Closing Up 2013

2013 was a hell of a year, full of heartbreak, hope, and moving on. Here is a list of some of my favorite and not so favorite moments of it:

Kyla and Bax finally getting along

In Boston

Favorites:

*Being confident enough to ride (snowboard) without my huge knee brace on. It was the first time in YEARS that I've done it.

At the Sex Ed Conference :)

*I went to my first ever ProChoice rally at the State House. I met people from Planned Parenthood.

*I sold my body for money and research.

I love energy drinks

*The first ever #AbortionChat chat in February!

Last Day!

*AbortionChat's blog was created

*AWP 2013

*Having people agree to a panel in 2015

*Receiving grant funding for AbortionChat

*The Sex Ed Conference

*Getting a new job as a reporter

March Against Monsanto!

Literary Death Match!

*Getting a new job as a mental health professional

*Becoming friends with Mormons~who broke into my house to make me Depression Pie

*Adding Kyla to my little dog family

The boy I woke up to stargaze
at 2am

  :)

Working with Planned Parenthood

*Taking trips to Boston to meet and make friends

*Waking a boy up at 2am to go stargazing after arriving late from Boston

*The 30 Day Challenge: No caffeine for 30 days. It was hell. But I did it!

*Friends who donated to Baxter's veterinary care

My favorite Twitter Friend, Liz :)

*Finally quitting Rite Aid (really this time!)

The yard sale for Baxter

*Finding a crappy place to live, but having an awesome landlord

*Making new friends

*A co worker's wedding

*Celebrating a friend's housewarming and engagement!

*Completing the A to Z Challenge!

Bax's tattoo :)

*PROTESTS!

AWP 2013
Laura and I with Cheryl Strayed and
Augusten Burroughs

*Getting the right size bra from Victoria's Secret 

*Writing an IOU to the local McDonald's

*Getting out of being arrested for my car registration being suspended due to unpaid EZ Pass ness

*Meeting twitter friends in real life!

*Seeing Hunger Games 2!

*Having a roommate who made me breakfast almost every morning

*Literary Death Match in Portland

*Getting my panel accepted at SEWSA 2014!

*My Baxter Tattoo

*Working with Planned Parenthood to  help create a 39 ft patient safety zone!

Laura after a day at
the mountain

*Meeting many of my literary heros

*My sister visiting Maine and FINALLY getting to take her snowboarding



Not So Favorites:
Getting locked in a basement thanks to my sketchy roommate.
Baxter getting sick. Then getting sick again. Then needing surgery. Then being hurt again.
A friend from down south dying.
An awful eye infection.
Getting fired from being a reporter.
My Mormon friends getting shipped to other places.
Kyla being diagnosed with heartworm.
The 10th anniversary of Kellie's death.
Ex boyfriend kicking my door in an almost having to get a restraining order.
The $4,500 vet bill I'm still paying off

It has been an incredible year. It's awesome to see how much I've changed in 365 days. I'm excited to see what 2014 will bring.


For all of you going out tonight, be safe. And remember that every day, you can change your life :)

I is for Identity Crisis

Baxter is the one who kind of put my memoir in motion. More-so, he was the one who told me something was wrong.

Let me back this up a bit. I'm sure you've gathered that he sleeps on my bed every night. And if any of you are familiar with dogs, or wolves, you know that they know female's cycles. It turns out, Baxter was no different.

My period had been late. And I mean, really, really late. I was laying on my back, when Baxter rested his head against my stomach. My heart dropped. He'd never done that before. Suddenly, I stopped waiting. I stopped thinking I was late. He was telling me was I was terrified to know.

In less than a week, I sought an abortion. I laid on the couch crying for weeks until we became homeless, until I got fired from my job, until my entire world fell apart. But he still needed to eat. He still needed to go outside. He forced me into motion when I wanted to give up.

We moved to Maine shortly after.

When we arrived, I was still fresh off a knee surgery, the abortion, uprooting our

One of the first pictures I took
of Baxter in Maine

entire lives. I couldn't breathe. I could barely stand. I felt disgusted with myself, and though through years of depression I'd said I hated myself, I truly, truly, did. Each day that passed, it took every fiber of my being not to hurt myself.

At nights, Baxter would still lay on my bed, but since the days of my pregnancy, he hasn't laid with his head on my stomach.

So, maybe I didn't want to be this person anymore. Maybe I was sick of being miserable, of putting myself in stupid situations, of trusting guys who would leave me when I was pregnant and not call to see if I was okay. Maybe...it was time for me to grow up.

When I'd arrived at the clinic, I wrote my name on a small piece of paper. That was the name they'd called me back by. Every time someone called me by that name, I heard the nurse. How could I escape from that?

And so I did what any insane girl would do. I started giving everyone another name, my middle name. People bought it, no questions asked.

I began to rebuild myself, from the inside out. Each day, I would say, "You're okay, you're okay, you can do this." I tried to be positive. And this month marks the one-year anniversary of my last round of cutting.

Baxter saved my life. He forced me into motion when I wanted to stand still and play dead. No matter what I tell people my name is, he's been there through all of it. He knows me, he accepts me, and he loves me. I've had an identity crisis. Some days, I'm still wondering who I am. But now, thankfully, most days, I feel like I'm on the right path.

