A Random January

Oh Hey, 2018!

This year is already off to a wild start! Work is keeping me incredibly busy, which is something I absolutely thrive on. I love what I do and I especially love the creativity my job affords me.

I finished three books already and I am nearly through my fourth. I’ve nearly finished Carrie in two days. For some of you that number probably seems like a pittance and I am sure you’ve blown my number out of the water already.


I journal while I read. This is slowing my reading pace down exponentially, but I have so many thoughts going through my head when I read something particularly profound, or poignant, or meaningful. Writing in my journal while I read is something I began to w recently. Actually, I had to start while I was reading Wild by Cheryl Strayed. Many lines of that book spoke to me and made me think. I am still trying to process some of those lines on a personal level. I look back through my journal entries (even though they were weeks ago) and see my own mountains and valleys in the phrases I teased out.

I got really, really sick out of nowhere. Well, not exactly out of nowhere. I know exactly where I got sick.

First time outside of my house in 5 days. Thank ear infection!

I feel perpetually bad for my coworkers. I am the type of human that cannot function between the hours of 1pm-5pm. Out of nowhere an idea will strike and I furiously work until 2 in the morning because I have to get all my ideas on to paper (or into a word document or my notes on my phone) before the moment is lost. These random strikes are a massive reason my blog posts are so sporadic: I write when it strikes. Not strikes when I write.

I know this mentality of “when the writing strikes” goes against the grain of every pinterest article ever about the art of blogging, but I am a feverent subscriber to the church of authenticity:  I’d much rather write a post once or twice a week (or less *insert eye roll emoji here*) instead of forcing myself to write a piece that lacks sincerity.

I’ve spent a fair share of time lurking bloggers and you can definitely recognize the times when a blogger’s heart is deeply invested in the piece… while other pieces seem relatively dull in a bloggers’ world full of vibrancy. There is nothing wrong with the duller posts, in fact sometimes I think they are necessary, but the difference in writing is astounding and I honestly prefer quality over quantity.

Seriously Target, you don’t know my life.

I don’t do well in rigid structure. The very idea of rigid structure makes my anxiety levels soar. I would fail in a strict 9-5 job. I would fail miserably. The creativity and self-determination afforded to me in my current position are things I do not take for granted; it’s undoubtedly made me better and more creative. I have time to explore my passions and create the best possible work when the moment strikes.

I must emphasize here that my schedule does not mean that I go about my days willy nilly. I am very structured in the sense that I will always, without a doubt, finish something by its due date and I will never slack on team projects. I don’t have the capacity to stress another human out with my lightening bolts of inspiration (especially because my stress is easily triggered).

9 times out of 10 I’ll have an assignment done WEEKS before it’s due. I internalized this strategy to counteract my ADHD throughout the years. I finish everything as soon as possible and revise close the to due date.  To this day, the only times I’ve turned in late assignments or projects were because I was in the hospital or I had a serious family emergency.

Doggo, Journal, Me Reading Book.

My best ideas strike at night. Hell, the idea for this blog came to me one sleepless night at about 3 in the morning.  I vividly remember typing notes as fast as I could on my phone, the dim screen illuminating my pasty face and heart racing. I texted a good friend of mine at probably 4 in the morning. For that, I apologize… you know who you are.

This is probably why I started to journal frequently while I read books. I find that more often than not I am struck by something in written word that makes my mind race and I will completely lose my focus. Journals have allowed me to continue to focus on my book.

One day I will share my notebooks with you, dear readers. I heed you this fair warning: they are messy and will probably make little sense. Each page is covered in dates and page numbers from books and thoughts long passed. In that moment these undecipherable scrawls meant something so deeply, but now these thoughts are essentially meaningless.

Doggo #2

I am constantly fascinated by the words or phrases I decide to write down from books. What events were going on in my life that moment that made me stop reading (which is one of my favorite things on this earth) to write something down? What happened that particular day that made that line stick out to me? For example: I wrote “Ashland has corn???” while I was reading Wild.

Sometimes I wish I could understand the way my brain works better than I currently do. At other times I recognize that I do what I need in order to ensure my brain keeps working the way it does.


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