colorful psychology.

Well, it's November 1. Three things about today: 

1. It's the month of being grateful. Noting your blessings is important, and so I think every time I come here (in November), I'll start off with one thing I'm grateful for. For example, today? I am grateful for family and friends. I have a great support network of people I can turn to and be all weird around and because they're weird, too, they totally get me. And they make me laugh. And they're really sarcastic. Like, we can make the most gallows humor, hysterical jokes out of some of the most unfunny things. I love people like this. Thank God for them.

2. It's NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month - 50,000 words in a month). I will not even remotely be attempting it this year. Last year I wrote 5,000 words and Life exploded (as it usually does) and I drifted away from it, just like the adult-onset ADD victim I am. So how about this. How about I write 1 short story by Nov. 30, and send it somewhere or to several somewheres. That I can do. Thinking about writing 50,000 words in 30 days makes me want to crawl under my bed covers and never ever come out. (Thinking about writing 10,000 words in 30 days does the same thing. So this will be a very SHORT short story.)

3. I have another writing challenge, from my 30 (or more) Days of Writing Challenge. Here it is:

My Favorite Color and Why:

I actually have two - blue and green. Did you know that most people pick blue or green as their favorite color? And did you know that the reason they do this is because the colors blue and green remind most people of summertime, when most happy memories are made? (Blue reminds people of blue summer skies and water, and green makes them think of summer leaves and mown grass.)  I also like the color purple (both color and movie version). Purple is the color of mysticism. Purple is magic and wisdom and mystery. 

There's an old pop psychology quiz you can play with people (and I usually do, when I want a clue into their psyches) to learn more about what makes them tick. It goes like this (and if you want to get to know yourself better, get some paper, answer the questions, and then scroll down to see what your responses mean):

Choose a color, the first color that comes to mind.
Once you have that color, list three descriptive adjectives that describe it.

Choose an animal, the first animal that comes to mind.
Once you have selected an animal, list three descriptive adjectives that describes it.

Choose a body of water like a river, ocean, sea, or lake. (IE Niagra Falls, Mississippi River, etc.)
Once you have chosen a body of water, list three descriptive adjectives that describe it.

Let's say you are in a white room with no windows nor doors, list three emotions that you are feeling.

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DOOOON'T LOOK!! (Are you looking?? I bet you're looking.)

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So here's what your answers mean: 

1. Color - how you see you want others to see you

2. Animal - how others actually see you

3. Body of water - what you're like in bed

4. White room - your feelings about death

When I originally took this, my answers went like this:

1. Red - hot, passionate, exciting

2. Dolphin - cute, smart, friendly

3. Lake - deep, mysterious, lovely

4. calm, peaceful, claustrophobic 

Today, 23 years later? I'd give the exact same responses, except for color. I'm going to ruminate on why that is. Why did I change my favorite color? And why do I now have 2 favorites and a spare? (I've actually been doing this a lot lately, ruminating on why things are. Why not add some color to it?)

writing challenge: 5 (spooky) problems with social media

Hi, Internet. Just so you know: I kinda hate you at the moment. You're on my Shit List. But I'm back to blogging and tweeting and all that, so obviously we're still speaking. No, I don't know why. We just are. Because I'm too addicted to you right now, and my Writer's Block is in full-on choke mode. Maybe.

....remember when people met at ice cream socials and/or bars? Back before smart phones, I met all my lunatics at bars, and all my best friends at ice cream socials. The more I grow up, the more I say we should have a total society overhaul and go back that route. And hell, while we're at it, let's clean up global warming and go back to riding horses everywhere and crossing oceans on pirate ships. (Have you ever seen M. Night Shyamalan's THE VILLAGE? That's kind of where I'm at right now. Let's all just go full-on Amish, and later we can let one of our blind children and a mentally disabled one go into the woods alone even though we've scared the freaking shit out of all of them that there's a horned beast in it that wants to eat them.)

So one of the 30 Day Writing Challenges was to write about 5 problems with Social Media. And I was all: JUST FIVE??? But it's fine. I've whittled it down:

1. Living out loud. I've written here extensively about how important doing this is, because connecting matters. I think the more honest and open you are about who you are, what's happened to you, and how you feel about that will only be cathartic for you and bring relief to who knows who out there. We all have stories, and by sharing these stories we can make connections to other people. We can give hope, heal, laugh, cry, be furious, incredulous, scared, amazed, love, and hate...all together. Connections (and Love) are real, and to social animals such as ourselves, they're important. 

So whenever I make statements like: I'm off this fucking grid! Heading back to Amish Country! (No, seriously...my mom's family is half Pennsylvania Dutch - they'd totally let me in), I know that's pretty impossible now. Social Media is how we connect these days. And so you connect...sometimes to good people, sometimes to bad people, sometimes to very confused people, and sometimes to people who will scare the holy living shit out of you just because they're psychos and bored. It's all experience, growth. But some of it is terrifyingly hard.

I mean, you can still meet people and experience a lot of terrifying growth from people you hook up with at ice cream socials or bars on Friday nights. But why do THAT when you can do it while lying in bed with your phone or laptop, while eating chocolate mint ice cream in your most tattered pajamas and your geekiest glasses and most hideous look? 

2. Seductiveness. Don't be fooled: the Internet and its Social Media are seductive. Don't believe for one second the NSA isn't watching you, Google hasn't tracked and sold your website preferences, and your mom (hi, mom!) isn't going to argue with you out loud in front of all your friends on Facebook and call you on it every time you go to her house for dinner. Social Media is full of 93% normal people and 7% socio-pyschopaths who'd sell their own grandmas down a river if they thought it would get them ultimate power. (Alternately, these same people usually run for Congress. If they're unsuccessful, they always get themselves a radio talk show or start a website WITH Social Media presence.)

3. Not being able to move on. Sometimes shit just happens. Friendships run their course. Divorces are finalized. Whatever. Back in 1999, when Steve Jones broke my heart into a tiny million pieces, there was no Facebook. There were no smartphones. There weren't even any flip phones. The computer was just a place you went to and hung out on IRC or sent emails or whatever. And there was that dial up tone, that crazy weird dial up tone, to connect to the wired world. So if something broke or fizzled or went up in flames, you just licked your wounds and went for a drink at Johnny's Hideaway to pick up the next ride. Which is what I did. Except I didn't go to Johnny's Hideaway. I'm not going to tell you where I went, but now I have a daughter and a looming divorce. So see? There's an angle that can be worked, and once upon a time Humanity did it offline.