Christmas Eve

I'm not sure when the magic of Christmas left. It's gotten to the point I no longer go home for the holidays. Years ago, Laura and I used to spend the holidays with a close friend but time and other sad things have changed this. So this year, things are a little different. I'm trying to find the magic again. 

First of all, I'm working both Christmas and Christmas Eve. Lame, but at least it's money. But more importantly, I got Baxter and me a tree. I got us stockings. I got him presents (the little monkey looking guys). I'm excited to celebrate with him. After work, Baxter and I are headed to John's house which is nice for two reasons:

1) I've been invited to a house that isn't my own and

2) They've also invited Baxter because they know I don't like to be without him

It's the first year I got my nieces and nephew presents (mostly stuffed animals and toys. The youngest, I got Clifford books!), and I'll be sending my sister's out soon. It was nice to be able to buy them stuff, even if it isn't much.

So however you're celebrating this winter, I wish you all the happiness as 2012 comes to a close!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Actual Outcomes

So dressed for success

The thing people fail to warn you about when it comes to your memoir is how much you'll cry. The first draft, I didn't do much until I finished. Then I spent a few hours drinking beer and sobbing. Then the second and third drafts ripped open wounds I was unaware I still had. I even edited a section about happy things and couldn't stop crying. It got to the point I couldn't open my word document without cringing.

And then I started reading sections out loud; to my sister, to my friends, to my mother. I read certain sections so much my eyes felt like they'd bleed. Then, I read a chapter where I was bullied to the point I attempted suicide, to a classroom.

Then, I prepared the first chapter to present in front of a room full of adults. And this, is how my presentation on December 6th, started.

I read the first chapter, and near the second page...I felt the lump in my throat. My hands took on a tremor. When I looked up (like you should during all public speaking engagements), every single eye in the room was on me.

It was hard to breathe. The small voice in the back of my head kept saying, You're just reading a book, you're just reading...But I wasn't. It was my life and it felt like I was eight years old watching my sister get beat by my father.

I sat next to the president of the
organization. Intense, no?

I didn't fully cry, but I got choked up and recovered by saying, "As you can tell, I'm still a little sensitive about all of this," and continued talking. I told the group about the presentations I did where young girls reached out and told me about the horrors they're currently living through. About the fact that they hurt themselves. I talked about the drop-out rate and how we as a society need to step in and try to guide the kids who are growing up in broken homes.

When I finished, I was surrounded by adults who hugged me, called me brave, and strong, and further confirmed that I am doing the right thing. I met a man who is involved with a high school program, and they may be able to bring me to a new district. A lot of it is in the air, but I can breathe a little easier. When I finally got in my car, I was still shaking.

There is a huge difference presenting in front of adults verses teens. I felt like I had significantly less room for error and rambling. But at the same time, hopefully it is these adults that will help spread the message that life can get better. Even if you live in a crappy household where all you're told is that you'll never amount to anything, it can get better. People will tell you your whole life that THIS (failure) is your projected outcome. It's not true. My sisters and I grew up with awful parents. We all graduated high school. We all got college degrees. We're not alcoholics,  homeless, drug addicts. We are functioning members of society.

But even with all of that, when the presentation wrapped up, I was presented with an award in my name. Suddenly, everything that I've been doing became real. Because I grew up in that environment. I'm doing what I love to do. For the first time in a million years, I'm happy.

And this is the moment everything became real

Moral of this post and of my presentation is this: No matter your circumstances, you can amount to something. You can be anything you want to be. And once you're there, you can help other people amount to whatever they want to be, too.

Happy Monday.

School Bullying

On Wednesday November 7, 2012, I was invited to Ms. Varner's ASP class. I prepared for about two weeks, doing minor interviews with friends, doing research on my own life, and assembling a power point presentation. (Somehow, without being in college anymore, I forgot how much I love power point!)

Ms. Varner in her classroom

While the groundwork for the presentation had been laid, I still wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say to the class, how to really offer them that, Wow, this may have been life changing, moment. Finally, when my time came, I stood in front of the class and said, "My name is Lynne. Was anyone here for my last presentation?" A few hands shot into the air, and I smiled. I was suddenly among friends. "Well, that one focused a bit more on my home life. Today, I'm here to do a presentation on bullying."

Osteo-Biflex, Eeyore, and a chapter
from my memoir. The things
that helped me present :)

I talked a little bit about who I am now; how I take Osteo-Biflex, and how since I was like 13 years old, I've had my Eeyore in my bed, or at least in my room, every night.

From there, I told stories, about boys who'd been bullied and turned into bullies. I talked about my sister being called Buckie-the-beaver before she got braces.

I discussed with the girls what they consider bullying, whether or not they think it differs from the way males do it verses females. One girl raised her hand, and told the class about getting calls on the weekends from girls saying, "We're having so much fun at this sleepover, why aren't you here? Oh, that's right, because we didn't invite you!" She finished with, "I don't understand why they were so mean, I never did anything to them." Most of the class agreed that girls are more calculated when they bully, that they truly intend to hurt people, where-as they feel boys are more physical (shoving, pushing, tripping).

Then, I talked about who I was at their age. How my house was disgusting, how my mother was never home. I asked them if they would have been friends with me, because while I looked clean that day, I was probably a mess at their age.

