Teardrops On My Keyboard

Weekends are rough.

I go go go all week long. What I can do, I do. What I can't do, I save for the weekend.

By the time the weekend comes around, I'm too tired. I often can't do even half of what I've planned to do, even though it really needs to be done. I tell myself that I'll go to bed and make a fresh start in the morning. But what really happens is that I lie awake, paralyzed by all I haven't accomplished, perhaps mindlessly scrolling through my Facebook feed to keep my anxiety at bay.

It's not uncommon for me to accidentally stay up until two or three in the morning this way.

Last night, I was trying to cram in all that I could before going to bed. I sat down to work on my novel for NaNoWriMo, only to find that due to an error on my computer, the last 700 words that I'd written had not been saved.

I cried. I cried profusely, and when I reached up to wipe away my tears, the mascara smeared on my fingertips...which I only discovered after I started to make up those 700 words using my laptop's white keyboard.

Other than the egregious weekend crunch...things are going well.

NaNoWriMo is a Go

What the what?! I'm actually succeeding somewhat at NaNoWriMo this year!

NaNoWriMo is when you try to write an entire 50,000 word novel during the month of November. The first time I tried was my junior year of high school. Life lesson: it's inadvisable during your junior year of high school to try to do anything but your junior year of high school. Or else you'll cry every night because of all the AP classes and SATs and PSATs and ACTs and other various acronym-related things that you have to do alongside whatever else it is you're trying to add to your load.

I'm speaking from experience.

The second time I tried was November 2015, and the third time was last November. Both times I knew I would never be able to write a full-length novel, so I just tried to write something five days a week. It was a good time, but I never got past 13,000 or so words.

Following last year's NaNoWriMo, I set a New Year's resolution to work on something for publication every week. First I tried to finish my novel from November. Then I tried to start a new story. Both times, I ran into a similar problem: I had some time to write, but I had hardly any time to plot. I could plot or write but not both.

So in May, I hit the restart button. I began a new project that didn't require me to do much plotting. Over five months, I eked out 18,000 words.

I decided that this year, my NaNoWriMo goal would be to finish the project. Well, good news! I've written about 12,000 more words in just under two weeks! Yay! Go team! I hope I can keep it up, because I'd love to have a completed novel on my hands.

First Snow

Earlier this week, I stepped out the door to go to work, and it was snowing.

Very, very lightly. But still—snowing.

I can't tell you exactly how many times I said the word "No" on my way to work that morning, but it was a lot.

This morning, I dropped $500 on snow tires, and I do not regret it.

We've Got to Stop Meeting Like This

We're starting to get into the swing of things with the Relief Society Presidency.

Everything started off kind of crazy. The day I accepted the calling, Flower Child was supposed to leave on a plane to the Orlando area. She was going to spend a good ten days there and then go to St. George and Las Vegas for another week or so.

I felt strongly right away that she should be my first counselor, but she was going to be out of town on the day the bishop wanted my presidency sustained and set apart. However, I soon found out that she'd canceled the first part of her trip because Hurricane Irma might hit while she was there. So things worked out, timing-wise, and she accepted the call and was sustained and set apart just days before leaving for St. George and Las Vegas.

(The following Monday, I woke up and saw online that there had been a shooting in Las Vegas! I instantly panicked because I knew Flower Child was there! Then I immediately calmed a little when I found out the shooting had taken place the night before at a concert. Many LDS people feel that going to concerts and other activities is not appropriate on the Sabbath, and I knew Flower Child would not have gone to the concert. Sure enough, she hadn't attended, and she was safe. But—moral of the story—don't go on vacation with Flower Child because apparently disaster strikes wherever she goes.)

Also, within days of our being called, we had General Conference, we were supposed to put on an activity for all the sisters in our ward, and several monthly and quarterly reports were due. I was texting my secretary, Valiant, every day. Most of those days we also had ward activities, so as soon as we saw each other we would just pick up where our texts left off:

VALIANT: Oh, I got your text, and my answer is—

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Great! Why don't you go ahead and—

Then we'd break, text periodically over the next 24 hours, and when we met up again the next evening we'd continue our ongoing business conversation.

