10 Things (Almost) Nobody Knows About Me

This was floating around on some forum I was reading. I'd like other people to, you know, post their list in the comments. Please? Please please?

10 Things (Almost) Nobody Knows About Me

1. I have an extra bone behind each Achilles tendon. I may have to have them taken out.
   
2. Unjustified dislike #1: Bridges. Ever since seeing this (1987) and this (1989) on the news.
   
3. Unjustified dislike #2: Sunflowers. Ooh, they're creepy, following the sun and all that.
   
4. Never made a D or F, kindergarten through college. Lucky, huh?
5. I have visited 25 states and the District of Columbia. (Also, Canada.)
6. If I had been born a boy, I would have been named Sam.
7. I was suspended in 8th grade for stealing a candy bar, just to see if I could.
8. I was suspended in prekindergarten for jumping on a little boy's back and pulling his hair.
9. My first word was "bear." Big surprise, huh?
10. My most embarrasing moment was in college, when my desk fell over ... with me still attached.

Learn something new every day, huh? Now, please, share yours. Or else.

My perfect mix tape

I guess the term "mix tape" is kind of outdated, but "mix CD" just doesn't have the same ring. In any case, it's been a very long time since I've put together a mix of any sort. This one kind of came to me all at once. Think of it as one really whack love song, I guess. :)

I would call this mix Passport Photos, because it's like those snapshots that you get from a photo booth. You know, snapshots of 13 very different stages of a relationship, beginning to end. And, with the exception of maybe one song, these are fairly upbeat, because I don't like my mixes to drag.

If anybody actually puts this together, send me a copy. Because, you know, I'd like a copy of my own mix. And decorate the cover, just because I said so.

Passport Photos 2005
1 - Teenage Dirtbag, Wheatus
2 - New York City, They Might be Giants
3 - My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors, Moxy Fruvous
4 - I Kissed a Girl, Jill Sobule
5 - Call and Answer, Barenaked Ladies
6 - Perhaps, Cake
7 - Hiro's Song, Ben Folds
8 - Here's to the Night, Eve6
9 - Sort of Haunted House, Too Much Joy
10 - Psycho Killer, Talking Heads
11 - Dizz Knee Land, Dada
12 - Closing Time, Semisonic
13 - At My Funeral, Crash Test Dummies

Well, there you have it. It's out of my system.

My therapist isn't dead (Yay!)

4:57 p.m. Wednesday: The phone rings.

Me: Hello?
Her: "Katherine?"
Me: Umm, actually, it's just Kate.
Her: "This is Miriam."
Me: Miriam! I'm so glad you're okay!

I realize instantly how bad that sounds, so I explain that when she didn't show up or call, I was worried something had happened to her.

Apparently, in three years of graduate school, Miriam's never had a night appointment, and she just forgot. Of course! She forgot! So why was my sick little head conjuring up images of my therapist being eaten by the Big Bad Wolf on the way to my first session? Hey, I'm a realist. :)

I didn't relate the story about Hilary, a philosophy graduate student who was kidnapped and killed when I was a student. I was editing at TDH at the time, and it just ... ate at me inside. It really hurt. I mean, I'd never met Hilary, but when I spoke to her friends, I just ... ugh. That may have been one of the first times I realized I couldn't do hard journalism.

Um, it's an interesting dichotomy, the life of a journalist. There's a lot of emphasis placed on being impartial, an outsider looking in and reporting just what you see. But at the same time, journalists are always taught to get in the middle of things. To be on site. To see everything, report everything, censor nothing except feelings. There is simply no outlet for most journalists, which is why so many of them end up at DCJT.

There were other times, like on September 11, when I sent teams of reporters here and there, then sat in my office alone and cried. Even now, I scan the AP and Reuters for local stories and get hung up on how little good news is out there each day. It's a real downer.

That was a huge digression, but one that needed to be made. It's been, oh, three years since I did any newspaper management stuff; much longer since I was writing. Funny how, after all this time, my mind still wanders back to thinking like a reporter: never quiet, always noting, always suspicious.

So, I'm glad Miriam's okay. I meet her at 7 p.m. tomorrow. I will attempt to quell the panic that is already washing over me now.

Guess I'll go eat worms

Miriam didn't show up for our first session last night. I feel like a jilted lover.

Yesterday went something like this:

• 6 a.m. -- Wake up.
• 6:01 a.m. -- Start worrying.
• 8:55 a.m. -- Get to work. Worry.
• 9 a.m.-5 p.m. -- Work (and worry).
• 5:07 p.m. -- Decide to go out for boba with Jeremy, who I haven't seen in four years.
• 5:30 p.m. -- Leave for the cafe.
• 5:40 p.m. -- Get stuck in traffic. Fight off panic.
• 6 p.m. -- Get to cafe. Order large mango-pineapple boba.
• 6:04 p.m. -- Start babbling about random crap because I'm worried and panicky.
• 7:04 p.m. -- Still babbling about random crap because I'm worried and panicky. Fortunately, he's a good listener.
• 7:32 p.m. -- Finally slow down long enough to let him, you know, mention what he's been doing the last four years. Can't keep mouth shut long. Draw pictures on the table with my finger.
• 7:40 p.m. -- Realize I'm running late (!) for my appointment. Hurry to car.
• 7:55 p.m. -- Get to psych center ... and start waiting for Miriam.
• 8:30 p.m. -- Give up waiting for Miriam; call hubby. Then call Jeremy. Then end up crashing his dinner with a mutual friend. I think after feeling abandoned by my doctor (who I PAY to listen to me), I didn't really want to be alone.

The whole situation -- no, the whole day -- stressed me out so bad that I took a Klonopin to bring me down. Yeah, it hurt that my therapist bailed on me. But it hurt worse to realize that I let it get under my skin, let it get to the point where I didn't want to be around anyone, but didn't feel like I should be alone.

I was very proud of myself for seeing Jeremy, but it was far from easy. I mean, I think I would have rather hidden in my office than see someone who knew me when I was normal. I feel so vulnerable now, and I don't like it one bit.

I wonder if he noticed me drawing on the table with my finger, just trying to keep my hands busy so I didn't go crazy. I wonder if he noticed I didn't make eye contact (I just can't yet). And I wonder if he knows me as well as he thinks he does -- over dinner, I mentioned a mutual friend who had suffered mental and physical conditions similar to mine. He said she had taken it harder than me. I told him I thought I just hid it better.