Later, after I'd moved on and created a Steve Jones-free life for myself, Facebook became huge. I went to Facebook and looked up Steve Jones. Yup, there he was. Had his Facebook page set to Public. Still using the same email address from 1999. Still telling the same old jokes. Still wearing that one dumb shirt. But now I could see he was a racist, a Sarah Palin/Rush Limbaugh fan, a Bible-thumping Jesus freak, and (therefore) a complete and utter hypocrite. Had I known all of THAT in 1999, I'd have shed this many tears over losing him: 0.

Thus is the problem with #3: if you want to torture yourself over someone who's moved on without you, head to Social Media. (On the flip side, you may find out they support anti-abortionists and the 2nd amendment, and you'll breathe a sigh of relief over the gigantic bullet you dodged on that hard lesson.)

4. Ridiculousness, but the bad kind. Social Media is full of it. People hawking their wares online and not even trying to be smooth about it. I'll be honest: I suck at self-promotion. I have no idea how to do it, it's not natural for me. I'm too self-deprecating, all of this (THIS being Life in general) is just ridiculous to me. WE are ridiculous. So I just write these blog entries, link them on my public Facebook writer page which then automatically cross posts to my Twitter, and if a Hollywood producer wants to stumble on my foibles and come find me and ask me if I'd like to write a TV show for them or let them turn my life into a screenplay, then have at it. I believe in Fate. (I also believe in hard work, and staying grounded in reality, and do realize this will never ever happen.)

5. The Nefarious. You, Internet, are full of The Nefarious. When you came into being, you were the first place all the creepy bottom feeders living in their moms' basements, subsisting on Cheese Whiz and Mountain Dew, went to hang out. And you know those guys who used to come out of their houses once in awhile just to yell at kids to get off their lawn, and then they'd go back inside their dark holes and stand growling and muttering and touching themselves from behind a drawn curtain in their front room watching the kids play across the street? Yeah, those guys are all on Social Media now. When the Internet opened, they all ran out and got computers and an internet connection. When Social Media took off they couldn't believe their fucking luck. 

What I'm saying is: Social Media is a Child Molester's wet dream. It's the Playground of the Psycho. The lair of the Keyboard Cowboy/Cowgirl. It's where - if you're going to meet someone creepy and fucked up - this is where it'll happen. You are the dark, dank basement of all of Society's nightmares, Internet, and I'm absolutely paralyzed about letting my daughter start interacting with other humans on you.

And yet your cat and laughing baby videos. And WebMD.  

You, Internet, are just like religion: good in theory, always poorly executed. A useful tool, if only humans weren't in charge. And THAT, in a nutshell, summarizes the 5 problems with Social Media: too many goddamned humans. 

Happy Halloween.

30 day writing challenge: clothes schmothes.

I am eating cheese and cashews right now. Drinking La Croix coconut water. This is what my dinner consists of tonight: nuts, cheese, and fizzy coconut water. That's pretty healthy, right? Totally natural, except for the fizz in the water. Tomorrow morning, I'll have coffee and a protein bar. For lunch, I'll probably eat a peanut butter&jelly sandwich and a side of baked potato chips and an apple. For dinner, I'll have a baby spring lettuce salad with blue cheese crumbles/walnuts and balsamic vinaigrette, with some tuna salad on crackers. 

I have no time to eat these days, but when I do I eat like a 6 year old and/or someone at a cocktail party.

Have I ever told you I used to run 5 and 10K races? I mean, put " " around the word run, but I did. And I've run Atlanta's Peachtree Road Race 3 times - have all the shirts (somewhere) to prove it. But then I got pregnant, had a C-section, and my body was destroyed. Right after my career, my bank account, education reformers, insomnia, stress, the Tea Party, xenophobia, bad drivers, the weather, and people who leave angry, ridiculous and racist/chauvinistic comments under news articles on the Internet, for the last 7 years, my body has been my biggest complaint and the one thing - other than a pervasive inability to stay focused and get a single thing done - that's the most frustrating thing about me, to me.

I'd like to run again. I mean, put " " around run, but I would. Getting re-started has been a challenge, though. Timing is a factor, but not as big a factor as physical and mental motivation. I know I just need to (as Nike would tell me) Just Do It. But I'm a procrastinating excuse-maker. No joke - if there were a career for that, I'd be at the top of my field right now. I'd be traveling the world doing motivational speaking about the newest techniques in procrastinating excuse-making, and I'd have won a Nobel Peace Prize in it for all of my innovative research and techniques. (Oh, the humanity that this is not a real career.)  

Which leads me to today's writing challenge, which wasn't much of a challenge at all and this is good because I need to finish up the rest of this week's lesson plans since I've procrastinated doing them all weekend with a lot of excuses.

30 Day Writing Challenge #27: What I Wore Today.

Basically, if I could just go everywhere in pajamas or yoga pants, I would. Jeans are my next choice, but nothing beats comfy PJs and yoga pants. And long shirts. Anything to hide the havoc a child and my own procrastinate-y, excuse-making laziness has done to me. And if it weren't for the havoc bearing a child and my own sheer laze has inflicted upon me, I'd probably sleep naked and hang out naked when alone, because research says it's healthier. (I am NOT making that up to titillate or excite anybody - see HERE. Plus, if you could see what I see in the mirror every day, rest assured: nothing exciting to see there, move along.)

At any rate. To address today's writing "challenge." Today I wore jeans, a long grey/striped shirt that has holes in it because I've had it for going on 5 years now, and slip-on black shoes that are now getting holes in them because they're cheap. I buy all my clothes from either Target or Old Navy. If I find something I like, I literally wear it until it disintegrates. Sometimes I wear underpants, sometimes I don't, and I rarely wear socks. Today I wore neither of those things. And if I could get away with going barefoot all the time, I would. Socks, underpants, shoes - all clothes that are overrated. But not bras. Bras are good - ironically, I feel overexposed and under supported without one, so much so I sleep in them. I am odd and strange when it comes to clothes. I like them - I'm not someone you'll ever see signing up to go vacation at a nudist camp, because I feel uncomfortably exposed without clothes on. It's just...I just think certain kinds of clothes are less necessary than others. But clothes are good things. Unless they're skin colored tank tops and polyester biker shorts and you're seriously 500 lbs and you come to school to eat lunch with your child and then get all offended when the children start screaming because from behind you look completely naked. Then I think humongous cloaks like ancient Druids wore to conceal their identities are good things, and maybe also cloaks of invisibility, like in Harry Potter. (Get on that, Science!)

