November is coming up quickly.

I have an announcement: I signed up for National Novel Writing Month last week.

I started this blog with the intention of using it to get back into the groove of writing daily. I haven't exactly done that, but it has gotten me thinking about writing daily, which is more often than I have for quite a few years now. I have things to say, things that maybe no one will want to read, but things that I have to say anyway.

I was planning on just posting random blog entries with my thoughts on various things: being raised Mormon, moving to an extremely liberal city after spending the first twenty-five years of my life in the Midwest, the weird stigma against a grown woman choosing to use pads instead of tampons, etc, etc. What I've realized, though, is that it's possible for me to string all of the disparate things into a (hopefully) cohesive story, hence the NaNo sign up.

Also, my roommate convinced me to sign up after one of her friends convinced her to sign up, so there's that.

I've always written best under pressure, so I'm sure thing is going to end up being a good thing. I guess we'll see. I still have a few weeks before I realize that my 'write by the seat of my pants' approach to things is probably not the best way to go into a 50k word challenge.

Oh well. What's life without a ridiculous amount of self-inflicted stress?

This is not a movie review

I went to see The Martian today and it was amazing. Funny, suspenseful (even having read the book), moving, just an overall wonderful movie.

But this post isn't about the movie. This post is about what happened to me at the theater.

I got there half an hour early because I figured a matinee on opening weekend would be packed, and it was. I sat one seat in from the aisle; I don't like aisle seats but I regret not sitting there when I had the chance.

About ten minutes after I sat down, two women and a man sat down in the seats to my left, with the man in the seat next to me. He immediately took over the armrest, so I moved my soda to the cup holder on my right and figured I'd just lean to the right if I wanted to lean at all.

(I hurt my neck and right shoulder by sleeping funny last night and since I couldn't and still can't turn my head to the right without excruciating pain, I wasn't sure I'd be leaning at all, but I do like to have that option in movie theaters.)

About five minutes before the previews started, a man, probably last forties to fifty, sat down in the aisle seat to my right and immediately commandeered the armrest. Which, whatever, I probably wasn't going to be using it anyway.

The problem came about half an hour into the movie. The man to my right started doing that things that men do, where the spread out to take up as much space as possible and his elbow ended up pressed against my side. I moved as far to my left as possible, but there wasn't really any place for me to go. Every time the man to my right reached over to scratch his arm (which was probably every 10-15 minutes for the entire two hours that was remaining of the movie), his hand would press against my arm.

In order to avoid unwanted contact with a complete stranger, I ended up contorting my upper body into more and more uncomfortable positions, trying not to cry from how badly my shoulder hurt, while this man continued to invade my personal space, seemingly without a qualm.

At one point near the end of the movie, his elbow was pressed against my belly almost directly above my belly button, which would have been impossible if he hadn't been leaning completely over the armrest between us.

When did it become okay for this sort of thing to happen?

I suppose I could have gotten up and tried to find a new seat, but the theater was full and I didn't feel like trying to find a seat in the dark while everyone else in the room was trying to watch the movie. Besides, I shouldn't have had to move; you go to a movie with the expectation that the space where you're going to be sitting is yours for the duration of the movie and that everyone else will stay in their own space.

What's so ridiculous about this is that this man was on the aisle; there was literally no one to the other side of him. He could have leaned as much as he liked to the right and not bothered a single soul, but instead, he chose to lean into me and severely impact my movie-going experience.

I loved The Martian, I really did, but if I had today to do over again, I would've stayed home and had my personal space to myself.

"Voluntary" Overtime

Today was the first time I've gone to work on a Sunday in four and a half years, since I worked in retail. I thought getting a regular nine-to-five would keep me from working weekends, but it hasn't. Even though I've had required Saturday shifts at all of nine-to-five jobs I've had over the past five years, I haven't worked a Sunday since I quit my last retail job.

It wasn't required that I go in today, just strongly recommended by not only two different supervisors but also by a manager who isn't technically my direct superior. That sounds weird, I know, but I'm on loan for a special project for the foreseeable future, so I'm in a weird limbo space between departments where I'm not 100% sure who I need to report to at any given time.

Anyway, I went in this morning for a few hours to try to get some backlog taken care of before the fiscal year ends on Wednesday. It was nice, being the only one on the entire floor, sitting in front of my computer with only the after-hours lighting illuminating the room. I probably would have stayed for longer (who knew that being alone with no distractions could increase my productivity so much?), but we lowly hourly peons aren't allowed to be in the building unless a supervisor or above is around, so when he left, I left.

I'm finally starting to feel comfortable with most parts of my job which is nice after spending my first six weeks not really having any idea what I was doing. I still don't, but I'm getting better at faking it.