I suppose after all this time -- and now I'm married and he's married -- he can't reconcile what I say with what I mean (and what I'm hiding). Or maybe he just doesn't feel comfortable pushing the situation yet.

Of course, it goes both ways. We talked about his navy years, and I asked why he didn't like it as much as he hoped. He said he had learned about the "submarine lifestyle" -- being gone for 10 out of 12 months, et cetera ad nauseum. That was the bull answer, the pat answer he gives everybody whom he doesn't shut out completely. Did I know there was something else he wasn't telling me? Of course. Did I push for more information? Not yet.

Anyway, I'm waiting now for Miriam to call -- I hope she's okay and not like dead or anything. I'll post more when I know something.

Oh, EVERYBODY has this dream!

Okay, one more quick thing -- forgot to post this earlier. I had intended to talk about my strange (memorable, recurring, frightful) dreams I've had through the past four years on Zoloft, Celexa and Effexor. I think (a.) somebody will find it useful; and (b.) the rest of you will find them funny! :-D

Anyway, I was doing a little research online and came across a "dream interpretation" site called Dream Moods. And I'm poking around on their site map, and come across a list of "common dreams."

Check this out:


Remember these are deemed common dreams. I personally have never dreamed about Godzilla in Kmart. In fact, I don't think I've ever dreamed about Kmart period. A close second favorite is "Alligator in Ostrich Suit" -- a much more common dream, don't you think?

This time, I wasn't so nice

Tell me off once, I cry.

Tell me off twice, I fight back.

I made the mistake of asking Sandy today whether everything was okay. I should just learn to keep my big mouth shut, huh? Especially if I think I might have done something wrong.

Turns out I messed up a date on a second legal the same day I messed up the first one. Two in one day. Must have been having a bad day. But, like Paul says, my success rate is well above 98% or 99%, which he'd love to have in the lab. Too bad I don't get bonus points for the ones I do correctly.

This time, I wasn't so nice. Okay, so I wasn't rude, and I probably should have stuck up for myself a little bit more. Instead, I said that I always do the best I can, and when I mess up, it's usually because I feel rushed.

About this point, Teresa says that she wrote the run dates wrong on the front of the original. Sandy suggests maybe we should check the run dates Teresa's written down with the run dates the company wants. I start to say, "Could you do that? Because I'm really..." And then she cuts me off.

"Well, Kathleen ... " referring to an editor who's no longer with us.

I cut her off. "Kathleen didn't check off the legals."

She shoots back, "No, I'm thinking of the first Kathleen. She was very thorough." Then she proceeds to tell me how she checked the book against the original against the copy.

Well, yippee for the first Kathleen who was so thorough. Did she read every word in the paper every single day? And run queries and compile data for the editorial department? And write the radio read three days a week? And research a half-dozen real estate sales daily? And do real estate recap interviews with poopyheaded people that don't want to call you back? And, now, look up stuff on Chandler every day? All while battling three mental disorders, dealing with meds and side effects, and trying desperately to have a life outside the office? Well, DID SHE?

It's been a long time since I've quoted any lyrics in here, but today, I feel like the character in the Tori Amos song "Take to the Sky," who says, "And my priest said, 'You ain't saving no souls.' And my father says, 'You ain't making any money.' And my doctor says, 'You just took it to the limit.' ... And here I stand, with this sword in my hand."
----------------------------------
On a totally unrelated note, I had an awesome celebratory lunch with Paul at Texas de Brazil. We had a great time, and really enjoyed getting out of the office for the bit. Too bad it was overshadowed by massive negativity before I even made it back to my desk. Sigh.

Finishing up the book

Well, I edited the last of the stories today. I'm fairly convinced that one author isn't going to send in her contracts, so 52 stories have become 50 stories. I'm sure Chuck's not sweating it, because it's a long book anyway, and he was complaining about the profit margin.

I also wrote my bio and the dedication. And since they're going to make the rounds anyway, I might as well go on and share.

The Bio: LKCS (Anthologist) is a copy editor from Memphis, Tennessee, who uses her red pens for good, not evil. In her little free time, she enjoys playing the piano, collecting teddy bears, and beating her husband at video games.

The Dedication: For Dad -- because BusyTown gave me the language; for Mom -- because Nancy Drew gave me the love; and for Paul -- because your patience and dedication gave me the strength to see this project through. -- Love, Kate (March, 2005)

Now all I lack are galley proofs and artwork. As soon as I get a scan from Mark, I will blog it posthaste.

On a marginally related note, I'm absolutely exhausted. I have cancelled an ungodly number of coffee breaks (Jeremy), lunch dates (Mandi), book meetings (Chuck), phone calls (Carrie) and jam sessions (Matt). I've also come home late more times than I'd care to recount (sorry, honey).

I'm overworked, I'm anxious, I'm ... digging for excuses. If you really love me, come grab me out of my office and drag me away from my responsibilities. Otherwise, I may never leave. You've been warned.

Tomorrow, I meet HER

This morning, I get the call. You know, the call I've been waiting on for two weeks. It's my assigned psychotherapist from the UM Psychological Services Center, Miriam.

She's very friendly, and gives me my choice of appointment times on Tuesday or Thursday. I choose Tuesday (tomorrow), believing that the less time I have to panic, the less likely I am to back out altogether. I confirm the time and hang up the phone.

And, then, the legwork begins. Who is this Miriam? What can I find out about her? I set my timer for 10 minutes and get to work. An e-mail address, then another. A stack of photos (that's probably the best of the lot). Information from her undergraduate days; previous research and poster presentations.

She seems nice over the phone. Of course, when I looked at the photo, I immediately thought she was way too young to be treating me. But then I realized: (a.) Paul's also a Ph.D. candidate, and I find him highly competent; (b.) Tyler's finished med school and been in psychiatry practice two years and he's like 27; (c.) they wouldn't let her do this if she was an idiot.

I am slightly concerned that the majority of her research is in child psych issues, with a smattering of sleep treatment thrown in for good measure. In any case, I will be taking Schleppy, my "going to the doctor bear," with me for comfort. (See below.) ^_^




Now, truth be told, I had a much more interesting topic I wanted to write about today. But I've got plenty on my mind (work, book, appointment), so it's going to have to wait. Sigh.

He must be REALLY hideous

I would be remiss if I didn't make mention of the Mud Island Streaker, which has been all over the Memphis TV news this week.