Closer to the end, I read an except from my memoir, A Walk to the Ocean which had to be slightly censored and more PG appropriate (I will cover my feelings on censorship hopefully Wednesday). The segment was about being bullied in college by my roommates and co-workers, to the point I tried to kill myself. The line I finished on said, "When I got home, my roommates continued to ridicule me that night, and for the remainder of the summer," then I paused to allow them to digest what I'd read. "When you say mean and hurtful things to people, you never know what's going on in their home lives. Take a look around the room," (I had them sitting in a half arc so they could see me and each other), "you don't know what's going on, whether or not people are getting along with their parents, fighting with their siblings. You don't know if they're being hurt at home, or even if their parents are home. I grew up in a flea infested house, where maggots were growing in the back room, and my mother wasn't ever home." I paused again as the girls looked around at each other. Some heads bowed, some faces turned red. "I came to school because it was clean, because it was safe. You don't know what will push someone over the edge."

From there, I wrapped the presentation up, challenging the girls. I told them that this is middle school. I know they're not going to get along with everyone, or even like everyone. But, maybe, they can just say hi to someone they usually wouldn't. Maybe if they see someone sitting alone during lunch, they can sit with them.

After that, I went to go see my manager from UNE, and we chatted politics, and results from the election. When I returned to Claire's she had dinner waiting:

This looks like something out of a restaurant ad, no?

I was still smiling from the presentation. She asked for some follow up questions, and told me some that she would ask the following week.

A day or so later, I got a Facebook message from one of the girls in class. We've had a few exchanges since, but she was one of the girls who attended my last presentation. She thanked me for coming in, and also said, "My response to a question you asked is: I can honestly say I would be friends with you if we were the same age."

And for a time, I'm reminded, that this is what it's all about.

Happy Monday.

Recharging and the Condom Aisle

I think Bilbo Baggins said it best when he said, "I feel like butter that's been scraped over too much bread." Can you guys relate to that?

Like when you step off, and get swept away?

You have a job, you write, you read, you play with your dog, you make dinner, you sleep. Then you get an email from a company you're not familiar with and they say, "We just took $59.95 out of your bank account for your one year subscription" and you're like, "Excuse me, what????"

There gets to a point where your body and mind just can't handle it, and you pass out for 12 hours and then wonder why you're still tired when you get out of bed.

Well, I hit that point.

Thankfully, it ended up being my Half Birthday (6 months from my real birthday). For those of you unfamiliar with me, October 19th, 2011, I'd had every intention of killing myself. I'd set the date, set the means, started looking for a home for Baxter. So October 19th, 2012 was a pretty big deal, because a) it was my half birthday, and b) I am still alive. So I contacted some friends and asked if they wanted to celebrate with me.

They said yes.

Just as I hit Portland, Maine I saw this:

Always happens at the most inconvenient time

So I pulled off, got $5 in gas, donated a crap ton of clothes to the biggest GoodWill I'd ever seen, then continued along. Finally, I arrived in the lovely town of Biddeford where I went to college. It amazed me that you can spend YEARS away from home, and still remember each road, each way to avoid tolls.

Stepping out of my car, I inhaled. If you want to know how Biddeford smells, get a large cup of water. Add about two cups of salt to your water. Swirl, swirl again, put your nose inside the cup and inhale. You cannot escape this scent walking to or from class. This sticky smell reminds me that I am home, and acts like stitches to any emotional wounds I may have.

The Atlantic Ocean

I visited John, my college manager, who told me I looked good, which is always a compliment. This man saw me at my worst, when my weight slipped below 100 pounds, fully dressed, keys and a deck of cards in pocket, shoes on. When people would hug me, I could feel their arms go through me because there was nothing left of my body. I know he remembers this, and I know he worries I'll relapse or manage to hurt myself in another way.

It had been a few months since I'd seen him last, and I brought him up to date on my current living situation, my financial woes, and my hopes for the future. Then he told me about him, his kiddos, his wife, work. "Oh," I asked, "what do you guys want for Christmas?"

"Your presence," he said. My heart swelled. It was nice, and reminded me that I am loved, no matter where I am. He also threw some money my way, so I was able to get a full tank of gas and pay for my storage unit this month. (Which also helps me to breathe a little easier, so thanks for that!)

The beautiful sea

After parting from him, I made my way to the ocean, because though she and I have had our quarrels, I love her. The waves were crashing, hard. Even with the radio playing, I could hear the rumble as white foam broke away from the grey water. Growing up in Michigan, yea, we had lakes, and swimming pools, and ponds, but there is something hypnotic about the ocean. The sounds, the smell, the feel. I LOVE the ocean.

It had been raining all day, but I took off my shoes and socks and walked down the stairs and waited until the waves put my feet in the water.

Of course, when the wave finally came, it was a huge one that soaked through my jeans, and I sat for the next half hour wetter that I'd anticipated.

After that, I ran some errands and went to my storage unit. It was raining. Not a soft rain that somewhat makes it feel like you've been sweating mildly. Instead, it was a hard rain that made it feel like you've just jumped in the ocean. My boxes got wet. My helmet, my boarding boots, they all got soaked. Where I was going to try to dig out some books to take home, I just grabbed my snowboard (because Winter is just around the corner!) and threw it in my car and headed over to my friend, Liz's.

We went to our place (Olive Garden), and had a margarita. We talked about politics, gay marriage, my anger with what I believed when I was younger, and other various intense, and sometimes funny things. After, because she didn't believe me, we headed to a branch of the pharmacy I work at. Upon entrance, we were properly greeted (which I commended Chad, the very attractive cashier on), and I promptly asked, "Where are your condoms?" because the store's layout was much different from mine.