....Good god. I'm so sorry. Who put this on this list as something to write about? This is the most boring thing on the entire list. Apologies. Hope you weren't incredibly busy or anything. (Did you read the entire thing? God bless you.) 

I'm going to abruptly end this so I can go do some laundry. I've made a dozen excuses for why I could procrastinate doing it this weekend. 

Happy Sunday.

writing challenge: 5 fears.

I love Yoda. Yoda is Love.
Also, I am sorry Star Wars nerds, for tormenting you
about watching all the episodes in numerical order.
I'll use the Force for good, and honor George's wishes, and watch them
in the order He commanded us to.
...unless you're my brother. And then I'm going to watch them in
numerical order and force you to watch me do it.

I didn't go to sleep until 3 AM. I slept - hard - for about 3 hours. Now I'm awake again. I have brought home work to do this weekend. I need to clean. My little girl is with me. We have 2 big commitments this weekend to attend. One is on Sunday and my fingers are crossed really hard I don't have to stay at it with her, and can go get some stuff done.

Number 19 on the 30 Day Writing Challenge is to write about five fears. Fear is a thing with me. I'm trying really hard to grow a thick skin, to recognize things I really DO need to be afraid of (sharks eating me, asteroids crashing down on my head) and things I DON'T need to be afraid of (sharks eating me, asteroids crashing down on my head). The thing about Fear is this: none of this is real. My spiritual teachings and learnings tell me that none of this is real. We are beings of Light, and Love is the only real thing. There are beings who have lost connection with their Light, and have forgotten how Love works. Or they've twisted it. And those people scare me. But I also know they aren't real, because they've lost touch with what is real.

That's very coded and philosophical, so...let's do this. Let me just share my 5 basest fears. My truest, realest fears are that I will never be enough, I will never get my act together, and I will flounder forever and eventually end up 95 years old drooling on myself in a nursing home, having accomplished absolutely nothing beyond navel-gazing and no one will come visit me. Those are my core, deepest and darkest fears. Or that I'll end up living with a hundred cats and eating canned cat food, sitting in pools of my own filth. And that it'll all be recorded on a reality TV show. And Donald Trump will host.

But here are 5 fears that are easier to address:

1. Sharks. You know what I'd like to do to conquer this fear? Swim with dolphins AND sharks at the same time. Because one time I saw Jaws 4, and that's what happened. The dolphins protected the humans from the psycho Jaws shark. I'm pretty sure that's the only way you can survive a swim with sharks - make sure dolphins are around you, because sharks don't mess with dolphins. According to the film industry.

2. Being destitute and homeless. This is kinda sorta like the nursing home and/or hoarder cat lady scenarios, but in this fear I'm also living in my mom's basement and she's telling me what to do all day. The good thing about my mom is she's got a great sense of humor, so I can joke with her like this and she won't throw me out on the streets to fend for myself. Also, she makes really great spaghetti. 

3. Ghosts. Ghosts are REAL, reader(s). I want to talk to a paranormal expert (preferably Jason Hawes) so I can understand them. Because at some point, I may be one and so...I just like to have all the facts. Is all I'm saying.

4. Death by fiery plane crash. I'm a bad flier. I like airports. I like the process of flying. But being on the plane, 50,000 feet in the air hurtling through time and space? So so BAD at that. If you're on the plane with me, outwardly I look nonchalant and calm: I am reading, I am resting, I am doing whatever. But inwardly, I'm listening for every single weird sound and nervously watching the flight attendants for signs of fright. 

I want to travel overseas to visit all of Europe and the Australian continent one day. But I'll be honest: I'm going to need a lot of sleep drugs to get me over the Atlantic, and enough to kill a baby elephant to get across the Pacific. The worst things in the world for me are articles (WITH PICTURES) of what happens to people when they're tossed and smashed onto the ground from a plane 50,000 feet in the air death spiraling downward. 

5. Terrorists. Terrorism, I'm learning as I grow up, comes in many different forms. Terrorists can be the scary guys who abuse and misuse a religion to further their political agendas and blow up other people or ram planes into skyscrapers. Or they can be that neighbor across the street who stands in the middle of the road at 5 AM shooting at squirrels while laughing maniacally and muttering about his ex-wife. They can be a stranger driving in a car in the lane next to you, or someone you once loved a lot behaving in really scary, confusing ways. 

And, I'm learning as I grow up, the only way to drive out fear is through love. In my experience, true Love is gentle and kind. It doesn't try to control anyone. It doesn't make demands or use shaming or manipulation to get people to do what it wants; those are terrorism tactics. Love just is. 

I have a lot of love in my life - I have a mom who knows how to make great spaghetti, friends I can meet for dinner and coffee/wine dates who totally get me, a sister-in-law who's more sister than in-law, a brother who makes me laugh and laugh, a niece and nephew who make my heart ridiculously happy, a little girl who's growing up into a really lovely if-a-little-indignant person, and just...I know so many people who are full of support and love. I cannot tell you how quickly someone's support and love can relax your scariest scares. If you are not surrounded by people who are gentle, supportive, and understand how real Love works, please find you some. I would offer to be that person for you, but I'm on the need-to-receive end right now...I'll let you know when I'm back in the ready-to-give end. 

If it's really real, true love is gentle and kind and undemanding. And I'm pretty sure terrorists don't know how it works, which is why they're terrorists. I'm reading PETER PAN to my class right now, and Captain Hook is filling up my brain - there was a character who craved love but had no idea what it really was. But dolphins have an idea. And most moms understand it. And Jason Hawes gets it. Journalists publishing horrific plane crash pictures don't get it, but that's because Love doesn't sell magazines and newspapers.  Over the next several weeks and months, I'm going to really focus on ignoring scary pictures/news articles, terrorists, sharks, and staying away from reality TV shows unless they're about ghosts (and Jason Hawes is the host). 

30 Day Writing Challenge #1: weird traits.

Miss M is at her dad's for the week...I have laminating to cut out and grading to do, but I have just spent $100 on sparkly shit at Justice for a certain big girl's birthday present next week. Now I don't feel like doing any of that. 

Instead, I'm starting the Thirty Day Writing Challenge, wherein I pick a topic from this picture I stumbled upon on the Internet and write about it. I could go in order numbers 1-30, but that feels like following rules. And I don't follow rules. I make up my OWN constitutional by laws. I'm a renegade, a runaway rogue, a loose cannon rolling down a hill. Take your rules and stick 'em where the sun don't shine, Mr. Man. Rules are for fools, tools. (Okay. I'm done now.)