The first news report I heard said, "Most of the victims are so grossed out by what they see that they run for it before getting a good look at his face." (Later news reports by the same network referred to victims as "shocked" instead of "grossed out.")

Either this guy is really hideous or really, err, impressive.

Apparently, Miss Cordelia's -- the Harbor Town grocery/deli/restaurant on Mud Island -- is taking the streaker in stride. One of the local news anchors reports they've created a "streaker sandwich" for the occasion. I tried to confirm this online, but Miss Cordelia's Web site is under construction. However, the anchor reported it's a "naked ham sandwich" -- you know, one without mayo or other fixings. ^_^

The Best Rainy Day Gift Ever

Friends, Romans, countrymen: Lend me your ears.

For my birthday, I'd very much like a plushie Lowly Worm:



and/or other Richard Scarry-related stuff. But I really want the plushie, and little Lowly is retired and sold out everywhere I look. (He's made by Gund, by the way.) So get crackin'. I'll even make it easier on you: It doesn't have to be this particular version of Lowly Worm. It just has to be huggable and fuzzy. ^_^

Also, some Richard Scarry coloring books in which to place the mark of She-Who-Named-The-Crayon. (Hey, fame hasn't gone to my head ... too bad.)

Is there a Doctor in the house?

Is there a doctor in the house? In mine, yes! :) Well ... almost. My hubby, Paul, has passed enough cumulative exams to get his doctorate. It's been an amazing (and amazingly grueling) two years, but he's halfway there. Crazy, huh?

The cumes serve as an indicator of knowledge and progress (and dedication to the program, in my humble opinion). Here's how they work: After a year to a year and a half in the doctorate program, students are given eight cumulative exams -- one each month for eight consecutive months. The exams cover journal articles that go way above my head (but are great to read at bedtime -- I'm out like a light before you can say "Developing Analytical Methods for On-Line Monitoring of Haloacetic Acid Concentrations in Drinking Water Distribution Systems" ... [insert yawn here].)

Anyway, the students take these eight tests, which are graded on a four-point scale -- 0 to 4. Four means you're the shiznit. Zero means ... well, I shouldn't really go there, because I might insult some of Paul's labmates. To get your master's, you must get six points in eight tests. To get your doctorate, you must get 12. Do the math, and you'll realize these are really hard exams, folks.

So, Paul, he gets his 12th point -- actually, his 13th point -- on his sixth exam. He doesn't even have to go to the last two. Is he a genius, or what? ^_^

Now, he gets back to his research for the Environmental Protection Agency, developing methods for finding haloacetic acids and trihalomethanes (read: REALLY BAD STUFF!!!11) in drinking water. By the way, on the topic of water, you guys might want to watch out for the bottled stuff. No, seriously.

Anyway, I wanted everybody to know how proud I am of my hubby. He's come a long way from the guy who skipped class to play Counterstrike and ended up failing a half-dozen classes. :-D I love you, sweetheart, and I know you're gonna go far ... assuming you quit reading this and get back to work, slacker.

(Hey, nothing like a little prodding from the wifey now and then to keep you on your toes, right?)

Comedy Gold in my usage stats

Okay, last post for a little while. Promise.

I've been avoiding looking at my usage stats since I started blogging again. I know I'm gaining more readers, but it makes me a smidgen nervous thinking about which people (and how many) see what I write. Anyway, this month, I've had the most unique hits ever in the history of Kate's Ink. I mean, I didn't have this many people visiting when I actually posted real content on the front page of Kate's Ink. Now, I hide my blog (or at least don't directly link to it), and an amazing number of unique visitors find it. So, um, welcome, I guess. ^_^

Anyway, some interesting things I've found out from poking through my usage stats:

• Over 40 percent of my visitors are using Firefox. Good for you!
  
• This picture from my New Orleans trip is very popular.
• Webalizer is having trouble identifying your location. Apparently, every one of you lives in an unknown country of SECRETNESS.
  
• 25 percent of my visitors stop by between 4 p.m. and 6 p.m.
  
• And my top five search strings are: (1.) katesink johanna; (2.) brain shivers; (3.) instyle professional rate summary; (4.) johanna edwards next big thing; and (5.) little magic. perfect weekend.

Now, back to work.

My bank hates me. No, really.

Thursday morning, 9:oo:03 a.m., I call the credit union. The automated system picks up:

"Press 8 to activate or deactivate a card. Press 1 for the Call 24 automated teller service. Press 2 to (blah blah blah) ... " (30 seconds later) "At any time during this message, you can press 0 to speak to a call center representative." Note: This is the very last part of the message, so they might as well reword it to say, "At any time during this message you could have pressed 0 to talk to a call center representative if we'd bothered to tell you that was an option, LOSER."

I try very hard not to throw my cell phone out the car window, because with my luck, I'd be pegged with the $500 Tennessee litterbug fine. I press zero.

"There are (pause) 18 (pause) calls ahead of you. Your estimated wait time is (pause) 5 (pause) minutes."

I bite my lip, remembering that Memphis cops are now pulling people over for talking on their cell phone while driving. I mean, hey, this is important.

At this point, I listen to approximately 12 minutes of cheerful credit union messages played over poorly chosen and poorly executed Muzak. "Know someone with bad credit?" (No.) "Well, we're here to help. Ask us how when your call is answered." (As if that's ever going to happen.)

After what seems like forever (i.e. my entire commute into work), the phone rings.

Her: "Thank you for calling MATCU (blah blah blah). How can I help you today?"
Me: I'm trying to figure out what's up with my debit card. My husband and I have tried to use it a couple of times in the last two days, and I've been told it's not being accepted. I'm wondering if I've worn down the magnetic strip, or if there's a problem with my account, or whatever.
Her: "Well, let's see here. What's your name?"
Me: (At this point, I start to grit my teeth. I've already given her my account information, and now she has to verify my name ... and my Social Security Number ... et cetera ad nauseum. I slowly, angrily, verify my information.)
Her: "Hmm, well ... okay. Now, did you receive a replacement card we sent you on March 1?"
Me: (I feel like one of those cartoon characters with steam coming out his ears.) "No, I didn't receive the replacement card you sent me on March 1 ... nor did I know one was coming."
Her: "Well, yes. Visa shut down this card on March 21. I can order you another replacement card ...
Me: "And until then, I just have to ...
Her: "... use cash."

It wouldn't be such a big deal if the credit union hadn't done the exact same thing to me around this time last year, leaving me in an embarrassing lurch one night after treating myself to a sinus massage at a Downtown spa. I ended up putting it on my one single credit card, but I never showed my face in that spa again.

