Do you remember the time?

Nope. Sure be cool if I did.

As I've progressed normally through time...I've AGED...I have aged. My body, once able to sling a hydraulic arm wherever I wanted it, has problems opening the mayo jar. My short-term memory is absolute shit. I won't be giving any embarrassing details. Um, let's just say I can put a microwave plate in for forty-five seconds, look down where it was, and wonder if I actually got one out.

I make lists now. And I mean even for basic shit. Need to clean Murphy's water fountain? List. Drugs at WM? List. Gas in the car? List. 

These are the foundation to keep parts of my life together. 

When I remember to make them...

The only thing I don't make lists for is usually my writing. If it's an editing day, great. Writing? Great. Making covers and talking shit to myself? Splendid.

However, anything related to writing gets the "list" treatment.

Make up sparkle bags today. List. Make up pre-order bags. List. Print and laminate a couple of papers. List.

I've started taking a cheat sheet, elevator pitches, with me when I attend a book event. Because, given the chance, I'll tell you how the evil scorpion guy in "Canary" glows and why. 

But ask me what I had for dinner yesterday...

On that same keto note, we went out to Bubba's 33 Sunday.

It was phenomenal. First time in. I would usually grab a double burger or chicken fried steak/chicken. Because yes, please.

This time? I searched over the menu beforehand and picked the "California chicken." 

Let me show the prettiness.

Dear lordt. It was so good I bought another entree of the same to bring home to eat later.

And weigh-in?

HA! Didn't gain anything. Lost a couple pounds. 

The reason I quit keto the first time was lack of variety. And while I get in food ruts, thanks ADHD, when I shift...it's the whole she-bang.

Now, I try to find foods that will fit in my keto budget. I didn't get the garden rice beneath the chicken breast. Ate steamed broccoli.

Now, if only my body would get the memo.

Making up the gold bags today after a WM drug run and Sam's. 

See?

They're on my list.

Gearing up for Book Me Romance 2026

I needed rubber bands the other day. Okay, one rubber band. My middle child child's fan had two stripped screws, tiny bastards, that refused to budge. Read online I could put a rubber band over it, and then use a screwdriver to loosen. I couldn't find my BAG of rubber bands. I thought I had some on my desk. I did not. Then, thought maybe in my Sanctuary closet.

The Sanctuary closet is special, as in it holds everything I don't have another place for. Plus, all my books are in there.

Have a rolling book cart from my last job, with two top rows and two bottom, split in the middle. That's on the left. Then, shelves on the right. High shelves I need a stepladder to reach.

I brailed all the usual places. No such luck.

And I, in my ADHD madness at this point, decided fuck it I'm cleaning out the Sanctuary closet.

I will remind all how short-sighted I sometimes am. 

Yeah. Probably take me two or three hours.

Or, not so much. 

Three days later, and now all I need to do is dust and vacuum. No, um, specific timeframe for that. 

heh

That leads me to the absolute wonderness of a clean closet, all my books in clear totes, a new fucking wagon to put all my shit in at conferences and events, and a sense of accomplishment that will last three or four days, max.

Broke down enough Amazon boxes I'm almost ashamed.

I usually take sparkly bags with me to events with my business card, stickers, and an old-school library book due date slip.

I think I finally gave away all 500 of them. The last at Red Dirt Romance Book Event.

I toyed with not having these little gems but decided to do so, anyway.

Gold bags coming in tomorrow.

Bought over 100 of those 24K gold eye mask things you put under your eyes. New stickers. 

I'll be throwing those together Tuesday or Wednesday.

Hard to believe I'll be driving to Ft. Smith this Friday afternoon.

I don't think the cord between Murphy and me stretches that far.

First night we've been apart.

And he still is insecure about some stuff.

Send me good thoughts! And some to Murphy!

Accidentversary

 July 31, 2017, I was driving home from work on I-44. Not my usual route, but I-40 was packed. Came up on May Ave and glanced in my rearview mirror. I saw the orange hood of a pickup that seemed too fucking close.

It was.

Hit me and crushed in the back of my first new vehicle. I don't remember the crash. Fuck knows I've tried because I hate not knowing. I remember the firefighters leaning me back in the driver's seat because they had to cut me out the back. Putting some cloth over my face to protect it. 

Then there was an ambulance ride with Mo. 

Tried to put a collar on me, but I told him I was claustrophobic.

Then I'm going through a CAT scan.

That's how I remember.

Flash segments. From one to the next to the next.

There was an off-duty EMT guy who apparently came on the scene first. Took his spare t-shirts to put behind my bleeding head. And I guess I told him how to unlock my phone so he could call the Honey. All of which happened, and I don't remember a lick of it.

I was in shock. 

Bad concussion.

Did a number on my body. 

So on and so forth.

This year, I was going to let the day slide. I'm acutely aware of it. But 9 years later?