Here's what I'm writing about today: #25 - Four Weird Traits I Have.

I know. I KNOW!! Listen: it was reeeeealllly hard to narrow it down to JUST four. But I did it:

1. I talk to myself. Sometimes? I answer too. But as myself. Don't judge. I can sense you're judging me. I do not care. Because look - me and myself have some really great conversations, true heart to hearts. I am my own best pep talker, my very best psychotherapist. And I can be refreshingly honest and frank with myself when I'm in tough situations. And I'm always super super supportive of me when someone's been mean to me - that asshole! You're GREAT, Amy-self! They're totally jealous because they know they suck. And me and myself are just awesome excuse makers/partners in crime AND! We're hysterically funny comediennes - we make us laugh all the time. At really inappropriate things.

But sometimes, when I'm really sad, I'm really NOT the right person for myself to hang out with. Me and myself can really envision the entire planet in its soon-to-be apocalyptic state, zombies eating our face and everything, and we just want to crawl under the covers and stay there for 9 million weeks. That's when I turn on Damien Rice's song AMIE, and pretend he wrote it for me but accidentally misspelled my name. (I will forgive Damien Rice a billion things, just because he sings my name out loud.)

But when me and myself are in the car? We are THE best drivers on the road. And we make sure all the other drivers and themselves know it. 

2. I'm pretty much a walking dichotomy. Like, I'm a feminist...who likes to be dominated. And I don't do romance, but if you show up with one of my favorite kinds of flowers just because, my heart pretty much melts. And I'm not really much of a risk taker...but I crave adventure. And I can fall asleep so easy - I've literally fallen asleep on people...but I can't stay there; I wake up and can't go back to sleep. I have infinite patience for people who are 12 and younger, ZERO patience for people who are 13+. And I absolutely believe in magic...but yay Science. 

I'm all about the yin to my yang. (I think that's actually who's talking to each other every day: my yin and my yang.)

3. Long lines freak me the hell out, and I would rather turn right and then do a U turn than try to wait for the perfect opening to turn against traffic during rush hour. I will also travel 50 miles out of my way if it means not having to sit in a traffic jam; I am always looking for an escape route. (I think that last phrase is really paramount to #3: I AM ALWAYS LOOKING FOR AN ESCAPE ROUTE.) 

4. I live for the eccentric. The more eccentric the better. I like to talk to eccentric people and listen to their weird takes on life. I like being around people with 10,000 tattoos on them, because I know every single tattoo has a story to it, and I want to hear every single one of them. People with facial piercings fascinate me. People who live off the grid on purpose fascinate me. People who think they're real witches and vampires fascinate me. I once took a writing class with a man who swore he could talk to animals (no, really - like if he got in the ocean with whales, he knew whale song...he chirped at birds and oinked at pigs and stuff)...he was my absolute favorite in the whole class (until he revealed himself to be a raging chauvinist, but that's a different blog post). 

Anybody who doesn't live under the culture-at-large's social norms fascinate me. I think it's because I kinda sorta want to join them, but I'm too boringly normal (other than, you know, I guess having philosophical conversations with myself). So thank god for vicarious living, and quirky character traits.  

40 goals: revisited.

I was reviewing, the other day, a list of 40 goals I set for myself in January that I was going to meet in 2015. We're about 2 months or so away from the end of 2015, and I thought maybe now would be a good time to start getting it all in. (This is how I do everything, by the way: wait until the last minute - I work on deadline. With EVERYTHING...laundry, returning phone calls, bills, grading papers, making dinner, getting ready for house guests, leaving to meet friends for dinner...EVERY. Thing.) 

Lands, Internet. Per my usual, I am behind. So I'm re-posting the entire list, with commentary about how that's worked out for me. (This is more for me than for you, by the way. I think it's about time I start getting my ass in gear and re-focusing. Meanwhile, you're welcome to be entertained by my tragic inability to consistently be all that I can be.) 

THE LIST

1. See (in a theater) 5 movies that do not involve cartoons, singing animals, or princesses of any kind. I have no idea how many movies I've seen in the theater. I know the last movie I saw was animated (Hotel Transylvania 2, wait for the DVD). I think I've seen 3 movies that are for grown ups. After work this week, I'm taking myself to see Crimson Peak, because Jessica Chastain and Victorian ghosts. So that'll be 4. I have two more months to get the last one in. I'm going to put this in the I (Almost!) Did It! category.

2. Write 1 book review, and try to take it seriously. Nope. But there's still time!

3. Write 1 movie review, and try to take it seriously.Nope. But there's still time!

4. Go back to the Margaret Mitchell House at least one time to hear a visiting author read/speak about whatever work s/he is hocking. (You do know that book tours are like press junkets for literary types?) (I used to go to the Margaret Mitchell House all the time, but then I had a kid. Margaret's house is no place for busy little kids.) Nope! And it's the Margaret Mitchell House's fault. I haven't seen an ad for one person I'd want to hear talk. So I'm putting this in the There's Still Time But It's Not My Fault category.

5. The original creator of this list idea said to read a book waaay outside your usual genre preference/s. I'll pretty much read anything, but you know what I never read? Erotica. So I'm going to read a book of Erotica. Just to say I've read one. Nope! But there's still time. I did try to read some erotica on the Internet. Internet erotica is crap, lowest common denominator crap. I would like to be a bit classier with my smut, I guess? I'm working on it. I think, right now, my plan is to write a short story or two and put them on amazon.com even though I think amazon.com is kind of diabolical. You have to start somewhere. With your classy smut.

6. I'm also going to watch one Horror movie. I'm not into Horror movies, but I'm going to see one just to say I did it. I hope I don't need Xanax after. Going to count Crimson Peak as my horror movie this week, and check this one off as DONE!

7. I'm going to write 1 short story and submit it somewhere legit. Nope! But there's still time. (Does self-submitting to amazon.com and wattpad.com count? If so, DONE!) 

8. I'm going to take a weekend away for myself, and do nothing but write. Nope. But there's still time! (If I can find the money.)

9. I'm going to start a writer website. Nope. This may go into the FAILED category. Websites cost money.

10. With a logo. See #9.

11. On May 2, 2015, I'm going to shop at one (or five) local, independent bookstores. Apparently, this is now a thing: National Bookstore Day. FAIL. I don't even remember May 2, 2015 getting here. Was there a May 2, 2015? I'm sure I was distracted and/or in tears, mourning my life.

