Well, it's a new month, friends. It has been for several days, but, if you've been keeping track of the insanity that is the Middle Tennessee area, you'll forgive me. Nashville was hit by a flood the likes of which the state has never seen and hopefully never will again. The Cumberland River overflowed, drowning the downtown area, and where I am currently staying, well, was one of the hardest hit regions. Luckily, there was no damage to our house, but a lot of people lost everything.

Some people were forced to evacuate via boat after being stuck on their roofs. My sister's house had 6 feet of water in the basement. 6 FEET. Many of the money making industries, like Opry Mills and Opryland Hotel, were completely inundated with water. A building floated down a major interstate. I'm not even kidding about that.

I was driving down some of the neighborhood streets that I know so well, and it looks like a disaster zone. There is trash everywhere, water-damaged furniture stacked on the side of the road. Some areas, over a week later, are still blocked off due to excess water.  An acquaintance of mine lost her job because the theater where she works is not worth rebuilding. They're going to have to tear down and rebuild a lot of things.

But Nashville will get back on its feet. It may take years but for the first time in a while, I am proud to be a Nashvillian. We're good people who jumped at the first chance to help someone. We went back to work on Monday (well, those of us that could get to work) but also looked for opportunities to send money or assistance to those in need. Even TPAC (our local theater production company thingy) set up a relief fund by selling various memorabilia.

Anyway, I better go before I tear up. It's that time of the month and EVERYTHING is making me cry.

show.me.your.teeth

show.me.your.teeth, originally uploaded by JujuJuniper.

Okay, I'm trying this to see if I can get this damned thing to show up. If it doesn't work, I'm deleting this post.

Move along. :D

Caffeine is my fickle friend.

I can't decide how I wanna do this whole getting my fiction writing back on track. Do I want to go ahead and restart the "A Million More to Go" blog or do I want to start from scratch and create a website (free because I am poor)? TOO MANY DECISIONS!!

I am creating waaaaaay too much stress for myself right now. But it's going to be worth it because I say so. I've got big, important ideas!

I have gotten back into those delusions of grandeur. You know the ones: someone totally famous and influential will read my stories and contact me about wanting to start a television show! Someone else will want to do a comic! Bungie or Epic Games will send me 100,000,000 emails about coming up with a video game! Movie companies will fight over rights but I'll say, "Hell, no, producers! I am retaining control of my art!" And they'll all say, "Okay, ruler of the literary world! You're bigger than JK Rowling and Stephanie Meyer combined!" The Oscars/Tonys/Emmys/Grammys/etc. will be swept by my genius creation!

I may have gotten carried away. Back to work, I suppose.

(Oh, and if you're confused, just click here. Audio, done by yours truly.)

"Can you go down to the basement to get (insert random thing my parents apparently keep in the basement)?"

This question terrifies me to the core. When I was younger, I had Cocoa, a 110-lb Weimeraner who could scare away anything by just standing there. Now, I have Maggie, the pint-sized Corgi, and Zola, the snorty Bulldog who will just lick you and smell your pants legs. These are not very effective in combating the evil that lurks in the darkness of basements everywhere.

I can't really explain why I have this fear. It's not like my parents' basement has the horrifying heater monster (or whatever that thing was) in "Home Alone," but it's just creepy. My dad has his workshop down there, and Christmas presents are wrapped during the holiday season. A lot of childhood memories have retired there, so it really should NOT be as scary as I make it out to be.

It could go back to the fact that I watched "Unsolved Mysteries" way too much as a kid. People find dead bodies in basements! Anything related with the dark will mean that you will be kidnapped and raped!! And only Robert Stack (RIP, Scary-Voiced Man) and his pleas will have your case be solved. This is why I avoid phone booths. You'd think it's because I have a cell phone, but it's not. It's because some girl was calling her boyfriend in a reenactment on "Unsolved Mysteries" and then she was violently shoved in a green pickup and NEVER HEARD FROM AGAIN. It's also why I always carry a sharp object with me when I have to let the dogs out after it gets dark. The wind bristling through the bushes just has to be a murderer who has staked out my home and now is his perfect opportunity. And it's why I run up the stairs when I turn the lights off to go to bed.