I still think about it. 

And I'm glad I'm still here to spread love and snark. 

Damn Keto, anyway

The only way I lose ANY weight is keto. I've literally tried everything. Tae-Bo. Denise Austin. Limited calories. Limited sugar. Limited fat. Numerous mish-mash of diet and exercise. Ad nauseum.

Keto works. 

Fine. 

Adjusted my diet. Eating strict keto foods. On the bandwagon. Except...I can't have ice-cream. Buttered pecan ice-cream. The ice-cream of my soul. 

I thought...hey! Let's grab some fruit and try to make up for missing some of that sugar ice-creamy goodness. 

Green grapes.

Oh. My. Fuck.

I love those little bastards. 

The ones with tight surface tension? Almost crispy?

*makes embarrassing noise*

Those.

Except...when I weighed myself this week, I GAINED half a pound.

What the fuck? Gained???

I was...let's say willfully ignorant. Because I didn't check to see if these were on the good or naughty list. I didn't want to know.

Well. Now I know.

How dare those sweet little motherfuckers knock me out of ketosis?

How dare I gain a damn pound when I'm going without ice-cream. Buttered pecan, for those keeping track.

I mean...sure. I could cut back, maybe.

Instead of eating, say, five pounds in three days.

Having them for breakfast and lunch yesterday.

You know, be...moderate.

*laughs so hard I pulled something*

Alas, that is not me. Will never be me.

And so, sigh, I'm giving up the green round crispy goodness so I can fit into a cute new pair of white jeans I bought.

It's the fucking audacity.

I guess I'll live. 

Hit the ground...walking

Stumbled into the Sanctuary about five minutes ago. Have the "I've Got a Dream" song from Rapunzel in my head. Because of course I do. Sometimes, if I'm paying attention (hardly ever), my song loop pertains to my moment.

Tuesdays are rough for me. Have an intensive therapy that leaves me exhausted and not functioning as normal.

In bed on and off since one yesterday afternoon. Still not enough sleep to fit in a thimble. 

No rest for the wicked.

Book 7 of the Plot Twist series came to me. Dialogue, plot, and all the goodness. Except, I didn't have the werewithal to jot anything down. Relying on my memory right now.

Going to open OneNote and start a notebook for it. 

Still editing Ace. I love the story. Absolutely love it. And he's such a good foil for LA.

Readers bought books 1 and 2 of my Plot Twist series last Saturday. It was "The Morrigan"s actual release day. A reader asked me how long I expected the series to be. At least a dozen, was my answer. And likely, more than that. It IS hard because it's not a stand-alone. It's an arc. You've got to meet LA in the beginning to appreciate the character and her snail-like growth.

Still sitting in this chair like a shrimp. Still roasting my ass off in his fucking state. But, it's back to work as long as I can sit in this chair.

 

Mixed bag

I love book events. Well, my heart and soul do. My body hates them with a passion. My chronically in pain short ass loathes those damn chairs. My back and hips pay the price for the next five days or so. My body has a hangover that lasts nearly a week. I'm not sure how much longer I can do these events. I've already booked half a dozen of them for next year. We'll see how that goes. Toting everything around does a number on me. 

I need a little chart I can put on the front of my table.

Has:

Anxiety

Chronic pain

Fibro

ADHD

Proceed with caution.

I feel bad because the expectation from readers is usually the author stands as they come by. Sometimes, I simply can't. Or I'll stand and lean against the top of my pushed-in chair. But, being mostly deaf in my left ear doesn't help communication, either.

ON THE BRIGHT SIDE!

Have I mentioned I love readers? Like LOVE THEM??? There is nothing like engaging like-minded people, laughing, and having a wonderful conversation with them. I appreciate each and every person who stops by to say hi, grab a book, or simply make conversation.

You are my people! 🩷

Spent yesterday practically catatonic in my rocker recliner. Back and hips still pissed today. 

But, right now I'm sitting like a shrimp at my desk and eyeballing all the things I need to do.

Don't blame me...blame the chucklefuck fairy

I had a full day by 10:30 this morning.

Went to the wrong event.

Got lost in the parking garage--both walking and driving.

Nearly went ass-to-water as the toilet seat in the public bathroom was up because it was freshly cleaned.

Choked on the juice of a single grape.

Almost had to use my alarm to find my car in the WM parking lot. So much for parking close to the cart corral.

I'm home now for both your and my safety.

Taking 13 titles tomorrow because The Morrigan arrived yesterday!

Tomorrow is her release day, and I'm so excited. 

Already listed Ace as a preorder for eBooks. That's Plot Twist book 3 for those keeping track.

And another thing, what in the fuck-all is Netflix doing with "life style" shows? I want serial killers, cranky Scottish detectives, and ruthlessly aggressive thrillers.

Went through the "new" shows, and I was not remotely impressed.

Please stop.