12. I'm going to start trying to interacting with more bloggers--writers and non-writers. I think I did this. I think. Mostly? Somewhat. 

13. And I'm going to start trying to guest blog and host guest bloggers here. (Wanna write with me??) Nope. Maybe in 2016.

14. I'm going to interview at least one writer (famous or not) and put it up here for all the world (aka: my mom) to read. Nope. Maybe in 2016.

15. I will look into becoming a Huffington Post occasional blogger. Because why not? Nope. Maybe in 2016. (Really, I think my issue with this is that I could send them some of the entries from this blog, but this blog has devolved into little more than a whole bunch of whiny, theatrical navel-gazing. And so I feel like I need to either start a DIFFERENT blog, one in which really just focuses on one kind of topic and stays there...and ha, we all know how that'll go...or re-focus this blog, send HuffPo something then cross my fingers and pray like crazy anyone who clicks over here doesn't start snooping around to see what else I've been writing about.)

16. I will join some type of writers' association. HA! I don't have time to go mingle at writer's association meetings. I must have been on crack when I added this to the list.

17. I'm going to enter one (or more) piece/s of writing into a contest. Maybe in 2016.

18. I'm going to return public library books ON TIME (which means M and I will be scheduling regular library visits, which means I'll have to prioritize, which means...well, just don't hold your breath on #18, is what I'm saying.) DING DING DING!!! I did this! I have totally returned aaaallll of my public library books on time. But then again, I sort of didn't do this, because one reason I returned all the library books on time was because Miss M and I didn't really go to the public library this summer, so there were no library books to return.

19. I'm going to interact more with more published, established writers (famous and not so famous) on Twitter. Sorta kinda, yes. I made some new writer friends, so I'm counting it as a success.

20. This summer, I'm going to commit to a minimum of 500 words of writing per day. June-July. Every day. sigh. No, Internet. This was a FAIL. And it's the worst fail of all on this list. I had one job. ONE JOB. But I let extraneous bullshit derail me. Like ALL THE TIME. Crap.

21. I'm going to go on a writer's retreat. You know where I'd really like to go? THISplace--that place looks lusciously delicious. But it it doesn't work out, I'm cool just creating my own retreat in a mountain cabin somewhere. (Wanna come hang out with me at a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains? We can be solitary creatives during the day, writing and taking quiet walks and contemplating Story. And then congregate in the kitchen/living room each evening to have wild hot tub parties with grilled gourmet dinners and wine and beer. But you'll have to do all the grilling because I burn stuff.) No. I did not do this. This will be a 2016 goal. Because money.

22. I'm going to find a website that's content driven and apply to write for them (I know, I KNOW! I just wrote about what a snore bore content driven stuff is...but it's part of my building my published works scheme and there seems to be no way around it). Fail. But because I've changed my mind about this. I don't want to write content driven crap for advertisers and businesses on the Internet. Saying NO to The Man on this one.

23. I'm going to find an online writing community to join. Do they have these? I'm going to change my mind on this. If I can barely find time to write 500 words per day, I don't have time to hang out online talking about writing and not actually writing with other people who are talking about writing and not actually writing. 

24. And an offline community. See #16 and #23.

25. You know what I didn't do last year that I said I would? Last Spring, Jason Isaacs (Hello to Jason Isaacs!) tweeted about an organization called the Afghan Women's Writing Project (awwproject.org) that promotes rights of women to tell their stories. I meant to host a Living Room Fundraiser, but Life blew up and didn't do it. Going to rectify it. (Wanna come and hang out in my living room and celebrate freedom and literacy through storytelling?) Nope. But there's still time! AND! The AWW Project follows me on Twitter now. I really love them and what they do. Thank you, Jason Isaacs, for introducing me to their existence.

26. I'm going to randomly leave some books I loved reading in various locations, like coffee shops. Just to share my book love. Nope, because I totally forgot I said I'd do this. There's still time! 

27. I'm going to promote the crap out of other storytellers, in as many ways as I can. I think I successfully did this, when I wrote and wrote and wrote and researched and researched and researched the TV show DIG. If that's not promotion, I don't know what is. And I still do it on Twitter, whenever I find a storyteller I think really rocks it.

28. I'm going to take Miss M on a literary pilgrimage. I'm not sure where, but hopefully there will also be a beach involved. Money. Money is always going to be an issue with this. I may just have to take her to The Margaret Mitchell House and call it a day.

29. Apparently, Twitter has pitch fests. They're online pitch conferences where writers try to get people to buy their ideas so they can write them. I'm going to participate in one. If I can figure out how to do it, and when they take place. Nope. Because I have no idea (A) how to do it, (B) where these take place, or (C) any ideas.

30. I'm also going to participate in artsy-oriented twitups, which are like meetups but on Twitter. Nope. Because I have no idea when/where these twitups take place. But there's still time!

31. I'm going to travel somewhere outside the U.S.A. I've just decided to do it. And it may not be until 2016 when I actually board a plane, but I'm going to do it. Just ripping off the band-aid. Going abroad. (And NO, Mom, I will NOT actively avoid the Middle East. I don't think I'm going there, but if I do, I won't tell you til the plane lands.) Again, with the money thing. (At this point, I'm starting to see a pattern - are you? this song is what's going through my brain. Hope it sticks in your brain now, too. You're welcome!)

32. I'm going to think of my writing as a business--it's been suggested I set up a bank account and pay myself for writing, and use it to save any money I earn from writing. I wish you could see how hard I'm laughing at me right now: clearly my 2015 theme was: Champagne Goals, Beer Budget.

33. I'm going to create a vision board/s for a story/many stories I want to write. I love vision boards. Why don't I do these all the time, for everything? Putting this in the There's Still Time! category.

34. I'm going to see at least 5 plays. In real theatres. With actors and stages and...and...everything. And if I can finagle it? I'm going to go all groupie and see if I can get backstage. Tell them I'm with the band. (Actors can have groupies, right?) (Really, I just want the actors to teach me how to project my voice so I can scare kids.) Nope. There's still time, but not for 5 of these. Can I revise it to just one? Maybe 1 play in a theatre, before December 31. A cheap play. Or on a date with a rich man who pays for everything. Since it's a rich man's world. 
Edit: my sister-in-law just reminded me I saw a high school production of The Wizard of Oz earlier this year. But of course! Okay, I'm counting that as 1 live theatre play. Now I'll try to see 1 more live theatre production.

