“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”
From September 28, 2017, a quick post that still makes me giggle:
Sometimes, I finally convince myself to tackle those chores.
That’s when a large, imposing matron of mood swings leans across, slaps me back down, and says:
We don’t need no motivation.
Hey! Leave those clothes alone!
©2020 Chelsea Owens
I’ve been on forced sabbatical lately, in case you didn’t know. I thought a break a wise decision, considering the recent birth/extraction of my newest male offspring.
It’s been harder than I thought.
To be honest, I’ve felt giddy every time I click all my e-mailed reader’s feed and DELETE them to oblivion. No, you don’t have to read those, I tell my over-stressed self. It’s comparable to ripping tags off pillows or eating chocolate in the closet.
To also be honest, I’ve really really missed reading what everyone writes. I miss writing what everyone reads. And, unforeseen by me, my inspirations/motivations/muse-ical thoughts have swirled counterclockwise in a porcelain bowl to the sewer.
I’ve also been finishing up my Pathways course on writing. I’ve had little difficulty with it, since I write all the time (and suspect that, alone, places my essays above the others when grading time comes around). However, last week saw me sitting at the proverbial empty screen, staring at the proverbial blinking cursor with the proverbial blank mind to match.
What has this taught me?
That’s right! -That I needed more chocolate, and music blasting in my headphones to block out distractions.
Besides those, I also need to keep writing. I need to keep reading.
Whenever I get hungry, I can tell how desperately I need food by the items I crave:
A healthy sandwich = Comin’ up on lunchtime
Frozen pizza = It is lunchtime
Granola bars and fruit snacks = Probably missed lunchtime
McDonald’s = Whoa, baby! Get that blood sugar up NOW!
The same could be true for my writing. In the absence of the wonderful community here, I’ve noticed I’m posting a lot more on Twofacebook -and we all know the caloric count of that shady place…
So, as I may, I’m going to pop in a bit more. Turns out my mental health needs it. Thanks for all the support in the meantime, especially those who’ve reached out via messages and e-mails. You’re the best; really.
©2019 Chelsea Owens
This morning, I sat in my car and ate a donut. I named it my 59 cent therapy. I forgave the tax.
I’d successfully taken the children to school -half an hour after the bell, and not counting The Child Who is Sick Every Day Ending in “Y.”
They were late because I was late. I was late because I woke up at my usual 5:30 too-early-to-do-stuff-and-too-late-to-sleep, but mostly exactly-when-the-baby-is-putting-too-much-pressure-on-my-bladder. After which, of course, I saw no point or purpose to life.
Some have expressed surprise that I am so candid about Depression. Why not be candid? You talk about your job, your kids, your hobbies -basically, your life. Depression is my life. It’s the cubicle I sit at, getting very little done because the computer rarely functions and the overhead lights have needed replacing for years.
Every day I either numb from it or succumb from it.
And I talk about it. Though not in person.
“How are you today, Chelsea?”
I don’t earn an income, keep up on housework, raise the children without sarcasm, return library books before they’re due, or stay on top of budgeting or meal-planning. I’m fine, while some part that cares is yelling, “Everything is wrong, wrong, wrong.”
And that is why I’m honest about Depression: because the elephant’s in the room and I still haven’t figured out why I put it there or how I can get it out.
At least not for less than 59 cents.
Maybe you can relate. Maybe not. I’m told not everyone raises elephants. In that case, what animal won’t leave you alone?
I wrote other stuff. Here it is:
Wednesday, October 23: Wrote “Parenting: The Fine Line.”
Thursday, October 24: Did a throwback to a post I wrote on JES’ site, “The Pit of My Mind.”
Saturday, October 26: Announced the 49th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is something SCARY. PLEASE ENTER!
Sunday, October 27: Shared “To My Guilty Pleasure,” a love letter to my charbroiled combo meal.
Monday, October 28: An inspirational quote by Someone.
Tuesday, October 29: “Since the Bombs Fell: Two,” the second in my dystopian, post-nuclear series.
Wednesday, October 30: Today.
Photo Credit: Unsplash
©2019 Chelsea Owens
I love music. Music helps me think, feel, breathe, live. When I need to focus on running, I listen. When I need to tune out distractions and write, I listen. When I need to relax, I listen.
I think of them as my Girl Power Songs, Bad-A Ballads, or Power Playlists.
My first pick is songs from The Matrix soundtrack. That is because The Matrix is my power movie. I watched at least a part of it in college, every day that I needed a boost. The music is no less empowering.
