I Am Lame (or, Why I Haven't Been Blogging)

So, there's this lady. Her name is Allie Brosh. She has a blog called Hyperbole and a Half, and her blog is awesome. And funny. And filled with bizarre things that only happen to people who live the kind of lives that Allie and I live. In short, Allie is my hero.

And, is more interesting than me. And every time I go to write a post I realize that something similar to my experience has happened to Allie, and her experience was funnier. I have a funny story about being in the cross country team in high school, but hers was far more off the wall. I have a funny story about a time I had to go to the ER, she wound up with a hilarious re-imagining of the 1-10 pain chart.

Then I tell myself that I also have many funny things happen to me that aren't similar to things that Allie has written about, often on a daily basis. The problem is, working in the medical field means telling the internet about them could cause a HIPPA violation, and that would be sad.

So then I sit here staring at the screen, wanting to write a blog post, and every amusing thing that has ever happened to me falls out of my head and I realize that if I start typing all I will be able to write about is my cat and then I would become that crazy lady who blogs about her cat all day and no one would want to read my blog.

So, now I have explained my absence, and I will be posting more soon, I promise.

Drama

Life at work this past week has been an adventure. Not that things are ever dull working at an addiction recovery center that doubles as a psychiatric office, but this past week has been particularly turbulent. As in, "Oh my god you guys, this has been the longest week ever, please just make it end!" I'm not even convinced that the week is over yet, like maybe today was just a Wednesday cleverly disguised as a Friday to fool us all and tomorrow morning every one's alarm clocks will go off and we'll have to go back and continue the calamity for another two days before we'll be allowed a weekend.

I don't think I can point to what started it exactly, but I'm pretty sure I can point to a general area and say, "Somewhere in there, things went wrong." And I'm pretty sure this drama is all our own faults. I'm also pretty sure that something pretty cool can come of it, if only someone could find a way.

It's kinda like when I was twelve years old and I fell off a water fall. I was a total spaz back then, and often got myself into stupid situations because I had a big mouth and was pretty sure I was descended from a Greek Goddess and one day I was going to be lifted up to Mt. Olympus by my fellow deities where I would be the Goddess of Really Cool Things and then I'd show everyone that I wasn't a total loser with braces and bifocals. Because, yeah, I had bifocals at the age of twelve and that pretty much dooms you to loser status until at least college.

So on this particular day I was going on a hike with my next door neighbor along the creek that runs through the woods behind our houses, just like we did every other day after school. Things were going pretty much the way they always did until we got to the point in the creek where it intersects one of the only two roads that run along that side of the hill. At this point the water flows through a large metal tunnel under the bridge and then spills out over a twelve foot drop onto the rocks below. Because the brambles on the other side of the bridge are too thick to make your way through, the only way to continue upstream is to climb up the rocks on either side of the the tunnel, grab the edge of it, pull yourself inside, and walk through.

We both got in ok, and were walking along side the water when I decided it was such a hot day, walking in the water would be much cooler. Now, mind you, the water was only about an inch deep, and I'd waded in it before, so there was no reason for me to believe that this action might lead to my near demise.

My friend pointed out to me that I probably shouldn't be sloshing around in the water because the algae made it slippery and I could fall. No sooner did she say those words than I slipped and fell foreword and the next thing I knew I was racing through the tunnel on my stomach, feet first, with nothing to grab on to to keep from falling over the edge.

My friend started screaming her head off and all I could think was, "If I break enough bones going over the edge of this thing they'll probably need to get a helicopter to lift me out of here, and I've always wanted to ride in a helicopter!" And then I decided I'd probably be unconscious, which would make it not nearly as exciting an experience.

Then the part of my brain that didn't want to find out if they'd use a helicopter to rescue me and wasn't too keen on broken bones kicked in and said, "Lindsay, stop trying to grab at the sides of the tunnel, it's made of smooth metal and covered in damp algae, there is nothing to hold on to. Stop being one of those expendable victims in horror movies that just flail helplessly while being swept away and roll onto your back so you can at least see what's coming!" So I did.