35. A lovely writer who taught me in two writing classes has a writing business now called Under Over On. I'm not sure I can afford the actual classes, but she often hosts Saturday writing sessions for creatives--you meet in a location that's inspiring in some way and you...just...WRITE. Nope. And this is a time issue, in that I've had Miss M on all the weekends. (How did THAT happen? Weekends are prime time...we're going to adjust that schedule.)

36. I'm going to take Miss M on a MARTA ride. Because character fodder. And it'll get her out of the house. I can do this! I totally forgot I said I was going to do this, and this is a super easy and cheap goal I can totally do before December 31 gets here. There's still time!

37. Planning to take a wine tasting class. Or an acting class. Or both. (Do you think they have acting classes in which you drink wine while you study? I'd like that.) Well, I've done a lot of wine tasting myself. And had a lot of dramatics. Just nothing formal, in a classroom. Will stick this in the Revisit in 2016 category.

38. I'm planning to find an online class to take--I'm not sure of what, but they sound much easier than having to go out into the elements. I'd have needed to find a FREE online class. Most people want like $350 per class to distribute information I bet I could locate online myself. And that makes me smell suspicious charlatan.

39. Though I'll miss the camaraderie of sipping wine and talking shop with other storytellers--so now I'm thinking meetup.com...I'll just start my own talk shop/sip wine meetup. I have a meetup.com account. The problem with this is (A) time - coordinating when I will and won't have Miss M, and (B) finding a group that seems like it'll fit me. I may have to start my own, but meetup.com wants money. Money, money, money...it's a rich man's world.

40. I'm going to write a poem or short story and read it out loud somewhere. It may end up being just on YouTube. But it'll be out loud. For an audience. I did this! Does reading a Mary Oliver poem count? I will write a poem and read it out loud on YouTube. Or read the one decent poem I've written. Or the poem about my brother I wrote decades ago, which will embarrass him (win win!). I can totally do that, before Halloween even gets here.

fragile china rabbit in a bull shop.

"You disappoint me."

-Pellegrina, from The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

I've written here before about Kate DiCamillo's The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. If you haven't read it, your heart is missing out. So is your soul. 

I just finished reading this to my class. I cried two times in front of them, reading it. Two little girls and a little boy cried with me and two other kind-hearted children brought us tissues. I'd stop in different places and ask them what they were wondering - what's going on? Why did he or she say or do that? What will happen now? They made connections, they laughed at all the right parts (mostly when Edward the china rabbit is naked), they gasped at the horrible moments. At the end of the book, they clapped. We all agreed: this book is an amazing book. None of them increased their reading levels. None of their writing improved. They certainly didn't get better at number sense. But their connections and hearts exploded, just a little. And I fell in love with them all even harder.

You guys, I've probably been given a classroom of the most generous and good-hearted children in the history of this school. I just met with most of their parents, and I understand why that is now, because their parents are sweethearts. I don't know if I can move their data the way the new system is demanding I move it. Right now, I don't care. I would just like to sit and read them stories all day, and listen to theirs, and teach them how to write them down. We can pull in Math and Language Arts and Science and Social Studies wherever. But can we do it via Story? Please, new public education system?

Edward Tulane is a story that'll speak to you. If it doesn't, something's very wrong with you. It's a story that I'm just going to re-read on my own over the coming days. Because as I was reading to them, it hit me: bits and pieces of Edward's story are bits and pieces of mine. I am on a miraculous journey, of sorts. And along the way, I'm learning how important it is to stay open. To remember that not everyone I meet on my journey is going to disappoint me. To do this, I think I'm going to have to be more discerning and teach myself to figure out who's a friend disguised as an enemy, and who's an enemy disguised as a friend. Because this is where I always tend to get lost and fucked up.

A friend told me last night that I'm too trusting. I let people in too far, too quickly. I give them too much information, before I know if they're even the kind of person who will handle what I've given them with care. Other friends, in the past, have echoed this about me. C once told me my naivete is my best and worst quality. 

Yet on an ironically bizarre flip side, I have so many trust issues because I've had so many people in the past teach me that being very direct and confrontational is a Bad Thing. And because I've had my heart broken in the past so many times or I've been taught over and over that I'm not enough, it's left me in a situation where I usually don't trust ME. So I end up bonding with people who are very bossy. Or the highly manipulative. Or dishonest game players. Or just dishonest people period. Or maybe they're all just very very nice, but are too much of a fucked up mess to really be a true friend to anyone. 

So here's what happens: I meet someone along my journey. They seem kind and good-hearted. They're smart and funny and I really just thoroughly enjoy them as a human being. I don't ask much from anyone except that they be real with me, and don't play games or manipulate me. All I ever ask of people is to mean what they say and say what they mean. And that's because when I tell YOU something, I mean it. If I can't mean it, I don't say it. What I say to you comes from my heart. I don't know any other way to do it.

So what happens is this: they say kind, friendly, good-hearted, and funny things to me, and I heart them real hard. They promise me they're my friend, and I believe them. Because when I say those types of things I always mean them, and so I just assume when others say those types of things, they mean them too. And then I tell them too much. I let them in too quickly. I assume, too swiftly, that other people don't have hidden agendas. I suck at games, and it never ceases to shock me when it dawns on me other people actually enjoy games, the thrill of game strategy. This is what disappoints me most about other human beings, I think: when they treat other human beings as games. People are not games. We are not.

So when something happens that really underscores that this is not the case, that someone has said they are my friend and then does something a real friend wouldn't do, my heart is always broken. People disappoint me. If you've read Edward Tulane, and you are as fascinated by the character of Pellegrina as I am, you'll completely understand me when I say that. 

Here's another thing about me: I'm naive but not stupid. When your heart has been broken by others enough, you learn. When someone's behavior starts to change, you know to start reading between the lines. Because all your past experiences have taught you this is where the disappointment, the heart break part starts. You wake up to what's really going on, because even when the other person insists they're telling the truth you know they aren't. Your gut knows something isn't jiving. But you've also learned it's not something you can confront them with, the conversation will be exhausting or upsetting. Because maybe they really believe it's the truth. Or maybe they're very desperate not to be seen as a bad person, or whatever their motivation is. 

I promise, Internet: I'm naive but not stupid. Please, please don't ever treat me like I'm stupid. That's the absolute worst thing someone can do with me, or anyone else for that matter. Just be honest. I hate it when people aren't honest about what they really want. Once I figure out you've begun treating me as a game and aren't being honest with me, I lose all respect for you. And then I get really really angry. And then I get really really sad. You disappoint me.