I'm beginning to think security at the credit union consists of a half-dozen monkeys armed with duct tape and hordes of replacement debit cards to throw at customers every few months.

If I wasn't so lazy, I'd look for another bank. They're benefitting from my complete lack of motivation.

Stacey's reply to my last post

Yes, it made me feel better. :)

Oh, gosh Kate. I'm so sorry. I don't really know exactly what to say, because I know I can't fix things. But I will say this -- from the standpoint of what I can do, just let me know when you need help and when you need a load taken off here at work. I won't think less of you (you know that). I learned a long time ago that you can only do what you can do, and if someone else doesn't seem to understand that, fuck 'em (yes, that's what I said) and continue doing what you can do. And I know it sounds trite to tell you not to let it bother you when you make a mistake or hear criticism from someone, but just keep in mind that the same people telling you about your mistake are just happy you made it and not them. And they make them ALL the time. You don't make them often at all, and yes, you deserve to feel good about that. And when you do make a mistake, fuck that too. It happens.

Like I said, that probably doesn't help at all, but at least know that you don't need to worry about what Eric or I think of you. Strike that off the list. We both think you do a great job.

And, one day, I lose it at work

I'm having a moment.

I told my boss, Stacey, that I would e-mail her, but I'm a lot more candid in my blog. I think some part of me feels like I can just unload everything here, since I'm not really writing to anyone in particular.

You know, I was really touched when my GP told me that I hid my anxiety really well. I mean, my own doctor didn't know what was going on with me, even though I hinted with all my might that something was terribly wrong. But here come the stressors -- work and life and even driving my car -- and I'm just biting my lip and holding it in. So, today, when a coworker brings up a problem with a legal, I bite my lip hard enough to make it bleed. And then I cry, but I try not to let her see that.

Look, I used to view things around the office as a challenge. I was here to impress, and I never accepted second best. I read the legals and wrote events and stuff like there was no tomorrow. When I made a mistake, I took it to heart. I learned SQL so I wouldn't have to rely on the tech guys to do my legwork. And I think, with probably an exception or two, that people noticed. I was proud of myself, maybe too proud of my abilities -- when they failed me, I beat myself up more than anyone else.

When the anxiety really started to set in, it was scary. It's scary and it's downright disabling. I can't explain it, because it sounds so lame. I mean, I don't even go to yoga anymore because the thought of it turns my stomach. I have to prepare myself mentally to drive to work. I don't go grocery shopping. I don't clean the house. I don't go out with my friends. I work late to avoid driving home. (Incidentally, a coworker asked me why I started working so late all of a sudden, and I don't think he bought my lame excuse.) The whole GAD/SAD/PD thing seemed very small and very foreign until recently. Now, it seems all-consuming. The violent thoughts -- they're horrible -- and nobody knows about them but my psychiatrist and Paul. They push in at the most random times and move other things (like editing) into a tiny, dusty corner.

I feel like I'm on the edge of a precipice. Slowly, it's become clear that I'm going to fall no matter what I try to do. And the scariest thing is that I don't know where the bottom is, or how bad it's going to be, or how it's going to affect me. I don't know anything other than pushing myself 110 percent -- that's how I've lived my whole life. And now, when I push and push and push, I feel the rocks sliding under my feet, and it's everything just to hold on a little bit longer until I calm down and get over it.

Of course, this leads to a whole other set of emotions that I'm not used to expressing. I feel foolish for letting this get the better of me. I feel ashamed that I'm acting self-absorbed when that isn't my intention. I feel angry that I'm repressing so much, but scared to let any of it out.

I don't want things to change around the office. I mean, somewhere in the back of my skull, I think that Stacey and Eric know something's wrong with me and that I'm trying very hard to get it fixed before it gets worse. I think they're patient with me coming into work late because I'm willing to stay late. (I don't think they have any idea that I come in late because I have to psych myself up about getting ready for work and driving into the office.) I don't want them to change my responsibilities or lessen them, because I feel like I'm giving as much as I can, and that's what they pay me to do.

I would like to say that as long as Stacey and Eric understand what's going on, I don't care what anyone else thinks. But if I said that, I'd be lying. I care very much what they think. I mean, especially now that I don't really leave my house much, they are about as close to "real social interaction" as I get. I also want them to know when I lose it (i.e. when I am sniffling because Sandy criticizes me about a single legal out of the 40+ I read each day), it's not because of them. It's because I'm trying very hard to maintain a facade of total-okayness (yes, I made that word up), and I feel like they're chipping away at it. Also, I'm quite aware of the things they say about others behind their backs, because I've heard it. It's not always bad or salacious, but it's talk. And that's the kind of talk I'd rather hear to my face.

So, I've written a whole lot, but what have I really said? Who knows. I'm tired of hiding this, because it's no more a "private disease" than any physical ailment. I'm ready for the ordeal to be over. I'm ready to move on with my life. And does that mean that I can't accept criticism for what it's worth? Well, no. But I'm having trouble focusing on the positives when I feel like the negatives are taking over everything.

I think the worst part is that my GP reminded me that there's no magic pill that fixes everything. I knew that was true, but hearing him say it really burst my bubble. It's like it's finally occurring to me that these three mental conditions are here for the long haul, so I might as well settle in and pour them a cup of coffee.

Now, against my better judgment, I'm going to paste this in an e-mail and send it to Stacey. I'm not going to reread it, and I'm not going to edit it. I'm going to let her see it for what it's worth -- raw and hurting badly just like the rest of me. And then I'm going to paste the smile on, read this stack of legals, and maybe make a pot of tea. I'm going to put off driving home, wait on a call from the psychotherapist I'm trying to see, then finally collapse into a video game with Paul. And maybe then, when eight or ten of my friends help me fight bad guys, I can start to forget about the reality of days like today.

Fighting off the crazies,
K

Speechies of goodness

You hang out with the same crowd for a long time, and you might not notice that you've picked up their dialect. My friends are mostly gamers and goons. ... And I've started talking like them.

Earlier today, I was telling my coworker about my new Rainbow Brite shoelaces of goodness, and she starting giggling. "Of goodness?" she asked me. "Yeah," I replied, "as opposed to my Rainbow Brite shoelaces of badness."