He led us in the direction, and I found the large purple box, and exclaimed, "I told you we sell these!" and she stood there, slack jawed, and partially in awe. "I feel like we should have placed a money bet. I did not believe you, at all."

And then we proceeded to laugh, loud enough that our voices bounced off the aisles.

When the adventure finished, we said our goodbyes, she wished me a happy half birthday, and I bought the Some Nights CD by Fun, and rocked it my entire drive home, feeling that feeling which always results in a visit to Biddeford, love.

For your listening pleasure, Some Nights, by Fun :)

It's like I'm a rechargeable battery. Life sucks all the energy out of me, makes me sleep, but doesn't exactly make me feel like I'll make it through the next few weeks with my head up. Time with John (my manager) and time with Liz is like being plugged into an electrical outlet (in a good way). I listen to them talk, smell the smells associated with a garage and a lovely house. I memorize my interactions with them in case I need to recall they way their presence makes me feel.

Then I hug, release, and it's like being unplugged, fully charged, ready to face the next few months/weeks/however long it will be before I need to recharge again.

I never thought I would need people in my life to help keep me afloat. I thrive on living by myself, and roommates freak me out. But there are people from past lives, who still call me by my first name, that I am incredibly grateful that they've been on this roller coaster with me.

I Pee in the Shower

On October 16, 2012 one of my Life Goals had been accomplished. I was in attendance for a Post Secret event and got to meet the founder of the project.

Frank Warren (the founder of PS) has a theory that we all have secrets, and if we keep them secrets they become walls. But, if we're brave and we tell those secrets, it has the ability to turn those walls into bridges (his words, not mine).

One of the most common secrets he said he gets is "I pee in the shower." I'm not gonna lie, I pee in the shower. I feel like a) it's more environmentally friendly and b) it's a time saver and c) Haha, boys. I can pee standing up, too.

You just, you know, pee first, then lather, rinse, repeat.

Anyways, at the end of the event, Frank invites the attendees to go to the microphones and say something. It can be a secret, it can be a thanks for the project, whatever. And because a year ago last week, I found out I was pregnant, and suicide was a better option than having a child, I went up to the mic. I told my story, about writing "If I test positive I'm going to kill myself," and mailing it in, about having an abortion, chopping my hair off, changing my name, and moving 1,000 miles away.

Frank Warren! I got to shake his hand!

In that aspect, I did kill myself. But, I'm alive. Because I told my friends and my dog my secret, and they kept me alive when I couldn't breathe.

The last girl at the microphone was small, and adorable. She said something along the lines of, "You know, I've always been a goodie-two-shoes. And when I got stoned out of my mind, I realized I have the best friends in the entire world."

The audience cheered for her. I cheered for her. The fourteen year old version of me who believed that Harry Potter was demonic cried a little inside, but thankfully, her voice is getting smaller and smaller by the day.

On the way home, I called my mom. For the last year I've been hiding what happened, why I moved from North Carolina. And I told her. Then we hung up, and I exhaled. I assumed she'd tell me I was a huge disappointment, or that she was disowning me. Instead, less than five minutes later, my phone rang. It was her.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I just wanted to tell you that I still love you," she said.

I smiled. My relationship with my mother is a complicated one. I grew up hating her, moved to Maine to get away from her, and now we chat on a frequent basis. I didn't tell her I loved her back, I wanted to, but I couldn't. Instead, I said, "Thank you. Thank you a lot," and we hung up again.

So, for those of you who pee in the shower, who have holes in your doors from your parents trying to break in and beat you, for those of you who have cutting scars, or want to grow up to become the cat woman, I love you. Don't be afraid of your secrets. Own them, embrace them, share them, and exhale.

You're in good company here :)

Goals and Maple Syrup

Partner in Crime and his girlfriend

I quit drinking for a month and a half. I ran before work, after work, at a track, in the road. I sprained my foot, iced my shins, got shin splits, and blisters, and was tired, a lot. And all the hard work was for one day and one goal. October 7th, 2012, to be under 24 minutes.

Of course, as I got in my car, confident with my GPS...it stopped working. I had no idea how to get to the race, so I called my Partner in Crime and he gave me bulletproof directions. Soon, I met him and his girlfriend at the registration tent.

Though we talked and chatted, and Baxter got to meet other dogs, my nerves were in my stomach, very aware of the tuna sandwich I'd eaten on the drive over. My hands were shaking, it was hard to breathe. I'd had a knee surgery last year. My foot was sprained. But...

I'd trained a month for this race, and it was finally here.

And, it wasn't even raining.

After a warm up, and a hand off of Baxter to the Partner's girlfriend, we stood at the starting line. "If I beat you, you owe me ice cream," I told him.

He chuckled. "If you beat me, I'll buy you ice cream." Days before we'd both said we wanted to defeat the other. He'd been faster than me each time we'd run. I wanted to beat him. I also wanted ice cream.

Then suddenly, the line started moving. We were off. I manged to weave through the bodies first, but within the first two minutes I saw his green shirt pass me. "Son of a bi@#$!" I yelled, while people turned their heads.

 Us looking like thugs
before the race

By the first mile, my foot hurt. My knees ached. It's just a run, I started telling myself. You don't have to beat him. You don't have to prove anything. But I did. I had goals (both realistic and unrealistic). Not only that, but this time last year I was planning my suicide. This race, the fact that I was alive to run it, meant more to me than words can express.