And I'm too trusting, but once you teach me that you're not really trustworthy, once you really show me how you weren't worthy of however close I let you get to my protective bubble, we are done. You're going to have to come through in a really big way to prove to me that I'm wrong about you. In my experience, game players aren't really interested in doing that. Once they figure out they've been figured out, game over. They go find a new person to start up a new game with. But who really won your game? Who lost? Seriously, I could write blog entries on that for days. (Answer: there are no winners when you do this. Everybody loses.)

I'm trying not to build as many walls. I'm trying to learn to live outside a protective bubble. But other people keep disappointing me, and so I find myself continuing to lay bricks, gluing pieces of reinforced steel to my bubble's walls. This has made me really angry. But also very, very sad. Just like Edward Tulane, the fragile china rabbit.

The good news is that The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane is also about hope and redemption. Really, it's a perfect example of American mythologist Joseph Campbell's the Hero's Journey tale - someone is called to action, to take a journey. Along the way s/he meets friends who are enemies and enemies who are friends. S/he fights many battles, both winning and losing along the way. Finally, towards the end, the hero is losing everything; s/he has a Dark Night of the Soul moment in which the decision must be made: go on or give up? If the hero gives up, all will be lost. If the hero chooses to go on, then s/he must make a change. The change will be the hardest thing s/he has ever done, but the transformation after it's over will be magnificent and all will be won. 

I really want to put the Coda (the wrap up at the end of the book) to Edward Tulane here for you to read, because it's probably the most moving and lovely summary of a story I've ever read. But I'm worried there are people who've come here and haven't yet read this book, and I don't want to ruin it for them. If you're in a Dark Night of the Soul, this story will break your heart wide open. If you're not, it'll get you through a Dark Night once you're there. And if you're really living Life, you will be. 

So I'll just leave you with my Coda:

Once, there was a girl who loved the world. She loved its mountains, its oceans, its prairies, its forests. She loved its animals and its people. She trusted someone completely, who broke her heart. But she still loved the world. So she trusted again. And someone else broke her heart. But she still believed in love and the goodness of the world, and so she trusted again. And someone else disappointed her. And on and on this went, until one day she decided to live in a very hard bubble so no one would ever disappoint her or break her heart again. 

But her heart wasn't really happy in the bubble. So once in awhile, she'd let it out. And it would get punched, and then she'd get angry. She'd go back into her bubble where she'd punch and kick at the world outside, hoping some of the punches or kicks would hurt the world even though she knew: if you're in a protective bubble of steel how could it? 

What she really wanted was someone to love her, understand her, and accept her as is. All she ever wanted was a good friend. What she really hoped for was someone who would be a friend who didn't also want to play games with her at the same time. The girl sucked at games. Because what she really wanted most of all was for someone to mean what they say, and say what they mean.

.......that's it. That's as far as I've gotten writing my Coda, since my journey hasn't ended yet. And this morning I'm also thinking about C, whose heart I have smashed into tiny pieces. I wonder how his heart is going to recover, and where that karma will be written, ultimately, as part of my story's Coda. I think because I'm painfully aware that, once you break someone's heart, once you disappoint them, they'll become part of your story and you theirs. Forever and ever. Whether you want that or not. Tread lightly when you invite someone into your game, sweet Reader(s). The stakes are always so high.

At any rate, Edward's Coda is a ton better, because he kinda sorta gets his heart's desire at the end but in a way he didn't expect. And isn't that just how Life is? The Universe will always give you what your heart has always wanted, but maybe not in ways you'd have ever expected. So be careful what you wish for, and what you decide to invite in.

body condoms.

You can actually buy this. And yes, thinking about it.

There's a lot going on in Atlanta today. Dragon*Con and The Decatur Book Festival, both things I had every intention of attending in some capacity, this Labor Day Weekend of 2015. But some things happened: per usual, I procrastinated and the tickets to hear Erica Jong and Roxanne Gay give the keynote talk at the Book Festival all sold out. (Internet, can I tell you how upset I was when I found out? It was the ONE thing I would have gone to last night, in spite of the entire week...Erica Jong taught me about the Fear of Flying - which is about how to stay open to everything and everyone, and Roxanne Gay is just...amazing. Roxanne is just amazing and funny and stunningly talented and uh-MAZING.) 

I never got Dragon*Con tickets either. Confession 1: With Dragon*Con, I didn't know what I'd be buying tickets to, or if I needed multiple tickets to different things, or if it even mattered...maybe tickets don't even matter. And there were the large crowds. 

Confession 2: I hate crowds of people. They bring out my crowd rage and they drain me, especially when I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going or why I'm there. I always need an exact purpose, and then I can deal. I do not just...mingle. 

And then I got my ass kicked by work and by life. Confession 3: my ass is sore.

So instead, I'm doing laundry. 

I mean, there will be fun this weekend - Miss M and I are about to start packing to go have a fun afternoon of awesome followed by a sleepover of joyful with my sweet friend and her family. So my sweet friend and I can figure out how to write a TV show, get some producers to like it, sell it, collect our Emmys, and then go hang out on a tropical island somewhere sipping Coronas and margaritas, coming up with our next big scheme. Or whatever people get to do after they win some Emmys. 

Certainly we won't be welcome back into any public schools any time soon if this goes the way we want it to, and we may even be chased around with a lot of angry pitchforks and stuff by Teach for America fans and state lawmakers or whoever, so I figure we'll need a safe, tropical, hiding spot for awhile.

But mostly, I'm just trying to pace myself. I don't want the weekend to fly by, and then to be in this place on Monday night mourning my life (as I am wont to do lately). I just need to pull it together, and find a way to body condom all this bullshit so I can just get through it and figure out where to go next, and what I'm going to do if there IS no next, or there IS no where to go. Because at some point, this bullshit clearly got some pushpins and poked a bunch of tiny little holes all over my body condom and now all the bullshit sperm is everywhere. One giant spermy mess of crap. (I have a friend -hi, E! - who says some people wear body condoms...invisible, big condoms that make them impervious to the emotional intrusions of other humans. Confession 4: I wear a really thick, neon green and blue body condom. But synthetic, not lambskin. And no ribbing, sorry. This is about keeping ME happy, not YOU.)

I'm also struggling with staying open-minded and non-judgmental. I saw a fabulous quote by Brene Brown the other day that said how to do this: "All I know is that my life is better when I assume people are doing their best. It keeps me out of judgment and lets me focus on what is, not what should or could be." 

Isn't that insanely brilliant?? If only we could all just...do THIS. There would be peace on Earth. I just know it. Love Brene Brown, so much. 

