Times change, Void.

In the old days, a woman who felt out of sorts, weary, or upset, could tell her gentleman, "I have a headache." The gentleman, being gentlemanly, would say sympathetic things and watch her retire. It was a fine code phrase; it could mean she was upset with something that had happened, or it could mean that she had a headache. It allowed her to maintain dignity before guests.
I have my own code phrase. I don't get headaches. I get tired. And like the headaches of yore, my weariness covers everything from hormones to exhaustion.
It can mean "I stayed up too late last night, worked hard all day, and now I feel like screaming because you just asked me to wash the dishes."
It can mean "I have been working and you've been sitting on the couch, but I don't want to say anything because I think you were working earlier when I wasn't around, and anyway, I don't want to seem petty."
And it can mean, "You're telling me of the grand trip you're going to take soon, while all I have to look forward to is work and church and hearing of the fun you're having, and I feel depressed and petty, and I should be grateful to have this job, and it's a wonderful job, but I don't--I really don't--want to be mature right now, I want to have my job and a wonderful six week vacation to travel wherever I want to in the world."
And it can mean "I'm just weary."

And all of these meanings will be covered by three words: "I'm just tired." So might the women of old have said, "I have a slight headache."

A blank verse for you, Void:

We are the dreamers
and we are the creators of words
and the builders of worlds.
Sometimes we rebuild this present Earth,
sometimes we journey beyond the stars.
We lift up societies: Utopian, dystopian, ideals,
a world of faeries, a world of vice,
a world of little people growing.
Let us draw you in,
let us take you past the stars,
let us place you in our worlds.
And when we have done, and you have seen
the societies we created,
go home
and look around
and see what world you live in.

I've been reading, and thinking, Void...

Specifically, I've been reading the Harris twins' book Do Hard Things. It's a challenge to teenagers in particular and Christians in general to rise above what is expected and accepted. It's a challenge to push out of our complacent comfort zones and into daring. And it is forcing me to think about my comfort zones. I have many.
Let's start with cooking (mainly because I'm eating dinner, so food is kind of on my mind.) My mother has been cooking for some forty years, and can tell what minute portion of what spice a dish needs by tasting it. Seriously. "Okay, just add 1/4 teaspoon of red wine vinegar and another tablespoon of brown sugar." [I add the requisite ingredients...and work requisite into my post.] "Yep! Perfect!" And suddenly, the dish has gone from "oh, tomatoes" to "ooh, tomatoes!" My older sister: gourmet chef, exotic flair, phenomenal baker, made her own wedding cake. Yeah. My younger sister: tastes a dish and knows what it needs, cooks everything perfectly on her first attempt.
I'm not exaggerating their abilities. (Not much, anyway.) I live with these three women in my life, and frankly, it gets a little depressing. Because I'm no gourmet chef. I am not a taste-and-change-it cook. However. As of today, as a direct result of reading Do Hard Things, I am going to endeavor to change this. Because the Harris twins advocate doing things that are personally difficult for you.

Go read the book.

You know something, Void?

There is something immensely satisfying about someone accepting your recommendation for a book or a movie. There is something very pleasant about a friend saying, "Hey, remember telling me to read The Scarlet Pimpernel? Well, I did." It's nice because it means that your friend actually listens to, and values, your opinion, enough to investigate the book or movie in question. But it is best of all when the friend becomes as fascinated with the story as you yourself were.
This has happened to me twice lately. My little brother and I are reading The Scarlet Pimpernel together; it's maybe the fourth time I've read this book, but for the Bug, it is the very first time. And he is most definitely fascinated. (I think the best part of reading this book with the Bug is allowing him to read some of the dialogue with me. That kid performs the most hilarious British accent I have ever heard...an accent, might I add, that is much better than anything I could do.)
I also got my sister-in-law to watch BBC's modern update of Sherlock Holmes. It had the unexpected title of Sherlock. It is indisputably, indubitably brilliant. (All three of those long words are awesome. I really like words.) She watched eighteen minutes of it and stopped, so that she could finish watching it later with her mother and husband. One recommendation: three people hooked. That is lovely.

I think I'll go outside now, and indulge my pyromaniac tendencies.

Good morning, Void.

I've been considering my reasons for beginning a blog. I suppose it's a sort of on-line journal. I've tried keeping a journal before. I even have one on my bookcase; it's very pretty, and barely used. I suspect I'll write on a blog more than I would write in a pretty journal. Because one doesn't technically write on blogs. One types. Much easier, I assure you, easier on the hand, easier on my patience (I can never write quickly enough to keep up with my thoughts). So, there you are.

I really do like the idea of a blog. I can simply type down whatever random thoughts stream through my head, share whatever was interesting about my day (whatever interested me about my day!), muse on books I'm reading. And words. Words are fabulous. Fabulous is an excellent word.

Publish Post

Hello, Void.

I am joining the vast crowd who fling their thoughts at you. Why? Because I am a writer. Ah, but not just a writer! Please, do not lump me in with the common crowd. I am a lazy writer. I do not wish to work on my fantasy fiction just now (not any of the nine and two-fifths stories I have stashed on different computers). But I wish to write and pretend to be productive. So, I have a blog, and I am flinging random thoughts at you, The Void. I call it free-styling.

First random thought: low blood sugar is a bad thing. Particularly at the end of a long day. This day, like most Mondays, I worked. This day was longer than most because I spent a couple of hours in the afternoon trying to figure out ways to earn my generous paycheck. (I am not being sarcastic, for the record. My boss is completely awesome.) I don't like an overabundance of downtime; there are only so many petty housekeeping tasks to be performed around a dental office. Please keep your dental appointments; the entire staff will love you, especially the assistant.
Like most Mondays in the fall, I finished work and went to choir practice. Our choir is nearly as awesome as my boss. However, about midway through choir, I began feeling sleepy and hungry. And everybody I talked to seemed to have something to say about food. It was rather cruel.
I arrived home, dreaming of my favorite dinner, and scouted the fridge for food. No food. I decided it was too late to make anything, forget-it-I'll-just-eat-tomorrow, went up to my room and cried. This little incident I am blaming on Low Blood Sugar. Hence, my opening sentence. (See, I didn't forget what I was talking about!) Then I poked around on the Internet, smiled at pictures of my nephew, blessed my sister-in-law for sending me pictures and a funny video, and checked Facebook. Then I went back downstairs, determined to eat something. I settled on Ramen noodles. And a Tootsie roll. (Low blood sugar ought to be boosted as soon as possible, if you ask me.) Oddly enough, just watching the noodles cook, watching the steam rise, smelling the scent of the little packet of instant flavor, soothed me. I could feel my blood sugar rising, just watching the noodles cook. (That might have been the Tootsie roll kicking in.) Now I am actually eating, and feeling much better. Moral of the story? Eat before you go to choir practice.

Bourgeois is a fabulous word. Say it out loud: boo-zhwa. The plural is even more fun! It adds an extra syllable, just for fun! Bourgeoisie. Boo-zhwa-szie. (Yes, this is how I entertain myself.) It means middle-class. Usually narrow-minded middle-class. I like saying bourgeois more than middle-class. It's so much snobbier.