I mean, it's not like I walk down the street going, "OMG LOLLERSKATES KEKEKE ROFLCOPTER!!!!11ONE" ... but can I really help it if every once in a while I let out a or a or an ?! I mean ... I can't help it. It's just frickin' natural now.

Why can't you accept me for how I talk? Why do you hate my freedom?

Mixed Bag

Is there a full moon out?

My past has become my present, opening old wounds AND bringing back old friends. It's comforting, like wrapping up in my favorite blue blanket and drinking a cup of warm chicken noodle soup.

But part of me fears this, too. I've always been so much stronger, so much less vulnerable. I've always been the caretaker, so why do I suddenly feel like I'm crutching on the people I care about most? The hardest thing for me to admit is that I'm scared. But now, I don't think I even have to admit it. It's apparent to those who need to know.

I feel all jumbly today. Tired and happy and much more like my "old self." Maybe this is what I needed all along, the people that forced me to stay rooted in my own psyche, the ones that stuck by me when I didn't want to stick by myself. This is a good thing, right?

Priceline does it again (and that's a good thing)

Priceline.com rocks. Period.

Every time Paul and I travel, without exception, we stay at 3- or 4-star hotels, rarely paying more than $40 or $50 a night. I consider it the difference between traveling and vacationing.

When Paul and I went to New Orleans earlier this month, we used Priceline to book a stay at a historic Wyndham property called The Whitney. When we got there, we didn't have a room.

The Whitney blamed Priceline. So I called them (in a near-panic). The two people who I spoke with -- Stephanie and Mark -- calmed me down and secured me a (much nicer) room in the Bourbon Orleans in the French Quarter.

When Priceline sent out its post-stay survey, I used the opportunity to thank Priceline for getting me into another hotel -- and I praised Stephanie and Mark for their great service. I mean, in a dozen Priceline bookings, this is the first time I've had a problem -- and it was resolved better than I could have expected.

So imagine my surprise today, opening my e-mail and finding out Priceline was refunding part of my stay.

This is what keeps me going back to this company. They continually surpass my expectations. I can't recommend them highly enough, because they really go the extra mile online and over the phone.

Of course, it also doesn't hurt that their cheap prices let us travel in style. :)

P.S. I do recall that one time Paul and I traveled without booking a Priceline hotel. We were visiting Oklahoma University to look at their Ph.D. program, and the university put us up in a tiny dorm room where we had separate twin beds and no TV. Really sucky. Really, really sucky.

Mmm ... you can't get this in a bottle

Okay, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I'm no whiz in the kitchen. I mean, I used to cook extensively when I was a kid -- but then again, my mom and both my grandmothers are downright gourmets.

I think my problem is that I'm lazy. I don't want to cook. I don't want to do dishes, and I don't want to stand over a hot stove when I could just run over to Mulligan's (or O'Charley's or Mandarin Palace) and spend my time watching Law & Order reruns with Paul. Hey, it's all about priorities.

Mom amazes me, how she can throw a bunch of ingredients together sans recipe and end up with a dish worthy of the Betty Crocker Kitchen Bake-Off. She says she can taste the foods in her head, which sounds silly until I realize that I write music because I hear songs in my head. So I guess it's not that far-fetched.

I can't concoct as well as Mom on a daily basis, but I can cook without a recipe if needed. Which, as it turns out, is a good thing ... especially since I lost my favorite dressing recipe. I even searched online for a suitable replacement, but it's nothing doing. :(

So here's my version, adapted from a recipe I knew by heart as a kid:

Kate's Curried Vinaigrette

Ingredients:

• 3/4 cup olive oil (doesn't need to be the expensive stuff though)
• 1/2 cup red wine vinegar
• 2 tablespoons yellow mustard OR 1 tablespoon dry ground mustard
• 1.5 tablespoons lemon juice
• 2 teaspoons curry powder
• 1 teaspoon brown sugar
• 1.5 teaspoons garlic powder
• 3/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon cayenne powder

Directions:

• Put all ingredients in an airtight container.
• Shake to your little heart's desire. Tonight, I shook while singing that zydeco classic "Don't Mess With My Toot-Toot."
• Serve ... or stick it in the fridge. Just make sure you shake it up really well before you pour it over anything.
  

I love to make a big ol' bowl of pasta and pour this on top to taste. (Hint: It doesn't take much.) Add some freshly ground black pepper, and you're set. Also, if you're into warm potato salad, you can coarsely mash up some cooked skin-on red potatoes, add some fresh scallions, and mix this dressing in. Great for summer barbecues.

Of course, I've got to be careful what I post here in my blog. This is like my secret recipe of dressing-y goodness. Now that my readership is growing, it's not going to be so secret anymore, eh? Anyway, if you make it, let me know how you like it. It's gotten the Paul Seal Of Approval, and he's so damn picky, that I must be doing something right. :)

And now, the spirit of Martha Stewart has taken leave of my body, and I can go back to my regular take-out habits. Because nothin' says lovin' like ... food cooked by somebody else and served in throw-away containers. ^_^

Book-type update: "The Sands of Time"

I woke up this morning and realized 12 was the magic number. In 12 days, I have to have my book -- my first anthology -- to the printer. I'm ... excited-nervous-crazy-elated-scared. Really.

For those of you who haven't yet heard about the book (and haven't bothered to look at the content-weak front page of KatesInk), here's a rundown of my book, titled Short Attention Span Mysteries:

...BOOK-TYPE UPDATE FROM KATE...

Look for Short Attention Span Mysteries from Kerlak Publishing

-- set to hit stores April 2005.

52 stories of murder, mayhem, and madness, including:
Three stories with crime-solving squirrels.

Three where a victim falls off a cliff.

Two involving a decaying corpse. One involving well-preserved corpses.

Two people who intentionally wreck their cars.

And two double-crossers who find themselves double-crossed.

In addition, one story is told by a murderous horse.

One person inherits a haunted mansion; another inherits a postage stamp.

One person is murdered with a watermelon in the grocery store check-out line.

Important clues include yoga pants, light-up sneakers, or a piece of string.

Good candidates for murder: circus clowns, gay men, people who bite other people.

Ways to ingest poison: mushrooms, applesauce, alcohol, tea or chocolate cake.

And one story begins with the line: "Josh liked to poop."

Last night, I met with my publishing team and cover artist. We ate giant steaks and talked about how things were going. I know what the cover art is going to look like now, and we discussed this kamikaze timetable for the next 12 days.