And yet I assert body condoms are very, very important to have on you, at all times. Because so many many people focus on what should or could be with you. And these people, though doing their very very best, are exhausting. 

Confession 5: I'm a very MY space, YOUR space kind of person. I don't do a lot of hand holding. I can't handle a whole lotta expectations. Not unless you're under the age of ten. Because I can barely manage my own; and I am CONSTANTLY managing my own. If you follow me on Twitter, you'll see my weaker moments with this come out now and then. I don't post this as much on Facebook, but it'll take too long if I explain why. I just have come to see and prefer Twitter as my spewage place of ill.

I mean, I'll help you if you need me to. I love to help people. But once I figure out the help you're seeking from me is both endless and exhausting, I slip on my body condom. And I'll coddle you and love on you and let you know how much I care about your well-being - I have a deep and compassionate maternal streak. But once I figure out the level of coddling and love you require is both endless and exhausting, on goes my body condom. 

The problem with my body condom is that 1) it keeps me from asking - or even knowing I need to ask - for help (which Brene Brown says is being judgmental...if you'll give help but won't ask for it, you're judging others...which I think is an interesting thought), 2) it sometimes shuts people out who it shouldn't, 3) occasionally I run into the wrong people, and usually these wrong people have porcupine skin that poke holes all over my condom, and by the time I figure out that happened there's a big ol' mess. I need someone who's gotten good at putting on and taking off body condoms to teach me how to weed out the porcupines, and to teach me when and how to put mine on and take it off. (Actually, I have an extremely long list of people I need help from, but I don't know how to ask for it.)

So it's the #3 one that trips me up. Like what happened last week that I wrote about in my last blog post. Gotta put the body condom back on. But still ask for help. While not shutting the right people out. Because I want to protect myself, but I also want to love and be loved. And I want to do this freely without parameters or restrictions or rules placed on me by society, myself, or other people. Because I think kindness and love and staying open are so very, very important. But I don't want to be a doormat. But I want to love freely. But I don't want to be chewed up and spit out. (Public education is chewing me up and spitting me out right now.)

Jesus god, Life is complicated, sweet friends. Maybe instead of a body condom I just need a big, comfy tropical deserted island. (But there should be a 5 star luxury resort there with cabana boys because I don't do camping.)

jaws tooth dreams

Source: Miranda Cosgrove Art

Many months ago, I used to have a bizarre recurring dream about sharks. I'd be swimming with them and pretty nervous about it, but they ignored me and we all just swam together. There was that one. And the other one was that I'd be swimming--sometimes alone, sometimes with the sharks--but I'd know underneath me was a really BIG shark, like a JAWS kind of shark, and it was there and any moment it could just....swim up, from the depths, and chomp me. There was that one. That one usually woke me up. (Amy fact: my two greatest death fears are dying in a fiery plane crash and getting eaten by JAWS. People tell me these are THE two most unlikely causes of death, on a probability/statistical level. Most people die of heart attacks or cancer or falling down stairs. But I don't know...I contend I'm going to die in a fiery plane wreck--it will catch on fire, crash into the ocean. Which I will survive...until JAWS shows up to eat me.)

Last night, I dreamt I was in Texas. My mom (hi mom!) was there, reading a Bible in the bushes (seems like something you'd do in Texas, yes?). And there was a Rabbi. I don't know why but there was a Rabbi. Watching my mom read a Bible in the bushes. In Texas. But also, my teeth were falling out. Not many of them, just two--one on the bottom, one on top. And I pulled them out, like kids do when their teeth come out. I wasn't upset about it at first, because I figured they'd grow back. Until right before I woke up, when I was standing (in Texas, with my mom and a Rabbi and a Bible in the bushes) with one of my incisors in my fingers, studying the bloody roots on it and realized: oh god, this is a GROWN UP tooth; those don't grow back! And then I woke up. And now my mouth feels weird.

So I did what I did with the shark dreams and everything else that interests me intensely and/or freaks me out: I went spelunking online (I personally like to start with Google, but I hear there are other mouths of caves to start in). Here's what I found:

First, the sharks (just in case you, too, ever have recurring shark dreams):

Sharks represent anger/hostility. If they show up in your dreams, you're in a long, difficult emotional period. You might be struggling with asserting your independence or individuality somewhere, particularly in a relationship. (Sounds about right, for me, given the time period I was having those shark-y dreams.) That, or you know a greedy, unscrupulous person who gets what she or he wants with little regard to the feelings of others...or YOU. YOU are greedy and unscrupulous, getting your needs met without regard for others. And if this is true, I hope JAWS finds you and eats you this summer.

Next, the teeth (and Texas and my mom and the rabbi and bushes):

The Chinese think falling out teeth dreams mean you're a liar. I am, but only to myself. To other people, I am horrible at this. I find telling the truth just makes life less complicated...and also my fuzzy brain can't remember a lot of different stories or who I told them to. So, sorry China, you're wrong.

And Greek and Latin American people think falling out teeth mean someone's dying. Hmm. Maybe? Maybe this is true for me right now...but only in sort of a very thematic sense, not literally.

Freud and his penis cigar.
Source: Ham & High 

But mostly, teeth falling out dreams mean transition. Sigmund Freud thought dreaming about losing your teeth meant you had sexual repression. But then, Sigmund Freud thought everything was about sexual repression. Also, Sigmund Freud liked to smoke really big, long, phallic-shaped cigars. Just FYI.

Other dream psychoanalyzers say tooth loss dreaming happens during major life changes: they represent insecurity or vulnerability...changing jobs, ending/beginning relationships, moving, or just breaking bad habits. Abrupt or gradual changes. Also, for women, it could mean you're in menopause. I'm not in menopause, but if this means I AM going into menopause, then I hope the hot flashes hold off til winter when they'll be more useful.

But they could also represent an inability to make a decision, or you're making too many costly compromises about something, you're worried about your image (to self or others), or (if you like to smoke phallic-shaped cigars and speak with a German accent), you need a few good orgasms. Or you're a man who's worried about his pee pee. (Dr. Freud had some issues, no?)

At any rate, my dreams are turning weird. I know it's because of where I'm at right now. But tomorrow night, if I dream about swimming with a Rabbi and my mom while she's reading the Bible and my teeth are falling out right before JAWS chomps us to bloody bits, I'm going to have a serious chat with my bizarre brain. (Or turn it into an Academy-award winning screenplay or Pulitzer-nominated novel.)

My 70s actor crush Roy Scheider feeds toothy JAWS (and my dreams!)