Everyone gets lonely and does stupid things

And no, sorry, it’s not always scandalous, even where I’m concerned. But right now I’m writing a blog, which for me is my third closest attempt I can come to having a real conversation with someone (the 1st is an actual conversation with my husband, the 2nd is whatever the fuck you call what you have with a therapist, dialogue?). And my husband works 4:30-1, then goes to his gym until 3, then has…errands…for after that. So I’ll see him around 5 tonight. In the meantime I have a frightening amount of menial housework to complete for someone whose spending SO much time working on getting a book ready for SELF PUBLISHING DAY.
It was nice, this past Friday when I was mentally preparing for euthanizing a beloved pet (see intentionally make myself sad blog I posted yesterday in the early morning) it was also the day I got my map in the mail. So it was nice seeing such a wonderful drawing in person for the first time the same day of some HORRIBLE firsts. I’m buying it a frame ASAP. It’s funny my artist lives in the same state as me, about 70 miles away.

Now that I have the map…it’s all on me. The reality of the situation is I want to submit my manuscript for Copyright and publishing by January 31st. So like I’m DONE with my first book (at least the writing process) by then. So I have UNTIL then to be done with it… SO. I’m almost like 85% done with my long edit that involves note taking for the sake of having detailed notes with shit like foreshadowing and secrets I’m hinting at written down. I’m the sort who would like something like that. Then I’ll transcribe it into a Word document so I can CTRL+F my way into things I can’t quite remember where but know I’ve hinted at. IDK how other people do it.

So I want to finish this long edit then do one long hard power edit. Yeah I now see how that sounds, but I’m leaving it. And you want to know the real reason I’m SO intent on January 31st? Because I drunk impulse bought a night at an indoor water park resort about 2 hours south of us. I also booked a dinner at a fancy restaurant on the water about two miles away from the resort. We’ll have about 4 hours to spend in the water park (who needs more?) dinner at 8pm on Saturday, stay the night Saturday, could POTENTIALLY use water park again on Sunday, would have 2 hours before check out. Home by 2-3pm depending on if we stop on the way home for food. All of this is for the day after I want to be done, I’m giving to “my husband” as a like WOO HOO finally finished lets have a good time mid February like no one does ever, but before Valentine’s Day crowds and prices. I put it in quotes because he might not like this idea. Maybe i bought this more for me. IDK. It’s one night, he can tough it out if he DOES hate it. Plus the dinner is taking up a huge portion of the evening so it’s not just water park. This is pretty funny discussion for me to be having with myself, at 31. Let me tell you. Anyway. I think to surprise my husband with this. I’ve cryptically told him to get Feb. 2 off, but nothing more. He knows I’m prone to fun surprises, so asks nothing, as he enjoys them almost as much as I do devising them. It’s right in the word, you get to feel devious. Which I seem to SO enjoy. Plus I truly enjoy feeling like the Gift Giving Master when someone LOVES what you give them. Which is why I’m a little impatient for the next time I see my best friend. For other reasons too, but in most part because I got BOTH of her Christmas gifts in the mail the day after I saw her, and it’s TBD when that will happen next, possibly in April around her mother’s birthday like usual, but maybe not if it doesn’t coordinate with her work schedule. Which is by nature all over the place in every way. I feel like I mention that a lot. It’s not meant as a complaint. We all have adult lives.

But then I’m still so like…”lonely” as I put it, that I take a huge amount of prime writing time, Sunday morning before I’ve started the other things I MUST attend to, per living regular human life. Though I’ve got to say, it’s pretty apparent already which cat was responsible for about 90% of the mess in our house…poor guy. He would never have meant to upset anyway, he couldn’t help it. Sometimes you can break a cat of a bad habit by interferring with it. Like we constantly have our couch cushions wrapped in a vinyl tablecloth, a seasonally appropriate one, because then my oldest cat won’t pee on the couch. And he is straight up 100% not allowed in our bedroom, ever. That solves that issue. But they’re not like dogs. You can’t teach them to do something else in place of a bad behavior. At least mine aren’t conditioned like that. IDK maybe they’re slower, they’re all a specific breed, it’s possible there was inbreeding happening, it’s often the case with people who don’t know what they’re doing. Or perhaps I just spoil them and let them do as they please because I think it’s cute because they’re cats. IDK. Anyway. I really need to get to writing. I have until like 5 before my husband is home, but there’s a LITERAL mountain of laundry to be done, and a frightening amount of recycling and trash to haul because last Monday my husband was so distracted by leaving the house on time for his appointment (with a therapist) that he pulled the recycling bin from the curb BEFORE it had been emptied. It missed pick up. I was decidedly confused, and he didn’t really have an answer. I’m not surprised, having had over a decade to acquaint myself with his OCD and ADHD. So, there’s a weird amount of stuff to stuff into a container and take to the curb, and it’s like 10 degrees out. And I have about five minor “should take care of this” yard tasks before the weather takes an even greater toll on my Christmas lights. They’re unplugged, they’re just still out there.

Yeah I have matters like this occupying my attention to this extent and I’m also trying to publish a book.

