process.
Mondays have been dedicated as my writing days. I work Tuesday-Saturday and it really makes it hard to come home and write. I try, but usually I don’t have the energy to do much else other than sit and stare at a wall. Working with dogs is more exhausting than it sounds. So, what I tend to do on my work days is write through my lunch hour. If the dogs aren’t barking up a storm, it’s kind of nice!
Today is Monday, which is awesome. I stay at my boyfriend’s over my weekend, so I’m at his house right now. The internet isn’t very fast, it’s in the middle of nowhere, and I get to puppy sit. It’s perfect for writing. The problem is, I forgot my notebook at home. That’s a big problem. I’m only about halfway done with my plotting. In fact, I might not even be that far with it.
But, I have a much better grasp of my characters and plot now. I even think I know how it’s going to end! Cue happy dances and a barking chihuahua! So, I’m going to spend today WRITING. I’m excited.
I’m very excited.
Lillia, it’s time for me to take over your world!
As you probably know, today is Easter. It’s the day we use to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection. If you believe that, that is. If you don’t, you can still get the candy!
I spent my Easter with my (hopefully) future family. My boyfriend’s aunt and uncle, both sets of grandparents, his cousin and her kids, his parents, and of course all the dogs.
Being a dog groomer, I have learned to take my box of supplies with me whenever I go to family functions. I always get asked if I can do nails. Always. It’s bad enough I sometimes feel like I should have a spare dremal and pair of clippers in my car at all times.
Today, I got to take off a couple of inches of a long/wire haired dashound named penny. Since I don’t have a grooming table, she didn’t turn out nearly as cute as she could have. But her momma loved her! Goodness, that dog is a squirmy butt!
Of course, I didn’t groom dogs all day. I played with the kids and watched them search for Easter eggs in the pouring rain. It was such a relaxing day! I love my second family.
“Trash bag” game video coming soon!
What did you guys do for Easter? Did you eat yourself sick like I probably will later?
I used to be what I considered a kind of hermit. I didn’t like people, and would hardly leave my room for much of anything. Even food was often forgotten. Looking back, I think it was some kind of teenage phase. Now, it’s quite strange to be able to stand people and occasionally want to go see them.
I used to think that nowhere else could be like the home I grew up in. That nowhere else would make me feel nearly as safe and protected. Then the divorce hit my family like a bunch of trolls storming the house and I learned a lot about what makes a house a home.
The saying ‘home is where the heart is’ is definitely true. I feel safe whenever I’m with the one I call my heart. It doesn’t matter where it is. The only physical place that I consider home though, is my car. Perhaps that’s because it’s actually mine and I know I won’t lose it. (Knock on wood!)
I have learned that home is not a physical place anyway. Humans have an instinct to begin their own families. It’s okay for the home you grow up in to no longer feel like home. It’s part of growing up, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.