........

Alright, now I'm going to have trouble sleeping tonight. And I'll be using the front door entrance to get to my car for the rest of the week.

I actually LIKE cooking (I just hate cleaning it up).

I am taking on a new responsibility. I will be cooking an ethnically diverse meal one day a week to expand my parents' culinary horizons.

See, I absolutely adore eating foreign cuisines. Part of it is because I cannot stand the apparent blandness of most "American" food. I'll take Cajun or some Deep South cookin', sure. I don't particularly like German and Irish food, as it seems to be rooted in some sort of carbohydrate hell, but I can appreciate a good potato now and then. My favorites, though, are Indian, Mexican and Japanese.

Anyway, last night, I made a Mediterranean-inspired pasta dish (vine tomatoes, artichoke hearts, asparagus, minced garlic and olive oil) and they actually liked it.

What shall I make next week??? Maybe felafel again? Or maybe something with some curry ... If anybody has any ideas, let me know!!!

Exercise Chronicles, Part III: "Being Sick and Exercising Do Not Mesh Well"

The title is full of gospel-style truth.

On Tuesday, my body went into a weird vomity place where it stayed for three days. I had to take off an entire day of work that was spent either trying to sleep or staring into a toilet. I couldn't keep anything except Gatorade in my system and, after the first day, I just kind of gave up. But, I was so dedicated (read: stupid) to this marathon training that I got on the treadmill, against my better judgment, and did my training program with nothing to sustain me.

Now, I'm no doctor, but I can safely say that I probably would have gotten better sooner if I had just laid in bed, drinking hot tea, plenty of water and munching on saltine crackers.

I did get one thing out of this experience, though. I have GOT to start paying attention to what my body is trying to tell me. If you can't stand up for more than five minutes without feeling like you're going to throw up, you probably shouldn't be putting on your running shoes to go jog three miles.

Just sayin'.

Anyway, I have successfully defeated the monster that is a stomach virus (at least I think that's what it was). Everyone kept asking me if I was pregnant, which was funny the first time, but once that became the first conclusion people came to when I explained my upchucking extravaganza, I got a little annoyed. I was like, "I go to three, maybe four places: work, gym, park, home. Unless sperm has now become airborne and subsists of really hardy little upstream swimmers or God has decided it's time to start immaculately conceiving children again, there is no way that I am with child. So my symptoms, I believe, were some devious little virus.

And I will officially start my training again, after assessing how my body handles the strain. I feel all grown up now. And kind of like an athlete. Weird. :)

Exercise Chronicles, Part II: "I am officially insane."

All of yesterday, I wore 2.5 pound weights around each of my ankles, and I'm doing the same thing today. You wouldn't think that small amount of weight would make a difference, but it does. It felt really funny trying to walk, let alone run. It was like trying to wade through thick sludge. Plus, everybody was looking at me strangely because of the weights peeking out from underneath my pant legs.

I can't really explain why I feel this is necessary. For the majority of my young adult life, I've had body issues. I've never been fat, I suppose, but I've always felt subpar. I would work out constantly and got too thin there for a while. While I knew that I didn't weigh enough, I felt good. I felt pretty and fit and I could eat pretty much whatever I wanted. Now I'm at the ultimate low place, at least for me. I have gained weight and I just feel blah.

I just wish I could get to a point where I was comfortable with myself. It's true when someone says that anorexia is an incurable disease; therapy would probably help me but a part of my brain just eeks out when you talk about going to see a therapist. Paying somebody to talk to? Um, I can just talk to my mom, right? She's free and has a ton of emotional support just waiting to be dispensed. Or my dad. He's a pillar. My sister could probably also be an ear. But I almost feel like it's trivial. There are people in Haiti that have lost everything; children are starving; the elderly are being forgotten. Sigh.

Sorry, I've just been going through a rough patch. So I'm going to think of the sunshine coming my way tomorrow. Maybe spring really is just around the corner.