So I talked myself out of slowing down...until I hit the hill.

Take it hard, your legs will have time to recover after. Only...it turned out, I lied to myself. Because right at the bottom of Mt. Everest, was the turn around point...and having to go back on the stupid hill. My legs did not get a break. They did not recover. Breathing was harder. I'd hit the wall. My mind started coming up with every reason why I should stop:

Goals don't matter, just run the race. It's just another run. Who is going to care if you ran a 5K in 25 minutes? At least you ran! 

My feet began taking walking-length strides. My speed slowed. I'd given up. Ahead of me I still saw the green shirt I'd been trying to pace myself with, but I didn't care as he moved farther and farther away from me. I couldn't care. I was in too much pain, I wanted to give up. I seriously considered walking. And then more hills came. Then I considered crying.

But I stayed in motion. The sissy-jog turned back into a somewhat faster jog/run.

And then I saw this:

The finish line

My legs stopped being tired. I threw my arms as if they were independent from my body, as though they were wings carrying me when my feet couldn't. Just as I crossed the finish line, I saw the time: 23:58.

No way. No way!!! I crossed the line smiling. Beaming. Welling with tears of pride rather than pain. I'd reached my goal. Though my Partner in Crime had finished nearly two minutes ahead of me, and though I didn't beat my sister's time, I'd done what I set out to do. And no one was happier than my biggest fan:

He was cheering :)

I was very excited.

After a few rounds of chili trying (and Baxter getting into my cup), and a dog trying to attack Baxter later, we decided to wait for the race results because the PIC was hoping he'd placed. They announced the chili winners first (it was a cook off), then the kid's fun run. Then the announcers separated the ages and began calling out the top three runners for male and female. When they got to the Women's 20-29 division (not 100% sure that that was the age bracket, don't hate), I didn't even flinch. Until they said, "In third place with a time of 26..."

 My eyes popped open. "Sarah, did they just say 26 minutes?"

"Yea," she answered.

"My time was in the 23's..."

Her eyes got big, too. "You placed!"

We did a mini jump while they announced the second place woman. Her time was also in the 26's. My eyes nearly fell out of my head. "Lynne! You got first!!"

Then over the loud speaker, I heard, "In first place with a time of 24:01, Lynne Schmidt." And I giggled (possibly allowed a joyous yelp). HOWEVER, you'll see the time said 24:01. Not quite accurate considering for the first few seconds the PIC and I had to stand still while the people moved in front of us (this is why I don't like un-chipped races). My watch says 23:57, so that's what I'm going with.

Either way, I went to the tent and received my batch of maple syrup and a medal, which I promptly put on Baxter.

"Purple is really his color," Sarah said. We all agreed.

Then, as predicted, the Partner in Crime also placed! The crowd went wild! (Okay, not really, but our small group did!)

We walked away victorious that lovely day in October, our heads held high. The people we loved with us (for the PIC his girlfriend, for me, my pup) to celebrate our achievement. And then I went home, ate a bag of popcorn and a dinner of oreos and napped for four hours.

Cue We are the Champions

And for those of you who say you can't reach your goals, this is living proof that sometimes without meaning to, you can exceed your goals, without even trying :) Keep your head up. Even if you're tired.

Cheers!

Be Realistic II

It looks like this week is Running Week for me. Sorry, sort of. The posts will stop soon. (Maybe :) ).

In April I blogged about someone telling me to "Be realistic" about getting published. I was angry, (irate actually) but I tucked it away, choked on a smile, and continued along like they hadn't just stabbed me in my special places (you know, the heart).

As I said on Monday, I'm training for a 5K road race, and honestly, I'm scared shitless. I haven't seriously run since college, and even then it wasn't as fast or as intense as I should have done it because I'd had knee surgery as I used that like a crutch, allowing myself to slow down rather than push myself.

Well now I'm another surgery in, even more scared and apprehensive, and trying to beat my Iron-Man like sister's time (or at least landing somewhere in the 19 minutes).

Notice she's in running gear?
She's hardcore.

So I'm here to say that some goals...aren't realistic. Deep down, we know these things. Maybe for me that goal would be realistic if I stopped telling myself it's okay to slow down, but I'm sure you're aware, I like to nap. Slowing down is kind of like taking a nap while running.

But just because your goals may not be realistic does NOT mean that you shouldn't set unrealistic goals. I believe it was PitBull who said it best, "How you gonna tell me the sky's the limit, when there's f*&kers on the moon?" 

It's fun to shoot high. Owl City also tells me, "Reality is a lovely place, but I wouldn't want to live there."

So my SUPER UNREALISTIC GOAL for the road race less than a month away: Finish a 5K somewhere in the 19 minute range. (It can be as fast as 19:00 or as slow as 19:59, and I'd pee my pants with happiness.)

But just so I don't get crushed, my REALISTIC GOAL for the 5K is 21-23 minutes.

I think people should always have two goals. The one that says there are f@#kers on the moon, and why not keep aiming higher? And the one that keeps your feet on planet earth, and planet This is probably seriously what I'm capable of. 

So, what are your goals?

Things That Stop You

In a follow up to my previous blog, and in concert with the fact I seriously like to make lists for blog posts, here's another one.

