Hot Thrashing, a 3:00 AM Story

These are one of those posts concocted in my head at 3:00AM. It feels like a good idea at the time. . . so I start writing it (in my head) and then say, “No you don’t, brain! We are going to sleep now, not write blog posts.” So it gets grump and tries to keep writing. And I need to make a promise that tomorrow (if we go to sleep now) I’ll write a real post all about the idea, and share it here.

hot thrash

Therefore, here we are with another blog post.

This past week I had one major angry fit. It was like hot flash amplified. There I was lying in bed reading a YA novel about magic and realms and pettiness amongst ‘friends’ when in walks the Zsoltster. He says to me,

“Can you clean the apartment tomorrow, because it’s really messy.”

And I erupted into a dragon, blowing a stream of burning fire, filling our bedroom with my rage, and then stormed out of bed into the other part of the apartment. Anxiety began pulsing all over and I was just-so-angry. SO-ANGRY.

This is the bit that kept me up last night. “It wasn’t a hot flash” says my brain, “it was a hot THRASH! High-five!” So at least a part of me finds that hilarious. Probably the part of me that also loves reading YA magic books.

I guess I should make it clear that my husband has been working his butt off these past few weeks. Like morning till midnight. We help each other out, right? So when he is crazy busy, I try to take over things and vice-versa.

Anyhow, I was doing my best, and it just ticked me off that it was pointed out that my best wasn’t good enough. Of course Zsolt would never actually feel that way – but I’m a hormone flashing woman, plus a writer, and therefore will, without doubt, read into all statements made about my housekeeping.

While my husband hid in the bedroom, I began throwing everything in the apartment into this large bin. In went my purse on the ground, in went the papers on the kitchen table, in went my new camera, in went the clothes on the sofa – everything went in. Even stuff I needed. It just all went in.

So that felt good. The apartment seem a bit more tidy, all the crap was now isolated in one place.

Then I went over to where the floor was sticky. Apparently my soup leaked on the floor. Not that the observer of this leak cleaned it up. So, continuing my anger, I got down on my knees and scrubbed that damn floor! Scrub, scrub, scrub!

All the while, I’m sweating like crazy having one hot flash after another. (or working out, this may also be the case.) It became quite late, and there was still that damn box of stuff. But first, I could no longer stand the site of all those stupid dishes piling up. Still pretty furious, I began washing those dishes – one after another, after another, till I’d washed about 1,000,000 utensils and maybe 20 different plates.

That felt pretty good.

And then there was the bin of crap.

Sitting down at the now clean kitchen table, I sorted that crap (much of it not actually being crap, but very useful things) into different piles according to their ‘home’ within our apartment. Then, one pile after the other, I put it away. Finally, I filled out a survey for the OICC where I get my vitamin C, because it had been in that pile of crap, and had quietly weighing on my mind  all week. e.g. “when am I going to do that survey, already? Later. Later, later, later.

By this point, exhaustion had really hit me. I was KNACKERED. It’s hard to be furious when you are knackered. And by this point the fury had left me. Instead I felt really damn satisfied.

And since that point, I’ve stayed pretty darn-tootin’ satisfied. The apartment is tidy. I like that. Life is better this way. And we are eating better. And I’m not as overwhelmed, for some reason.

Sometimes you just need to get incredibly angry. Or at least, I do.

Hot THRASH. Change of mind, that is hilarious. High-five, Catherine who wakes up at 3:00 AM and dictates blog posts. See? I kept my promise.

The End.

An Explosion of Gas from my Brain*

2You know what I’ve never really understood? I have never quite understood that phrase, “You can learn from my mistakes.” Some part of that has never settled well within my mind. Do you know what I mean?

In life I want to learn. For instance, I want to create three columns in a wordpress post. So I google it, find the CSS code, and create those columns – all because some lovely person took the time to share that resource online. But then I want to have two columns rather than three, and try to edit it, and ruin everything. I’ve made a mistake. To fix it, I’ll really, really need to start paying attention to what the heck is in that CSS code, and what all these little labels mean, and why everything did a back flip with I erased that little “/”

What am I talking about in this post? Hang on, I’m trying to form a complete thought, and it’s probably (based on past blog posts) going to form at some point.

During Women Executive Network breakfasts (which I get to enjoy thanks to, they often have a question for the speakers that goes like this: If you could give your younger self a piece of advice, what would it be? And then inevitably sometime wise and full of insight gets shared. Which is lovely. Except. . .

Except those insights have derived from the highs and the lows of previous experiences. That knowledge was made from all the mistakes and successes in that person’s life.

Basically what I am saying is looking to save people from their mistakes just doesn’t make sense. (Not to me, at least) Mistakes are good. They are necessary. They can be terrible. They certainly are difficult. They force change. They are surprising. They create deep knowledge.

Mistakes are intrinsic to life, and life is worth living.

You know what I really like? I like when people share their knowledge/stories as a resource – not as an ultimate cure-all answer. We can still make the mistakes, but knowing someone else has made them too is reassuring (even knowing they are making them at the same time as you is reassuring. I’m thinking of chats with my girlfriends, where we compare life notes over tea). Knowing there are other people facing similar challenges gives me a sense of connection and understanding. I also like when I make mistakes, and someone can help me look at what I’ve just lived through and understand how to pivot. I really appreciate coaches, mentors, friends, google articles, etc., that hold up a mirror.

Don’t deny me the mistakes . . . guide me through them . . . laugh with me . . . live them with me.

Anyhow. I just wanted to write that down. It’s awesome to have teachers, but there aren’t shortcuts in life. Maybe we get easy answers with the online sharing of knowledge – but that doesn’t mean no burdens or efforts. Mistakes are going to happen.

This is as far as I feel like writing. My thoughts have not come together particularly well, but at least I got this off my mind. Oh my goodness there is so much to do today! You ever make one of those lists for the day . . . and it’s already past noon, and you’ve only done about 2 out of 10?!

That’s is me right now.



*Brain Fart


Penny Palooza 2014 in Ottawa, Aug. 23rd

Penny Palooza2Last year I “E-Met” Penny when she and I connected on Twitter. We live in the same town, and Penny was dealing with the treatment of breast cancer. Since then, she’s been a great supporter of my novel (even walking nearly an hour to the book launch!) and a supporter of the city where I live. As we all are, she’s way more than the trauma of breast cancer – and so she’s pulling together her many skills to help raise funds for the Ottawa Hospital Breast Health Centre.

So, how is she doing that? Wiiiitttthhhh


Basically, it’s a music festival in a park in the summer. So, that’s perfection. It is in Ottawa on Saturday August 23rd (Why is the best stuff on a Saturday, when I’m working? Let’s start having all the cool stuff happen on Tuesdays, eh?) from 4-9PM. :) Admission is a suggested donation of 10$/person, or 20$ for a family of four. If you want to indicate you’ll be going, here’s the facebook event page!

She’s got a lot of heart, and a lot of drive to be bringing this out another year. For that, I tip my hat to you, Penny.

Penny Palooza1