I purposely keep my blog address under wraps (I mean, it's not a secret, but I don't publicize it on the front page of KatesInk.) Because of that, I'm quite sure very few-- if any-- of my 40+ authors have seen this blog. So I'm going to take a moment behind their backs to brag on them.

I was utterly amazed by the quality of the 52 stories I've chosen. My authors include high school and college students, nurses, lawyers, full-time writers, and retired folks. I've got multiple Pushcart Prize and Derringer nominees, as well as an Ron L. Hubbard Writers of The Future Contest winner and a Norumbega Fiction Awards winner. And that's just scratching the surface. The stories are as unique as their authors, and I'm proud to have worked with such a motley crew. :-)

I know I'm not the next Faulkner here. I mean, I don't even write on my own anymore, except for some poetry now and again. I'm just a nervous, sleepy editor who's young enough to still have big dreams ... and old enough to start fulfilling them. This is certainly one of those things that I can cross off my "Do Before I Die" list. (I can also cross off the "Have Crayola name a crayon after me" -- that happened last year.) What's left:

• Get my master's.
• Study Japanese tea culture.
• Play piano in Carnegie Hall.
• Learn how to do a cartwheel.
• Achieve a world record for ... something. I'm not picky.

But for now, it's off to work at the newspaper. Then back home to work on the book. I'm so swamped ... and yet I'm really having fun.

Professionally Fashionable?

I hold in my hand last night's mail: One newsletter, one postcard, a mystery shopping check, a stack of grocery adverts, a renewal notice for Electronic Gaming Monthly (18 months before my subscription expires), and a mysterious business-sized envelope from InStyle magazine.

I throw away the advertisements and notice; the check will be tucked safely away for later deposit. That done, I open the InStyle envelope, and notice it looks annoyingly like a bill. The top is labeled "InStyle Professional Rate Summary." I raise an eyebrow, then look at the outside of the envelope to make sure it really is addressed to me. It is.

I glance down further (just to make sure it really isn't a bill), and some highlighted margin text catches my eye:

Expense Account
Reimbursement:
Keep top portion for your
expense records. The cost of
your IN STYLE subscription
may be reimbursed by your
company. Consult with your
business manager.

Now, for those of you late to the game, let me fill you in on what I do: I am an editor. I turn caterpillar sentences into butterfly prose. Between my three editing gigs, my main job duties go something like this: Read stuff. Fix it. Use red pen extensively.

But according to InStyle, which sent me a convenient itemized statement to present to my "business manager," I need the following professional tools:

• Ideas to inspire my personal style
• The latest fashions in every price range
• Beauty tips & advice from the pros you can really use
• An intimate look at your favorite celebrities: their homes, their wardrobes, their beauty secrets

Okay, they've done it. They've convinced me. Instead of filling the page margins with corrections, I'm going to start using it to write critiques of my coworkers' personal style. And forget the red pens -- I've already thrown them out. I'm a professional and I need to be using professional tools ... so from now on, my corrections will be written in red lipstick, with smudgy black eyeliner used for emphasis.

Gisele, Cindy, Tyra -- those supermodels don't have anything on me. I know about A-lines and deadlines ... punctuation and decoration ... whiter smiles and court trials. And I also know that, in a pinch, a press pass works as well as a V.I.P. invitation.

I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me now. I've got to go convince my boss that my professional growth is being stunted by my lack of shiny high-volume hair -- and that the only remedy is the Spring Makeover Special. Well, that, and more red lipstick.

Top 10 Reasons Why Editing Is COOL!

This list is compiled by Jane Harrigan of the University of New Hampshire. You can click above for a link to ACES, The American Copy Editors Society (a.k.a. The Group for People as Anal Retentive As Yourself).

Now, without further ado:

Top Ten Reasons Why Editing Is COOL!
Compiled by Jane Harrigan, University of New Hampshire

(10) It's like solving a puzzle.

(9) You find a whole world of other people who go crazy over the"10 items or less" sign in the grocery store. (Or, as one new editor put it, "I can constructively satisfy my obsessive-compulsive anal-retentive tendencies and get paid for it.")

(8) Your job changes constantly; you're never bored.

(7) You become a more interesting person. You can talk about Arafat, Albright, Agassi or Aguilera and sound like you know what you're talking about -- because you do.

(6) You have responsibility and power. You decide how readers will perceive the news, how they'll perceive the world.

(5) Catching a dumb mistake before readers see it is a rush. Helping someone make a story better is the best drug there is. (Or, as one person wrote, "It's a close as an English major can come to being a doctor, or God.")

(4) Newspapers never ask writers to edit, but they love it if editors write.

(3) You could be the world's best quiz show contestant because you're a dictionary of useless information.

(2) You can move anywhere and find a job.

(1) You never have to wear decent clothes.

Interview with an editor (Answers, Part Four)

Hee hee. One more question! I also will post the Top 10 Reasons Why Editing Is COOL! list at the bottom of the question.

17. Any advice for aspiring editors???? Of course! :) Now, this is only my opinion, but these are the things that have worked for me.

• Read voraciously. Read anything you can get your hands on. Newspapers and magazines are great -- they're tightly edited AND you can learn something about the world at the same time. Some books I'd recommend are: Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss; Lapsing Into a Comma by Bill Walsh; and any number of books by Karen Elizabeth Gordon. These books are lighthearted (read: NOT a textbook!) and even humorous -- but you'll learn something, too.
• Buy -- and read -- your style guides. My newspaper editing largely references The Associated Press Stylebook. My book editing largely references The Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition. (This book is lovingly called Big Orange -- if you own a copy, you know why.) My magazine editing uses a hybrid of AP and CMS styles.
• Never turn off your "eagle eyes." I find myself mentally editing billboards, comic strips, song lyrics. Any time you read, think, How could this be tighter? Does it need to be reworded? Are there any typos? When you have your eagle eyes on, these things jump out at you. I'm not kidding.
• And this is the most important tip I can give an editor. I learned this from my U of M copy editing teacher -- and now my friend -- Dr. Cynthia Hopson. She taught me to "learn to listen to the little bells." (When you say this to non-editors, they usually look at you oddly!) But here's how to learn to listen to the little bells: Read your style guides through at least once, front to back. Will you remember everything? Of course not. It's impossible. But, hopefully, when you start editing, a word or a punctuation will trigger a little bell in your head: That might be wrong! And I know I've seen it addressed in my style guide! The little bells, I believe, are what differentiate a good editor from a great editor.