Things have calmed down since then...somewhat. No more presidency members have been at risk from hurricanes or shootings. We've only had a few reports to worry about, and Valiant and I sometimes talk about other things when we cross paths.

This Is How I Do Halloween in My Mid-Twenties

On my way out the door today, my landlord said, "You must be going to a party!"

I then had to explain that I was dressed up to take Baby Brother trick-or-treating. Lots of people in their mid-twenties go to Halloween parties, but not me!

Actually, I did go to a Halloween party, it was just on Friday and not today. It was a church-sponsored Halloween carnival. This year, Baby Brother and I put together costumes to be Greg and Wirt from Over the Garden Wall. We bought Wirt's cloak and Greg's overalls, made the hat and teapot out of a cardboard cone and card stock respectively, and scrounged together other bits and odd ends to make some respectable costumes.

After two years of dressing up as my actual gender, it was back to my usual cross-dressing. This was the fourth year in a row of my dressing as a cartoon character of some type and the second year ever of my dressing as a character played by Elijah Wood.

I wore my costume to the Halloween carnival. Best Friend Boy was there also. He was wearing the costume that he's worn for at least three Halloweens: a quarterback costume comprising a letterman jacket and a football. Best Friend Boy likes to play it safe when it comes to Halloween costumes. I understand why: although putting together a more obscure costume is lots of fun, only the people who are really familiar with the property usually recognize it.

Quite a few people approached me at the carnival. About half of them said something like, "OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH YOU'RE WIRT RIGHT THIS IS AMAZING YOU'RE SO AWESOME!" The other said something like, "So are you a gnome or something?"

To my great amusement, several people had a conversation with Best Friend Boy along these lines:

PERSON: So what's your costume?

BEST FRIEND BOY: I'm a quarterback.

PERSON: ...that's it?

We also had a party at my workplace today. So I guess that technically, I went to two parties. However, the night itself was spent on the streets of Hometown with Baby Brother and Ginger Cousin.

It was pretty chilly even though two days ago we had an exceptionally warm night. The rule in Utah is that on Halloween night the temperature always drops, regardless of logic or science. Even though my cloak was usually stifling, I froze quite a bit during the hour we were out. But—all in all, a good night.

Dude, We're Getting the Band Back Together! I Mean Presidency.

You might have noticed that I've been feeling down lately.

This past summer was a real slugger, and there wasn't much of a chance for me to hit back. So it was kind of like I got punched in the face over...and over...and over again. After everything, I just felt restless, overwhelmed, and discouraged. There was a lot of "Woe is me!" going on inside my head.

In the midst of this grand pity party, I felt I needed to serve others more. I tried to look for opportunities to do so, and that seemed to help. Then the bishop of my ward asked if he could meet with me. He inquired if I would take on a new calling, and even though my entire life felt like a giant mess, I agreed.

It just so happens that four years ago exactly, I wrote about being a counselor in my ward's Relief Society presidency. Well, today, I'd like to share that as of about a month ago, I am the ward's Relief Society president.

For those of you who don't know, the Relief Society is the largest women's organization in the world. Among other things, the organization tends to the sick and the poor, first inside its local congregations and then without. A Relief Society president and her counselors and secretaries are kind of like women's ministers. They help the women in the congregation both spiritually and physically and take care of all the administrative stuff, such as assigning someone to visit each sister in the ward so that no one is left out or overlooked.

The ten months I served in the presidency with Madam President and La Petite were some of best but most challenging months of my life. So while I was excited for the opportunity to serve again, I was nervous about a lot of things—for example, time management, or the fact that the Relief Society president who preceded me is just about a literal angel. She's sweet, compassionate, and thoughtful. I feel that I tend to be abrasive. Maybe even obnoxious and disliked à la John Adams. I could go on, but you get the idea. However, in our church we believe callings are from God. I could only conclude that a) I'd have divine help to manage my time and b) my God either was okay with my abrasiveness or giving me an excellent chance to learn how to refine my personality.