It turns out I'm masochistic. Who knew? Okay, okay, I've known since I was in sixth grade...but really. Those of us who write set ourselves up for rejection, tears, and straight up heart break. So it only makes sense that I'd be a runner, too. Why? Because it hurts, because you run through pain, finish races sometimes crying (or if you were me in high school, with your lip bleeding because that's how you redirected pain...). But because I like pain, I run, and I write, and I submit, and compete, and...cry.

But that doesn't mean it's easy...ever.

Let's see.

The Top 5 Things That Stop You (From Being Epic)

5) Time

It's easy to forget to run. You wake up, make breakfast, (consider showering..) go to work, work an eight hour shift (eight and a half because you have to clock out for lunch if you're anything like me), drive 10-20 minutes home, do laundry, feed the dog (or the kids if you have them), feed yourself. By that point, maybe your knees hurt from standing. Maybe your back hurts from sitting. Running fades somewhere into the background. Plus, it's dark outside. Horror movies start this way. That mailbox sure looks cute and innocent in the daylight, but at night? That mailbox hosts demons, and ghosts, and OH MY GOSH WHAT WAS THAT? DID SOMETHING JUST MOVE? 

You literally have to go out of your way to run. You literally have to put time in, and make it a priority. Something else (like, oh...writing) gets cut out when you spend a half hour on the road.

4) Running Trails

At the old place, I lived in an awesome running area. If you went right out of the apartment complex, about a half mile later there were trails. If you went left, and left again, there was this place called Evan's Notch, which was beside a river. Very scenic. If you just went left, you cross a bridge, and run. Then, you could go straight, more bridges, more roads. It was full of options.

Where I live now, I can go right, which has a small road that usually eats up about five minutes of the run and has a LARGE and LENGTHY hill, and then a straight road. 

I can go left, which has a smaller hill (as you end), and I recently discovered a magical trail. But still, it's the same two roads over, and over, and over. Ever listen to a song on repeat? Ever just need to...stop listening to it?

3) The Lone Ranger

Running, like writing, is a solitary sport. Sure you can be on the track and field team, or the cross country team, but in the end YOUR times depend on YOU. Which means that if you're not part of a running club, or a team, you have to push yourself. You have to give yourself a reason to run. 

Half the time you won't be as fast as you'd like. Most of the time there is something better to do (see napping above). It's hard being your own motivation. 

2) It Hurts

Knee pain, hip pain, cramps, shin splits, twisted ankles, stress fractures, toenails that fall off... Talk to any runner and you'll hear an endless list of ailments that we run through. When I ran in high school after my first knee surgery, I made a deal with my body; If my knees made it through the race, I'd ice them later. Literally as I crossed the finish line, they gave out, and I couldn't get up. Teammates, sisters, or the boy I loved had to help me up and act as a leaning post until I could walk again.
A good run is considered a day where the pain is minimal, if not absent...but even still if we're not hydrated well enough, if we didn't eat enough...it hurts, and it hurts a lot. And we'll keep going.

1) Yourself

Let's face it, we all want to come in first place. Personally, I want to be fast enough to beat my sister again, who when she'd popped out her first kiddo, and while she was preggers with the second managed to run in the 19 minutes. (She is Iron Man.)

But I am Lynn(e). I've had two knee surgeries. I have hip problems. Sometimes my heart messes up. 

There's a point where you run, and you run, and you think, Why am I doing this? There's a point where your brain will think, You know, three miles is pretty far. Let's just...do one. Or none. You know, let's nap. Screw running. 

And naps? Well, they rock. But the biggest obsticle is the block in your head that tells your you're not good enough so why bother trying.

Good runners fight that, waving a middle finger in the air saying, I don't care what you think Negative Nancy in my brain. I'm going to run because I love it, and I want to, and because it makes me feel good.

Most of this can tie into writing. We have to section time to write, and things (like children, husbands, wives, dogs, running) gets neglected. The Running Trails can be considered writing block, where you have to just step out, and find something new, some fresh material before you can start up again. We all know writing is a solitary game (hopefully most of you aren't Emily Dickinson-ing it up). And the rejections hurt. The death, and pain, and injuries of our characters hurt. Memoirs tend to hurt even more than that.

And we all try to sabotage ourselves, our works by saying that we aren't good enough.

So just as I told you to go Pick a Puppy, today's message is to Keep Running. Push through the pain, the self defeat. Find time. Keep going.

The finish line may only be a 5K away.

A Beautiful Beginning

If you're here for GUTGAA, that post is HERE. If you're here because I no longer live with wifi and have to mosey down to the Young Adult section of the local library and schedule posts, well, welcome. You've found me (and I have a day off).

Last night, I was laying in bed with this monster:

Best. Cuddle-Buddy. Ever.

And I got to thinking. I blog about Baxter a lot. He even has his own page. But I've never told you guys our story. So, that's what this post is about. The magical day I met my best friend, who would save my life five years later...

Just Starting Out

When I met him, I didn’t mean to fall in love. I didn’t mean to take him home. My mom had driven me to Wal Mart to buy last minute stuff for my travels to Las Vegas. The following day, at the age of 18, I would board my first plane and travel across the country. I would be there, with my sisters, waiting the eldest’s wedding.

As we pulled in, I saw the sign that screamed Puppies and begged her to stop. "Mom! Mom! Can we play with the puppies?!"
“When we’re done shopping,” she said, probably rolling her eyes.