And that, as they say, is that. The Top 10 reasons are getting their own post for easy referencing later.

Interview with an editor (Answers, Part Three)

Okay, got to finish this up pronto, and I've got a few minutes this morning before I get ready for work.

10. Tell me about the story gathering process and the publishing process for the anthology. Well, the call went out in May for submissions to the anthology. The guidelines were very specific -- the story had to be under 1,200 words and be in the mystery genre. The call was published on my publisher's Web site, www.kerlak.com. It was also published online at several writers' resource centers and in the magazine Poets & Writers. The response to the call was amazing! I received around 130 stories -- and thus began the whittling-down process. I tossed out all the really bad ones and was left with about 75 or 80. (It's been a few months since all this took place, so don't hold me to these numbers.) Kerlak was also impressed by the number of submissions, and suggested we hold some of the stories for a possible second volume, based on how sales do on the first book. So 52 stories are going in the first book; the rest are being held. Right now, I'm editing the stories and writing the authors' bios. Then it goes to the copy editor, then layout, then back to me for galley proofing. Also, I've got an artist working on cover art. So there's a lot to be done before it actually goes to press.

11. Since the anthology was a small press project, will you be responsible for the publicity and sales? Yes and no. (Isn't that a great answer?) I suspect I will largely have to handle publicity because this is just the fourth or fifth book put out by Kerlak, and I don't think they really have a "press team" in place yet. As for sales, that is through Ingram. It will be available anywhere Ingram books are distributed -- so you'll be able to order it through bn.com, amazon.com, and in your local Barnes & Noble or Books-A-Million. I do want your class to understand the distinction between self-publishing and small-press publishing. I am not publishing this myself, nor am I paying anyone to do it. A small press is exactly that -- a small business that happens to work in publishing. Self-publishing doesn't always meet the same standards of quality as that done by "regular" publishers (or, those with a copy editor, a layout team, artists, etc.).

12. How does working on the anthology tie into your day-to-day role as an editor? Oh, it ties in very closely! I have a poster I keep on my wall that lists the Top 10 Reasons to Be an Editor. (I'll list the whole thing below -- it's actually quite cute.) Anyway, one of the reasons is that "Papers never ask writers to edit, but they love it if editors write." Now, while I'm not writing this book (other than the authors' bios, the forward, etc.), as the book's anthologist, I must look at it from the point of view of both an editor (which stories are well-written?) and as a reader (which stories are fun to read?). So I think actually being an editor in my day job helps me make informed decisions about which stories are well-written AND a good read.

13. Which do you enjoy more: the fiction market or newspaper? Can I say both? I mean, honestly, I edit voraciously, the way some people read. If I didn't love proofing books, I wouldn't be with Kerlak. If I didn't love proofing newspapers, I wouldn't be with The Daily News. If I didn't love proofing magazines, I wouldn't be with Memphis Downtowner. It's not that I will proof anything set before me -- Lord knows I've seen a lot of really bad stuff that I'd prefer not to edit. But these three companies are giving me opportunities in vastly different media, and it's a great adventure for me, red pen in hand. That said, I'd have to say that I find the greatest joy in editing the newspaper for the sole reason that it's a daily paper. It keeps me on my toes, having to look at all-new material every day. And it's always changing, so I never get bored!

14. Tell me about any plans you have for the future as far as newspaper publishing or fiction. I plan to go with the flow and let the chips fall where they may. I used to worry about getting a job in editing. Now, I realize I'll always have a job, because there are always sloppy writers who need to be cleaned up! :) No, I'm kidding. Seriously, though, I love my job at TDN and can't imagine being anywhere else. If, god forbid, I do end up leaving TDN, I think I could learn to be happy editing at another media publication OR for a publishing company. Look at it this way: If you work at a car wash, you're going to wash Porsches and Pontiacs, minivans and coupes, new cars, old cars, banged-up cars and cars that should be up on blocks in somebody's back yard. But your job remains the same: Get out the soapy water and scrub it clean. And that's kind of like my job. I can edit (almost) anything, as long as I get a red pen and a paycheck. The "makes and models" of publications may be different, but my job doesn't really change.

15. What is most enjoyable about your job? The changes day by day. Really, I never get bored, and I love that!

16. ... least enjoyable? The stress. Period. I suffer from three anxiety disorders, and sometimes the stress really gets to me. I try to keep my cool, though! :-)

Finding pleasure in the (fractionally) small things

Well, I spent all day Sunday editing SASM stories ... and TMD stories ... and also getting myself mentally prepped for coming back to work today. It was actually a nice segue away from vacation and into editing mode. I felt right at home with red pen in hand. ^_^

Anyway, I got to work this morning to 120 pieces of e-mail on my work account. Now I know that doesn't sound like anything to the normal person (I mean, heck, I get that much on my home account each day). But these 120+ pieces of e-mail were spam-free, thanks to TDN's crackerjack spam filter. So began the laborious task of skimming through 120 press releases, wire stories, and the like.

I got to a press release from a local chamber of commerce (which shall remain nameless) that gave me a giggle. It was soliciting advertisers for the chamber's upcoming annual mailout. It reads, in part, "Last year, the chamber made over 28,000.00 contacts."

... Which leads me to wonder what a fractional contact would look like. If you kinda met the chamber leaders but not really, would that make you half a contact? If you know the mayor's brother's second wife, are you 10 percent of a contact?

I know, it's a (fractionally) small pleasure, laughing at this press release gaff. But, hey, it's exactly what I needed to cheer me up the first day back on the job.

And, now, the eagle-eyed editor --> O_O <-- gets back to work. ^_^

Where now?

Plans were to be out of town longer than this. We had considered going to the beach for a couple of days, or maybe Nashville. (Paul wanted to see a comedian playing at Zanies; I wanted to go to the bead show there.)

We really should stay home. Paul's got some test to work on, and I need to finish editing SASM before Andrea and Chuck go kung fu on my butt. But I told the gals at the Downtowner that I was going to be out of town until Sunday, and that's as good a reason as any to keep my word.

The bags are still packed. Who knows where we'll end up for the weekend ... but I'll keep you posted.

Quizzically...?

LJ Friends Meme by

• You must tell 7 people about this game.
• Paul is the one that you love.
• Matthew is one you like but can't work out.
• You care most about Carrie.
• Matt is the one who knows you very well.
• Jeremy is your lucky star.
• The Luckiest (Ben Folds) is the song that matches with Paul.
• Today (Smashing Pumpkins) is the song for Matthew.
• Blood in the Boardroom (Ani DiFranco) is the song that tells you most about YOUR mind.
• and Love Song (The Cure) is the song telling you how you feel about life
Take this quiz

Vacation pictures

Really really about to pass out. Did I mention I need something for this migraine.