Second on my motivational music playlist is Evanescence. Amy Lee is my kind of singer, combining classical powerhouse with near-death metal grunge. This is the sort of song I know the words to and sing/yell along to every time.
Third brings us into the first of my adult choices. I listen to a variety of music, but only like a handful of rap. Maybe a few fingers-worth, actually. I’d be no sort of music-lover without Eminem’s “Mom’s Spaghetti”* making my list.
Not far behind is Lit’s “My Own Worst Enemy.” Also not one I can turn up around the kids; it’s still one of my top motivational songs.
Last for this truncated list are dubstep playlists. I particularly love having a fast-paced final number for my last lap or final aerobics set. This remix of “Turn Down for What” is perfect for just that.
Do you listen to music when you need a boost? What are some of your upbeat favorites? Do you turn them up and yell along?
The following were written without the aid of music, due to the presence of small children:
Wednesday, July 31: Wrote “All We Are is Dollars in a Wallet.”
Thursday, August 1: Answered Mathew’s questions in “Another Liebster Thingie.”
Saturday, August 3: Announced the 37th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is a free verse of whatever subject you choose. PLEASE ENTER! Tell your friends! Tell your enemies!
Sunday, August 4: Shared Norah Colvin’s interview with me about school day reminiscences.
Also, “Song, For One,” in response to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt.
Monday, August 5: An inspirational quote by Neil Gaiman.
Tuesday, August 6: “Wilhelmina Winters, Ninety-Nine.”
Wednesday, August 7: Today.
*Yes, I know its real name is “Lose Yourself.”
©2019 Chelsea Owens
We are very close to the end of our list of cures for depression. We’ve covered everything from connecting with a person to talking to a professional to medicating to exercising to last week’s post on mindfulness.
So… that pretty much makes you an expert now, right?
I’m going to take a really wild guess that you haven’t implemented any of these suggestions. Yes, I’m psychic. Or… I know this because I also haven’t moved from my lazy habits one titch. In fact, I’ve actually worsened in …um…. about half the areas.
My negative self-talkers are in process of lighting torches and hefting pitchforks. “You’re a failure!” They chant, preparing to run my motivation out of the forest forever.
“Hold up there!” I reply. I’m actually not a failure. I even wrote about a new title for those with mental illness! We’re not failures. We’re HUMAN!
Instead of giving up, I’m going to brush forest moss from my coat and pick the leaves out of my hair. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine with -nevermind.
But no more slacking, fellow human. Sit up. Pick an item from the list. Close your eyes and point if you need to. Let’s see: you got “exercise.” That’s easy! Read the blog post I wrote and follow along with my simple step-by-step directions. I even kept it short just in case your attention span wanders like mine….
Where were we? Oh. Attention stuff. Yeah, so, if you could go ahead and pick one that would be great, mmmkay?
Just one. Do it and stop making excuses.
If you are more motivated than I and have already completed one or more of the suggestions, bravo! Pat yourself on the back and eat a bit of chocolate unless you’re reading this after 8 p.m. Get to bed at a reasonable time, and pick another idea to try tomorrow.
Pick another idea after that one.
The main idea is to try. I don’t even care if you stop after a bit; it’s the trying that matters. After simply trying a few, you are going to notice something important: what helps, and what’s not-so-helpful.
Let’s say that aerobic exercise stressed you out more, yoga in the morning helped you want to keep working your crummy job, eating organic got really expensive, and your psychiatrist moved to another state. Which of these items needs to stay, class?
Don’t red marker them out of existence; this is more of an “edit the sentence to make it correct” exercise.
aerobic exercise stressed you out more, and write I will walk outside for half an hour at lunch. Change the yoga bit to a simple I love doing yoga before work. Organic got really expensive can now read Healthy foods don’t have to be organic; I’ll pick up some produce on sale and eat it with my meals. As to your psychiatrist? I’m going to ask around for a new psychiatrist, including asking mine for a good referral.
See how that works? Great! Homework time! Your assignment, due soon, is the following:
- Try! That’s all: try one of the cures for depression.
- Try another.
- Ditto, for about 12 more items.
- Look at what worked. Edit your observations in a positive manner.
Now for the most difficult part: DO what works.
Which, of course, is NOT difficult. We just make it that way. Change really isn’t the mountain we see it to be. Change is actually a few small steps to a shortcut we can’t see from the trailhead. That shortcut may require climbing gear and a sherpa, but it’s there and it’s possible.
