31 Day Blogger Challenge - Day 9 - Worst Habits and Piercings and Tattoos

Day 9 has arrived.

I will get through this challenge if it takes the rest of my life. 

Okay. So maybe I'm being slightly dramatic here. It just feels like it's taking my whole freaking life to get through this challenge. This summer has been a roller coaster ride of ups and downs, craziness and utter fatigue, but I'm pushing on. I need to write, need to honor my need to write and create. So here I am, faithfully sitting at my keyboard, tapping out my story, my medicine and dedicating a few minutes of my day to putting my story out there into the Universe.

Today was one of those Holy-Crap-Wow kind of days, as I work my way through Elle North's Wisdom Within School of Intuition, her 40 Day Journey with Saraswati course, and the opening of the Enter the Temple with Sora Surya No. After a morning of meditation, intuition work and visualization.. I desperately needed to get out for a walk and do a little grounding before I came back to work on writing for a bit, lest I end up very woo-woo and not making any sense.

Anyway, that's where I'm at mentally this afternoon, so let's get back to this slow building of a long description of the writer of this blog. Today, we're talking piercings, ink and my worst habits. Here goes some real truth telling:

Piercings and tattoos:

This part will be short. I have no ink (though I have it on my bucket list to eventually get some tattoos, I have them designed in my mind, but haven't had money or guts to sit for the work yet). I used to have my ears pierced; the normal single piercings in my earlobes, and when I was super-brave and 20, I got a cartilage piercing in the top of my left ear. That was a doomed piercing, as it quickly got infected, swollen, and my husband had to use pliers to get hold of the pieces of the piercing stud to pull them apart so we could remove the stud. It eventually healed over, but still bothers me from time to time, 20 years later. the single holes in my ear lobes have long since healed over, as well, as I'm terrible about remembering to wear jewelry. It's not really my thing, though I love my crystal necklaces and bracelets. Earrings? Not for me.

My worst habits:

Ah yes. Let me take a moment to put my inner critic in her corner, so that I can do this without completely destroying myself with judgments.

I'm a horrible grammar nazi. I have literally stopped reading news articles that were badly written. I will put down a book and quit reading it (a chore of epic proportions for me) if the author, editor, line editor and publisher couldn't be bothered to review the work for spelling and grammar. I pick apart my own work mercilessly, and pray that when I do publish something, I've caught all the errors. Sadly, I've taught this habit of carefully constructing sentences and paragraphs to my 11 year old daughter, who will, without hesitation, correct her dad's grammar.

I also have a tendency to feel a person more than listen to them. As an empath, I can feel what others are feeling and thinking, sometimes even pick up on the emotions they themselves aren't entirely aware of (which sucks when you know that someone isn't being honest with you, and they are smiling at you as they stretch the truth further and further, or you know that they really don't want to talk to you). This has left me in a very introverted, very withdrawn place in my life, because frankly, I'm pretty good company for myself, and I'm not left wondering what I did wrong when the other half of the conversation is obviously not interested in talking. I'm working on "bubbling" myself to block some of this information, but it's not always possible, or I simply forget to do so.

And then there's my terrible carb habit. My doctor would love for me to give up all flour, rice, oatmeal, potatoes, and corn. But let's be honest here: I love my bread. Maybe a little less than I used to. And I'm slowly letting it go. I've learned that I truly don't like potatoes, except in the occasional cup of clam chowder or baked potato soup. I can't stand rice. Corn is something else I can pass on, unless it's on the cob. Corn syrup is in practically everything, though.. and it's more exhausting than I have energy for to read every label sometimes. My doctor would love for me to live on salad and veggies with chicken once in a while, but that's not me. Not who I am. And I know. I've tried. Good grief, how I tried to eat that way. I felt really great for a while. But after a couple of months, I couldn't handle the cravings, and had zero energy. That was weird. I was eating about as healthy and ideal as you could ask for, and I felt like crap. So... I've let go. I've put some weight back on, but I love cooking and eating again. I make oatmeal cookies sometimes (I'll be making cookies with my daughter after I make dinner tonight), I have bread less and less often. I love having fruit smoothies in the mornings. And I have small salads. I have to be careful with the salad, as I'm on medicine for blood clots, and that doesn't play well with the leafy greens I love. I take my eating one day at a time, and feed my body what it needs and wants, when it needs and wants.


Bonus:

Because this has turned into a bit of a downer post, let me throw in something less negative for you:

I love to tell stories. I'm a storyteller. Perhaps that is my Swedish, Irish, Scottish heritage breaking through. But story is healing for me. Telling them, weaving them, creating them, hearing them, reading them... They are a link to other realms, other realities, the mind and thoughts of another human being or culture.

I'm working my way into a devotional practice of writing down the stories that live in my head. I love these characters, these stories that exist within me. And I think that they love me back. You might think that's odd, but I believe this: writers birth the stories and characters that come to them. They may be fictional, but they are still living, breathing, sentient beings. Ask any writer. Most will tell you that at some point in their writing career, at least one character has done something that surprised the writer; made a choice, performed some act, said something that the author never saw coming, didn't plan for.

Story is living, breathing, sentient.

It finds the creator that it needs to bring it into the world, like a cosmic mid-wife, and then wends its way through the world to find the listener or reader that it needs to speak to, in order to birth some other idea or creation.

And this is where I am at. Who I am. I am that cosmic midwife for the stories that have found me, and ask me to bring them into the world. What the Universe decides to do with the stories after they leave my hands is beyond my control. My job is simply to bring them into being.

Enjoying this series? Head over here to check out the whole list of posts. Feel free to grab the list and run away with it for your own blog challenge (just please be ethical, and cite where you found it!), then let me know you're doing it, so we can all enjoy learning about you, too.