And all I could see was the edge of the tunnel getting closer and closer and for a moment it was like being in a water slide, which was kind of fun. Also, it was one of the most frightening experiences I'd ever encountered. Then the anti-broken-bone side of my brain kicked in again and said, "Your only chance is to grab on to the edge of the tunnel and swing around onto the dry rocks outside. You're only going to get one shot at this so don't mess up." I steeled myself for the moment when I reached the end of the tunnel and forced myself to keep my eyes open, focused on the plan.

And somehow it worked.

As I was propelled into the sunlight I reached out and gripped the edge of the tunnel and the momentum from the water was enough that I was able to swing onto a boulder and grip it with my toes like a spider monkey (my flip-flops were long gone at this point). I pulled myself the rest of the way onto the boulder and sat there, stunned but unhurt.

And while I huddled against the outside of the tunnel, my poor friend remained inside, screaming for help because all she'd seen was me going over the edge and disappearing from view and hadn't been witness to my amazing acrobatics. When she crawled out and found me sitting there, soaked but alive, I can't tell you if she wanted to hug me or punch me.

I, of course, was convinced that this was the start of my dormant super-powers beginning to awaken and took it as a sign that I was destined to save the world from some horrible thing that threatened it. Or at least it would make me super cool and not a loser. I was excited and ready to continue the hike to see if any other super powers would emerge. I also wanted to find my flip flops so that my mother wouldn't kick my ass when I came home without them.

My friend, who had decided she'd had enough near-death experiences for one day, ordered me to forget my flip flops and go home, promising to help me come up with an excuse for what happened to them. Because, really, "It happened when I fell off a waterfall," isn't a phrase that tends to go over well with mothers. To this day I don't think I've told her everything.

As far as this past week at work goes, we're still somewhere in the sliding through the tunnel and staring at the edge of it phase of the drama, and starting to realize that maybe if we'd all made some wiser choices in the past we wouldn't be here right now, but now that we're in motion it's going to be pretty hard to get out of the situation.

Or maybe we'll get to play with helicopters.

Writing again

I'm getting ready to start writing again. I know once I start making enough money as a writer that I can quit my day job I'm going to need to write constantly instead of in spurts, and that is going to be very hard for me.

Mind you, I'm always working on stories in my head. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm constantly throwing around ideas or taking notes on how people around me are reacting to (or ignoring) their surroundings. If you and I have interacted, I can assure you I've taken notes on the way you hold your pen or the funny face you make when you're about to sneeze. But I'm not always physically writing things down.

Some people call the dry spell between stories when nothing good seems to make it onto the page Writers Block. I call it letting the battery recharge. When I hit that wall I know the best thing I can do is go play a video game or an RPG and goof around with characters and plot lines that I never have to edit or submit for publication.

I was once accused of wasting my talents by playing games, but gaming is an outlet that lets the creative process remain fun and has on rare occasion (read as: twice ever) lead to something that became more than just a game.

All that being said, I think the battery is charged, and I'm ready to start producing new material instead of the god-awful job of editing old pieces and formatting them for submission.

I'm making a blog.

I'm certain that what I need to be doing right now is not starting a blog. What I need to be doing is trying to enjoy the last few days of my vacation, maybe go get some chai, and try to discover cold fusion or create a perpetual motion machine so that I can make a bajillion dollars, quit my job, and spend the rest of my days devoting my time to quirky projects that only serve to amuse me. Like, you know, blogging.

But I have to admit, my constant urge to chronicle makes blogging the obvious choice for a time sink. As if I needed another one.

Let me introduce myself. Hello, I'm Lindsay. This is my blog.

I'm another writer who is trying to break into paying markets while simultaneously attempting to hold down a day-job. I am certain there are thousands of blogs from individuals in similar situations, so I will attempt to be amusing if not unique. At the very least, I will amuse myself for a brief while before abandoning this project for something new. We'll see how it goes.