You’re stronger than you think -but not invincible. Don’t get lazy by dropping the practices and routines that made your life more tolerable. That make your life happy.
Keep at it. You are worth it.
*Chelsea Owens is not a licensed anything, except a Class D driver in her home state, and shares all information and advice from personal experience and research.
I wasn’t certain of what I’d find when I started blogging. I thought to write an initial story; polish it, edit it, re-write parts of it, and timidly make it public. I planned to use snippets, poems, and short fiction pieces I’d already posted on Facebook for most of my posts. I vowed to publish to the blog every day for a year.
When one person liked something I felt surprised.
When another re-blogged my scary story I felt embarrassed but pleased.
When I saw that another writer was following me, I followed back. I read all she wrote and commented on her posts. I did the same for the 10 others who followed my site.
In gaming terms, I was such a noob.
The real question, however, is Why did I even start writing? It’s a favorite to ask authors, besides When did you write your first story? and What’s your secret to successful writing?
I began writing seriously because I was working on a book. After spending nearly two years on WordPress I’ve learned this is not a unique situation nor an unusual reason to be writing on here. I continued writing because I felt it would help my writing overall and give me connections to people. Maybe those people would read my book one day.
Y’know, if I wrote it.
But life happens. In my case, the thick of life is happening. The book hasn’t been revisited for a while, though I felt inspired to open up another blog using my proposed title for its URL: I Didn’t Want to Be a Mother.
Also like many writers, I now feel stuck. I feel overwhelmed. I feel intimidated and lost in a gigantic pool of talent and time, without the will to paddle. I probably shouldn’t have thrown my compass overboard during that one depressive episode last year…
Until I find my North Star, or even a lost kite, tell me: what is your motivation? Why do you write? How do you keep writing?
I lagged a bit and back-posted, but we’re counting all I wrote over the last week:
Wednesday, April 24: Wrote “Where Did THAT Come From?” after pondering about heredity and genes with mental illness.
Thursday, April 25: “The Cure for Depression: Journal, Meditate, and Pray,” another suggestion in a series originally posted over at The Bipolar Writer Mental Health Blog.
Saturday, April 27: Announced the 23rd Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. Spread the word! Enter! This week we’re doing rap.
Monday, April 29: “Wilhelmina Winters, Ninety-Two.”
Tuesday, April 30: Inspirational quote by Og Mandine.
Wednesday, May 1: May Day!
I’m a bit tardy posting today. I’d tell you my life story, but I know you’ve already skipped to-
All right, all right. The winner this week is Peregrine Arc.
One more minute, I snore
One more minute soon turns into four.
Six am workouts sound so good on paper, when imaginary me’s do all the work.
Can’t I clone myself or snooze my way to fitness? I squirm and think.
Out I put my foot, my toe wiggles ’round.
It’s my radar scanner to see if all’s safe and sound.
It touches the floor, the rest of me still covered up in bed.
Brr, ’tis cold, brr shivers and shakes alive!
Back into bed, abandon ship and this dread!
Isn’t there a clause in the Constitution,
against cruel and unusual punishment such as these coming to fruition?
It’s for my health, it’s for my well being
I’ll get up in second, and do some….more…pleading.
Congratulations, Mama Arc! You are the most terrible poet of the week!
Whenever I enter writing contests and the host/hostess says, “You were all so good; I just couldn’t choose,” I know she’s saying a load of crap. Yet, here I find myself thinking it nearly every week. You guys are getting so ‘good’ at being terrible poets. Pat yourselves on the back for the dubious honor; you deserve it.
We can’t literally all be winners, of course, which is why Peregrine Arc scooped you this week. Other poems had plenty of elements that were so. darn. clever. I chortled. I cringed. P. Arc’s terrible rhymes, meter, message, and overall relatability got her in to contender status. I believe the overall poem is what bumped her to first for me. There’s just something universal about the thing, even though it’s a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster in its final form.
As to the rest of you, let’s get these things cross-stitched and hung on Etsy walls. Read them all below, and try not to laugh:
Keeping Your Head When All About You are Keeping Theirs
A lazy man from Orleans
Slept upon a guillotine
The townspeople said, “Find some other bed;
if you sleep there much longer, you’ll lose your head”
Despite the people’s entreaties and pleas
He was only interested in catching some ‘Z’s
He finally compromised with the people of the town
And said, “So, wake me when the blade is half-way down…”
by Violet Lentz
I started off
Dangling the proverbial carrot
Buying a new truck- for work of course
Promising my undying support,
Because he knew he already had my love
When that didn’t work I tried reason
“I’m working three jobs
Buying the food
Carrying it in the house
Washing the dishes
What may I ask is wrong with this picture?”