I nodded my head; we were here on a mission.
We shopped quickly, buying new socks, and random crap I probably didn’t actually need. When we were finished, as promised, she drove the car over to the small island with a minimal amount of grass and single tree then cement all around.

“You can’t take one home with you,” she warned.

I looked at her, appalled by her thought. “Dude, I know. I’m leaving for Vegas tomorrow.”

When we got out of the car, I took in the fence in the grass and the adorable swarm of brown puppies inside the barricade. I needed to be in there, to have them chewing on me, rather than on each other.

Close to six years later.
Some things don't change...

Skipping over to them, I found the owner of the balls of fluff. “Can I play with them?”

She let me into the fence, and I promptly plopped myself down, yelling out, “Puppies, come to me!”

Rather than coming to me, they ran the opposite direction, afraid of the 5’2” blond girl yelling at them with her arms outstretched.

They all ran, and my heart sunk. They all ran, that is, except for one who was bumped backward as his brothers and sisters fled.

His paws were bigger than his body, just like his siblings, and as he made his way to me, he stumbled a bit more before promptly crawling into my lap, making himself comfortable, and falling asleep as I stroked the fur on his small body.
The Twilight books call it imprinting, that moment where you see something/someone you love, and your heart swells and you know if you don't somehow meld your life with theirs, there's no point for you to even exist anymore. Dog usually do this, wolves especially. Not humans. But that's what that moment was like for me. I didn't want a puppy; I had anger problems, grew up in an abusive household, watched my mother beat her dog(s). Would I do the same thing?

“Mom?” I asked in an almost desperate voice as the all of ten pound puppy lay sleeping on me.

“Stephanie,” (real name, family members refuse to call me Lynn(e)) she scolded, well aware of what was happening.

“How much do you want for them?” I asked the owner, unable to tear my eyes away from the fuzzy mass on me.

“We’re asking $20,” the owner said.

I did the math and figured out that I was broke. As was is, Jacci, the sister who was getting married, paid for half of my plane ticket to get me to Vegas. “Would you be willing to take $15? I’m leaving for Vegas tomorrow...” 

Within a minute, the money was in her hand, and the puppy was in the car. Mom and I made our way back into the Wal Mart to buy the essentials; puppy food, a leash, and a collar, which was neon orange.

I left the unnamed puppy with my mother when I left for Vegas. I was terrified that he’d be dead by the time I got home. She didn’t have the best track record care taking anything; animals, plants, children. I moved out when I was sixteen or so. It took her three days before she started calling around to figure out where I was. Her recent dog winced at any hint of movement that was a bit too fast.

In Vegas
Laura is hugging the bear, then Jacci (the bride) and Tammy are
at the bottom, I'm on the other side, and Justin (the groom)
is standing.

“You did what?” my sister, Laura, yelled when I'd arrived in Vegas.

“I got a puppy!” I told her. 

“Steph, (see family note again) that is the worst decision, ever! You’re leaving for college, in what? Four months? What are you going to do with him then?”

She was always the voice of reason. Where was she at the Wal Mart parking lot?

I responded the way I usually respond to her when I fail to think things through, “I’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

But after the wedding, and an extra day stranding in Atlanta, Georgia, I forgot such worries. I had a puppy to play with!

Upon my return home, I was pissed to find that my small puppy, was somehow smaller. His stomach, plump less than a week ago, now looked emaciated. I knew it, my mother had forgotten to feed him.

Immediately I took him to the veterinarian’s, where I was told he’d gotten worms. Still, it was my mother’s fault, because everything that goes wrong is always her fault.

The first night, I used a small cat carrier to try to kennel train him. Instead, after an hour of howling, I opened the gate that had been keeping him inside. Afraid to step in poo in the morning, I closed the door to my mother’s bedroom. (The room she hadn’t slept in in close to a month now.)

Just as quickly as the howling had stopped, it started again. I let the annoying little ball of fluff into the bedroom, assuming that at least here, the poo and pee spots would be contained. The whining momentarily stopped, only to start once more.

“What do you want?” I screamed at the terrified little guy.

He looked at me and whined again. 

With nothing else to do, I scooped him up and placed him on the bed with me. The whining stopped for the night as he snuggled next to me and fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke up to several pee spots on the bed.

“This is not going to work,” I scolded him.

He looked at me before trying to bound over, large paws causing him to topple over. I laughed, and we started our life together. 

We three Schmidt's

Getting published is a lot like getting a puppy. You go into the fenced in area, and throw out your arms saying, "Agents! Come to me!" and 90% of them flee. A few will approach hesitantly before running, but the one that crawls into your lap and falls asleep, that may be the best agent for you. (Okay, but if he/she really crawls in your lap and falls asleep, there may be an issue. Hopefully you get what I'm trying to say here.) There may be some peeing on the bed, some howling (you know, editorial stuff) but in the end, they may be the best friend you'll have for years to come.

Happy Puppy Picking :)

Redirection

My blog! My blog! **Hugs Computer** I've missed you. Also, I see I have two new followers. Hello there. Thanks for following :)

As is the story of my life, nothing comes without struggle. I have literally had to fight for every single thing; places to live, food, ginger ale, my job, my dog...my life. Last year, actually a year ago today (I believe) the fight for my life began. Now this year, the fight for Redirection begins. I'll explain this in a story called:

If you look up and toward the right
there's a dark blob.
That is the cat.