Fake it till you make it, right?

I thought about going to a movie once I was done at work, but there isn't anything playing right now that I'm interested in seeing. The Martian opens next week and I just missed seeing Mad Max: Fury Road at the second run cinemas here in town and I can't go see Mr. Holmes without my roommate, who got me into Sherlock Holmes in the first place and who is out visiting her sister this afternoon.

I suppose I could watch a couple of episodes of Orphan Black instead; I watched the first episode last night and I was intrigued enough to keep going. Plus, staying in and watching TV will keep me from spending money that I can't really afford to spend on a movie ticket (and snacks and train fare).

I'm not sure I like being a responsible adult sometimes.

Meet Juneau

I started this blog with the intention that I would use it to get myself back into the habit of writing regularly, but that obviously hasn't happened. Work has been incredibly busy and stressful and doesn't leave me with much energy at the end of the day to do anything but scroll through my Tumblr dash aimlessly, without really seeing much of anything. Unfortunately, the next week is going to be even more insane at work: the fiscal year ends on Wednesday and I need to get completely caught up with my work before then.

(I work for a small hospital and I post all of the insurance payments we receive, which can add up to quite a lot. I'm not legally allowed to go into specifics, but barely a day has gone by where I haven't worked overtime in the last month trying to get everything done. Originally, I was supposed to post all of the patient payments as well, but that was quickly handed over to my supervisor so that I could concentrate on getting the higher dollar payments taken care of.)

I have been thinking about writing a lot lately, but it's been difficult to talk myself into getting my computer out and actually doing it. I decided that today, once I had paid my bills for the week, that I would do it and so here I am, with no plan in mind about what I'm actually going to say. That's okay, though; I don't have to post anything that's super polished. I just need to get my thoughts out there.

This, however, is complicated by the fact that my dog keeps climbing onto me and pinning my hands underneath her body so I can't type. Here's the visual: I'm propped up on two pillows in my bed, knees bent and feet flat with my laptop propped against my thighs. Juneau, my adorable and pain the ass dog, keeps flopping down across my stomach and chest, demanding pets and scritches.

Who am I to deny a dog pets and scritches?

Juneau is a rescue dog and as such, is a little neurotic. She was a stray, picked up in Los Angeles late last year and shipped up to Portland when the shelter there got too full. I wandered into the humane society here in January and left with a new best friend, but let's just say it hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows. She's very wary of being abandoned and hates being alone. She's part terrier and is a little more high energy than I can manage on some days, but she also understands the need for a good long cuddle every now and again. She's housebroken but not trained; she'll go outside to do her business, but she'll steal food off of the table and doesn't follow commands.

I'm thinking about enrolling us in a basic obedience class, but they're all so expensive. There's one that's starting in two weeks that I'm giving serious contemplation to, if I have the money after I've done my bi-monthly trip to the grocery store. It's a toss up at this point as to whether I'll be able to afford it or not.

But I'm not going to worry about money today. I paid my bills this morning and now I'm going to take a mini-vacation from thinking about how little money is in my bank account. I have things to do around the house today that should keep me occupied: laundry, vacuuming, cleaning up the backyard, dishes, giving Juneau a bath, basically everything I don't do during the week because work has sapped all of my energy.

But that's for a little later. For now, I might have a second cup of coffee while I read for just a bit. Saturday mornings, after all, are for relaxing.

I am not my mother.

I looked in the mirror today and I saw my mother.

I haven't seen my mother in over two years. I haven't spoken with her in two months. I haven't even texted her in over a month.

My mother and I have never really gotten along. People claimed it was because we were too much alike, which has always terrified me. My mother is everything that I don't understand, that I don't want to understand.

She married at twenty-three, had her first child at twenty-six, never finished college, lived in the same town for over thirty years.

I've never wanted to marry. I'm twenty-nine and have zero inclination to date, let alone spend the rest of my life with anyone. I'm terrified of having children and if I were ever to get pregnant, which is only going to happen if I somehow end up mothering the Jewish Messiah, I'd probably terminate it.

I'm not a good person. I don't believe in God, only vaguely subscribe to the idea that there might be some higher power, but if there is, it's almost certainly not how religion says it is. I'd kill someone for too many reasons to count, and anyone who would murder someone in anything but self-defense is a monster, right?

My mother is, on the surface, the perfect conservative Christian wife and when I saw her looking back at me in the mirror, I wanted to cry.

Why?

Because my mother is a schizophrenic who is only intermittently medicated, a hypochondriac, and emotionally manipulative. I know a physical resemblance is only that and doesn't mean I'm actually turning into my mother, but that's been my greatest fear since I understood what my mother's mental illness is.

I don't want to be my mother.

I want to be me, whoever that might be.