It was really cute, last night when I was falling asleep for a slight before bed nap (I know..I was reading in bed, something I would only ever do on a weekend, and napped for a bit, then was awake for about an hour, then went to bed with my husband around midnight then got up at 8) I heard my husband on the phone with a friend and he was like “Cassie is publishing her book soon, so soon, so we’ll be millionaires soon.”
Okay let me first say that I do NOT think that. I’m not saying I’m trying to piss on my own work but like I KNOW how the self publishing game works, and how royalties trickle in…I’ve seen it all, but still, I’m trying. Like I want to be able to say I tried as hard as I could with this. I mean if everyone hates it and it fails miserably and I’m just horribly criticized as a person for the rest of my life…IDK it’s not like I did anything terrible on purpose, y’all. Then my husband is over here telling his friends about the millions of copies we’re going to sell. It’s cute, and I DO appreciate it, I guess….lol. No I do. Anyway.

I need to get to it in multiple ways. If you’re in a state like mine, stay unfrozen, my friend.

I’ll let y’all know how the surprise is received.


I like to think that my ancestors were sexy German peasants

I’m at least 50% German. NO I won’t log my DNA in some database to find out. I donate blood so I’m probs already in there but oh well.

But I was just thinking about some of my hilarious genetic traits. And like despite the fact that I truly do come from dirt poor agricultural types (like literally my Grandma, the one I always talk about all the time, grew up painfully poor on a sustenance only farm in rural Wisconsin, she was born in 1918 her dad had wicked bad shell shock, like the WW1 kind. He had a long-standing injury from his time served (some shrapnel to the abdomen that fucked his stomach up) but also a raging drinking problem, and he was popular and people liked him and they’d come out to the farm and be like oh cmon Art and he’d bail and my grandma would be trapped in the tiny farmhouse with her PISSED OFF mother and grandparents. My grandma told me all of this, but just once. Arthur Zimdars. What a name, and my phone autocorrects his last name to Zinfandel and I like to think of he knew what that was he would’ve approved. My Grandma was born November 21, 1918. Her parent married the April of that same year. THAT’S RIGHT, scandalous ass old people, your great granddaughter is here to notice this detail and blog about it in 2019. If their spirits are displeased with the content of my soon to be published book then they should be pleased I’m using a made up last name (it’s the street I grew up on….I know….)

My grandma was working behind the counter at a pharmacy in town. In the 30s. I can’t tell if she was rebellious or independent or just that broke off her ass. She told me once she was sooooo embarrassed because when she was confirmed (Methodist I think, so she 14 or so?) her family didn’t have a car so her dad had to use a horse and buggy to get all of them to church on time. I was like….well Grandma now only rich kids have horses so. She HATED horses. Like was terrified of them. Goes to show exposure isn’t everything. She also haaaaated cornbread. She called it Johnny cake, and I think they lived off of Johnny cake when she was young.

So she’s working at this pharmacy. And this tall, handsome customer just about her age seems like he’s sweet on her, even though he’s engaged to someone else! Guess who that dude was? My grandpa. Mic drop. My Grandma had SO MUCH more game than I ever did at that age. I let boys treat me like shit. But then….idk I think Grandpa had more to do with it than I’m giving credit for. My grandma was a VERY self-effacing woman, talked maaaaaad shit about everyone including herself. They married in his parents living room in January, it was still decorated for Christmas, she wore a navy blue suit. That’s how it was back then. They had three children, one boy in 1945, one in 1951, then my mother in 1958 when Grandma was 40. My husband’s mother was 40 when she had him so it’s a theme in my life.

Her husband died in 1993. I was only 5. I’ll never really know what their relationship was like. I think I have one memory of my Grandpa in their apartment, not laid up in the nursing home he would die in. She never really mentioned him to me. Ever. My mom rarely either. I think maybe my mom was her dads favorite and the middle son was my grandmas favorite and the oldest son was an independent oldest kid who married young and moved relatively far away, considering his parents weren’t the traveling type.

So I wonder if it was their great love for him that kept them silent, or not. I’ll never know. My grandma outlived her spouse by 18 years. I don’t know how I would have ended up without her, so I’m lucky this was the case. I do miss her every day. If thinking about someone every day keeps them alive in the afterlife, I’m at least doing her that solid.

I didn’t go say good bye to her when I had the chance. I didn’t do it because I didn’t believe my dad that she was dying because he ALWAYS said that, and then it was too late and then I never did what you’re supposed to go do even though you don’t want to and you want to remember someone how they were years ago, before their son died and they and their daughter changed fundamentally as human beings.

And I am rationalize it to myself all day. I still feel bad. I still wonder how long that’ll stay as the worst thing I’ve ever done. But then like am I looking to top it? Dear god no.

Then like, the day it happened, I was REALLY strung out on adderall, like baddddd, and my car had a flat tire. So like I didn’t go see my mom or anything. I know how it sounds. Like I was super fucked up on prescription drugs that weren’t mine and it seemed fine. What can I say. Besides that, which is a statement of fact not an excuse.

So. That’s actually a pretty dicked up thing about me. Now you can use that against me. Like you know how all people have those things that too can use to like destroy them? Like it’s not soooo hard to sense what’s the like….soft spot? Weak spot? Jugular? Achilles? Idk I still don’t feel like I’ve nailed it, but like where to slip the knife in, so it’s between bone. That spot. It’s so clear on most people after like 4 minutes of conversation. Well that’s one of mine.

So. I mean the title should have warned too about the weirdness to follow.