Once Upon a Time Baxter Treed My Roommate's Cat

Now, this can't be fully proven. But the first or second night at my new place, I let Baxter outside to go potty before we went back to the basement for the night. His ears perked up, a sure sign he saw something. Within seconds, he darted into the darkness, there was a loud crash (I thought he'd run into a tree, or taken down a tree). After screaming (quietly because everyone in the house was sleeping) he returned unscathed. I figured whatever he went after was unscathed, too.

In the morning, my roommate told me her cat was in the tree. And I don't mean ten feet off the ground, scared to come down. I mean thirty feet in the tree, meowing like she's dying. My only thought is Oh crap, that is totally Baxter's fault. But I smile and play sympathetic, because well...I don't want her to hate me the first week I'm here.

So night comes, the cat's still up there. Morning comes, she's still up there. I have the morning off, so I decide to take matters into my own hands because it's ridiculous that she's been up there so long and chances are, it's my fault. First failed attempt was trying to climb the tree. Well, the branches were small, and the tree I tried to climb was pretty much dead, so each time I put weight, the branches broke...and I have bruises.

After some time stairing upward, I call for reinforcements. Soon, my Partner in Crime arrives. (Turns out he lives down the street. Huge perk to the new place!) I show him the cat, and his jaw drops. Then he asks, "What's the plan?" I explain that I'm going to be like a contestant on Ninja Warrior and still shimmy the tree, but I need a leg up first.

Yes, I totally treed myself

We bring over a picnic table, and angle a slide. I try to shimmy it, and it wobbles. This plan fails, too.

At some point, I stand on the picnic table, and look at the broken branches. Some of them look like little grab-able hand holds. I'm small, but I have a decent amount of upper body strength. So, I jump off the table, and start climbing. I'm going strong until I do the thing you do not do when going high places.

I look down.

And Partner in Crime is very small. And the cat is still above me. "Well," he calls. "You're half way there."

My legs start to shake. My breathing comes in wisps. My heart starts pounding so hard I think it's moving my shirt. "I'm not sure I can go any higher."

"I figured."

I talk to the cat for a few minutes. I tell her I made it half way, it's her turn. She doesn't budge. I get Partner in Crime to take a picture because I blog and tweet about everything, then climb down, forgetting that I'd launched myself from the picnic table. Coming down would mean a small drop. But a small drop to a girl with knee injuries means death, and maybe some crying. But definitely crutches.

With Partner in Crime's guidance, I get as close to the ground as I can go. With my arms fully extended, and my legs dangling beneath me, I prepare to let go. Only...my hands don't release the small stubs I'm clutching. I dangle for all of ten seconds before panic sets in. "Help! Help! I'm stuck!" Meanwhile my head is saying, Then Lynn(e) goes splat. Then Lynn(e) sprains an ankle, ends up in surgery again. Then Lynn(e)...(enter worst case scenario.)

Like I weigh all of a clump of fur, Partner in Crime comes, wraps his arms around me, and sets me on the picnic table. I have more bruises.

The last plan

"Now what?" we ask. The cat hasn't moved. At all.

We resolve to our next plan, which is also ineffective. After, we leave the tires and the branch so if the kitty so desires she can climb down something that's less steep. We sit in the yard drinking iced water, and catching up about life, and he shows me pictures of Burton's new snowboard line. Then he leaves.

Later that night, the cat is rescued by the roommate's son and a ginormous ladder.

So what is the point of all of this? First of all, I wanted to tell you this story, because it's fun (and funny). Secondly, because sometimes we have these plans. We see them happen; climbing the tree, stuffing the cat in the backpack, and being on the stable ground. Everyone is happy. Everything goes according to plan.

Unfortunately, my plan for the next two years of my life fell through yesterday.

After I'd done my motivation speaking bit, I decided I wanted to enlist in Teach for America. It's a two year commitment to teach basically, in underfunded schools. It was the first time I'd felt passionate about something in a long, long time. I planned to move across the country, be a teacher, write after class, influence kids, help save lives.

But I checked my e-mail, and I wasn't chosen for a phone interview. And I sat at the computer in the library and cried. Then went to the pharmacy, and bought wine. Then went home, and drank an entire bottle and a half of wine, and cried for a couple more hours.

The question circling in my head continued as, What now?

Simply because this was my plan. This was my climbing the tree, stuffing the cat in the backpack, and being on the ground. (The tree being the application process, the cat in backpack being the actual teaching/writing, and being on the ground being selling novels and finishing up with a teaching degree and saving the world.) But sadly....that is no longer the plan.

So this morning I'm on to finding redirection. AWP is in Boston this year, so at least I'll be close for that (plus my family lives like an hour outside of Boston so housing fees won't suck). I've gotten some pretty heartbreaking rejection letters this week, too. But life changes. Plans change. Gotta shrug it off and keep going. I believe everything happens for a reason (and I've seen things like this happen and fall perfectly into place later). I guess this TFA thing was just me treeing myself trying to rescue a cat.

Last night, I shrugged via wine and cigarettes. Today, I went running with the Partner in Crime (horrible decision. Turns out I'm quitting drinking until the road race in October). I'm sitting in a library and writing this blog post to say that things change. Plans change. Don't fight it. Go with the flow, and find out where it's taking you. Chances are where you'll end up will be a fuck ton better than where you wanted to go.

Oh, and have a good weekend :)