The angel Relief Society president gave me some counsel. She said that she felt like her flaws were visible every day in her calling and that she had to learn to be patient with herself. Both of those things have been true for me x10. Every day, I realize that I fall short one way or another. Happily, I've been blessed with great counselors and secretaries: Flower Child, Vix, Valiant, and Rebecca. They have a lot of qualities that are sorely needed but that I don't have.

All in all, I'm doing very well. I don't say "Woe is me!" anywhere near as often because I don't have as much time to think about myself. I've been able to let go of a lot of things and entrust them to Heavenly Father. I feel really blessed, and I want to help others feel the same way.

My Physical Therapy Adventure

Remember how at the end of the summer I found out that I'm basically deformed? That was fun, right? Wrong. It wasn't fun. I literally cried for an hour because the sports med doctor told me that I should stop running for a month.

I mean, really? Really, sports med doctor? The nerve! It's like you got a degree in sports medicine and were being paid to figure out what was wrong with me and fix it or something.

The doc also said that I should get new running shoes (and stop running barefoot, which I'd already done—yes I run barefoot, long story, anyway—) and schedule myself some physical therapy appointments.

I didn't stop running because I was pretty sure that if I did that, I would spontaneously combust, Achilles tendon pain or no Achilles tendon pain. But I did get new running shoes, and, after some struggle, I did manage to find a time where my life schedule lined up with the physical therapy office schedule so that I could make an appointment.

Ay my first appointment, I met my physical therapist; he was nice. He asked me how my ankles felt (they felt quite good). He asked if I'd stopped running (I told him I hadn't). He examined me and concluded that while there was definitely an issue present, the sports med doc had over-exaggerated the weakness in my hips and legs.

We talked about what the goal of the physical therapy. I explained that my understanding was that the physical therapy wouldn't be corrective; there wasn't a way to fix the problem. But it could be preventive in helping me avoid and fix more issues in the future.

We decided that I would go to physical therapy for about a month and see how it went.

As we got to work stretching the muscles in my legs, the physical therapist made some observations:

1. A tangible goal for the physical therapy sessions could be getting me to be able to squat. Because, as I'd realized at the doctor's appointment, I can't squat worth...squat.

2. My ankles are very inflexible, especially the left one.

3. My calf muscles are apparently humongous.

4. I am noticeably more uncoordinated on the left side of my body than the right.

The calf muscle thing surprised me, although the inflexible and uncoordinated parts didn't. I always knew that. How could I not know that? When you're as inflexible and uncoordinated as I am, you're bound to notice. The only shock was that it was just on the one side.

Later the physical therapist also noticed that I run on my toes in such a way that definitely was not helping my Achilles tendons. He asked if the tiptoeing was because I'd done dance, and I said it was. (Yes, even as inflexible and uncoordinated as I am, I was in dance classes for 5+ years. That's how I discovered I was inflexible and uncoordinated.)

In any case, for a little over a month, I would go to the physical therapy clinic super early and meet with the physical therapist. The first few sessions, he massaged my ankles with some kind of butter to loosen them up. The first couple of times hurt but in a good way. The final time, he used a plastic scrape-y thing to perform the massage, and it hurt like the dickens. It took my full willpower not to kick him in the face. I had to send my brain to a happy place to handle the pain.

I also did exercises at the clinic. These exercises featured such delights as stretching against a wall, doing squats with an exercise ball, doing squats with a chair, putting a gigantic rubber band that smelled vaguely of chocolate around my ankles and scuttling sideways like a demented crab, and pushing off on a counter to rise up and slowly lower myself down.

I practiced these exercises every night at home. Pepper said, "Isn't the stereotype that people don't practice their physical therapy?" That sounded like a waste of money to me.

To be honest, though, it was kind of...fun. Mentally soothing, too. It was nice to feel like there was a problem in my life with an actual straightforward solution.

After doing four sessions over about five weeks, we shook hands. Physical therapy was over. My ankles were doing great. I'd conquered my Achilles tendons. Which is a nice metaphor if you think about it.