Sly little smirk,
Toss of the head
Walk out the door was his only response.
Eventually the level of frustration was so-
That even I got tired of listening to myself
Sliding down the back of the bathroom door in tears
“You can’t go through life being nothing but a good…”
“Watch me.” He replied. And I did.
Now Cyril, you should be studying for your exams
and not sit around eating yams.
It’s driving me crazy that you are so lazy;
why can’t you be more like your sister, Maisie?
When you grow up and get married, I bet
you’ll get your wife to light your cigarette.
I shouldn’t have to articulate
that you need to motivate.
Get inspired by your sister rather
than obviously taking after your father
who is the laziest son-of-a-B
that nature ever could concei-
-ve. Frankly I’m at the end of my tether,
and you think that sitting around doing nothing makes you clever.
Maisie is an inspiration to us all,
and she’s already, at her young age, starting to be able to crawl.
And Auntie Doris, who frequently gets constipation,
should be another source of inspiration.
I knew this guy named Bart.
He was lazy, couldn’t get him to start.
To get him in motion,
without causing a commotion,
I walked by him and dropped a big fart.
I knew this guy named Bart.
He was lazy, couldn’t get him to start.
To get him in motion,
without causing a commotion,
I walked by him and dropped a big fart.
A Sloth Stuck In Tar
I can’t even believe
All day long I grieve
You said you’d move
You said I’d approve
I dared you to prove true
But in my heart, I knew
Your lazy known to all
A sloth stuck in tar
Instead of stand, you crawl
But now it’s time to improve
From this, you’ll behoove
Let’s make a breakthrough
Find something to do
Please and thank you!
Go to the Ant
Go to the ant, thou sluggard
Says the Proverbs of a holy book
So I went to the ant and asked
Why was I told to come here
The ant said, with a sneer
I don’t have time to talk,
Do you hear?
I walk miles to find food for my queen
And if I come back empty legged
She screams: “where have you been all day?”
I die after working hard for a few weeks
Who told you to come watch me?
I’ll not motivate you, you lazy scum
Because if I do you’ll die real soon.
Go home and drink some rum.
Get out, don’t slouch
As she came out that one so fat
I said yes please don’t sit in that flat
You must get out and go for a run
You know out in the sun is so much fun
get out get out and move that wobble
run up and down on the cobble
I don’t want to see that dent in the couch
I’ve had enough of you being a slouch
Laziness is only resting before working makes you tired,
so I’m writing this short poem before I get inspired.
This example will serve to show that being lazy
can motivate a terrible poem before it drives you crazy.
You’ve almost motivated me with your stories of laziness. I’ll post another prompt tomorrow; get around to it when you can and enter for next week’s glory and prizes.
“I urge you to examine your life. Determine where you are and what you need to do to be the kind of person you want to be. Create inspiring, noble, and righteous goals that fire your imagination and create excitement in your heart. And then keep your eye on them. Work consistently towards achieving them.”
-Joseph B. Wirthlin, “Life’s Lessons Learned,” April 2007
Welcome to The Terrible Poetry Contest, a family tradition since about thirteen weeks ago.
Writing poetry is a daunting idea. We get in the mood, think of a lyrical phrase, and then run up against a metaphorical wall mid-stanza. While I have written a how-to on composing poetry legitimately, that’s not what this contest is about.
The Terrible Poetry Contest is a chance for writers of all shapes, sizes, and ability levels to make a rude literary gesture to all that is good and decent about proper writing and contests. It’s a chance to do everything your poetry teacher told you not to. It’s a chance to shine when other contest-hosters left you alone in the dark.
If this is your first time, review my how-to on terribleness so you know what to expect. Then, read the following rules and please, please, please share something truly terrible:
- Topic: Motivating Lazy People
- Keep the length between 5 and 150 words.
- Rhyme if you want to; don’t if you don’t feel like it.
- Just keep things terrible. Make your listeners finally get off their lazy backsides just to do anything besides sit through another stanza.
- Keep your poem PG at most.
You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 22, 2019) to submit a poem.
Post your poem in the submission form below, or include or link to it in the comments much farther below.