1. Our hotel was super nice. We ended up there because our original hotel was sold out for the night. (Long story.) Anyway, the Bourbon Orleans was where we ended up -- and I couldn't have been happier. It used to be a convent.

2. Our room was really posh. Really really posh.

3. Our bathroom was pretty posh too. Except there's this wall-type thing that sticks out between the sink and the toilet and I stubbed my toe on it. :( Did I mention I can't see anything without my glasses on?

4. Our room had a nightly rate to match its leetness. But, hey, I got it for $50 a night thanks to Priceline. That's a heckuva lot to pay for a regular room -- it wasn't even a suite!

5. I made a shopping stop on the way to New Orleans, so we were late getting in to the hotel. The valets said we were hard-pressed to find a restaurant -- mostly, just the bars were open at that point. We ended up eating at Tricou Court. This is their fountain. (By the way, Paul's the resident photographer ... so the blurry pics are his fault.)

6. Our hotel was next door to George Rodrigue's Blue Dog gallery. I am in love.

7. Blue dog, part 2.

8. St. Louis Cathedral is on Jackson Square. Beautiful minor basilica. Paul was able to explain most of the significance of the things I didn't understand. Anyway, this is the outside of the cathedral.

9. And the inside of the cathedral.

10. And St. Anthony's gardens in the back of the cathedral.

11. Of course, St. Anthony is a little spooky at night. O_O

12. Ate dinner at the Riverview on top of the Marriott. Most of the city pics are pretty blurry, but I assure you the view was astounding. The building all lit up in the middle of the picture is Harrah's downtown casino. It's a gorgeous Greek revival deal, not nearly as gaudy as most casinos.

13. William Faulkner's house is on Pirate's Alley. This is the plaque on the house. The bottom is a bookstore.

14. And this is the top of the house. (Because the alley is small, you really can't get the whole thing in one picture.)

15. A look down Pirate's Alley.

16. Jackson Square. Unfortunately, you can't see the street mimes, bands, tarot readers and Lucky Dog vendors. Man, this place has some serious character.

I saved the best three for last. :)

17. Paul felt the need to stop the car and get a picture of this street sign. He is SO childish sometimes. However, I think I'd be fairly embarassed if I had to list this as my address.

18. Paul with the giant hand grenade at Tropical Isle. Cute, huh? Except the hand grenade kept sucking in its nose and then spitting it back out. It was really creepy, like a giant deflatable boob.

19. Obligatory night pic of Bourbon Street. I giggle at this picture because Paul was totally sober when it was taken. I wonder if a couple of drinks would have made the picture better or worse??

Okay, that's all for now. ^_^ I need to PS these ... but not right now. I really really want that nap.

Vacare: To be free

Vacation comes from the word vacare -- latin for to be free. Why am I telling you this? No idea. However, it does remind me that I need to look up the etymology of "brooch" to rectify the pronunciation with the spelling.

So, now's not really the time to talk about my vacation. I've been home for like an hour, and I'm not quite adjusted to "real life" again. A hotel snafu landed me in an awesome restored convent on the corner of Bourbon and Orleans streets. It was posh++. (Incidentally, the idea of a convent on the corner of Bourbon Street was not lost on me!)

Had a great time. Slept late, wandered the French Quarter and Magazine Street, listened to Big Al Carson sing the blues, bought some awesome jewelry, etc. And because of the ideal locale of the hotel, I could come back to the room at any time and nap! Mang, I am all about the naps.

Didn't forget to take my medicine once. I'm a good girl. Intended to call Matt and let him know how the appointment went, but I'm putting it off. Afraid I'll end up like "the other Kate," at least in his mind, and that would be a real shame. Eh, what can you do?

Okay, Paul's gone to the lab to pick up the camera cable. I'm going downstairs to take something for this migraine. I've also been contacted by a few old friends since I've put up the blog link. Um, if you're reading this, I want you to know that was a gutsy move on my part. There's a reason it's not linked to the front page of KatesInk.com anymore. Anyway, a few have IMd or e-mailed (yay), and they've mostly gone unanswered. Look, um, all of you -- especially C., J. and M. -- are really special to me. I'm just not quite feeling like myself these days. And when I don't feel like myself, I don't really want to talk. I mean, I end up sounding like a prick anyway, and that ends up in hurt feelings, etc.

As soon as I get pics from the trip uploaded, I'll share the directory. Hang tight.

"Long Questionaire"

This is courtesy of Terre at Memphis Downtowner (and all-around nice gal). I'm taking a break from packing my bags to head to New Orleans and the beach to fill this out. But hey, a break is good, right? :-)

Welcome to the next edition of getting to know your friends. Okay, here's what you're supposed to do ... try not to be LAME and spoil the fun! Just give in, you DO have time to do it! Copy (not forward) this entire e-mail and paste it into a new e-mail that you can send. Change all of the answers so that they apply to you. Then, send this to a whole bunch of people you know *INCLUDING* the person who sent it to you. The theory is that you will learn a lot of little known facts about your friends. Remember to send it back to the person who sent it to you.

If you think you are "too busy," you ain't. Just let it sit until you come to terms with what really matters in our short lives.

Hey, just HAVE FUN!!

1. WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME? Leslie Kate Crawford-Simone. If I was a boy, I would have been named Sam.

2. WHAT COLOR UNDERPANTS ARE YOU WEARING? Purple leopardy-type print. Heck, it's nothing special. Came in one of those Hanes multipacks. Ha!

3. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Just finished a rousing game of City of Heroes, so I have TeamSpeak on. Right now, I'm listening to a conversation between seven of my closest gaming buddies.

4. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? One cannelloni from Coletta's. Paul and I had dinner with Mom and Dad so we could swap mail. All of my magazines go to their house; all of their charity crap still comes here. It's been very confusing moving into their house.

5. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Tennesienna. But only because, you know, I named it. If you buy one of the new boxes of patriotic Crayolas, I will autograph it for you. No, okay, I really won't because that's just lame.

6. HOW IS THE WEATHER RIGHT NOW? Cold front's on the move. I'm a little nervous about driving through it tomorrow, especially since there's a threat of hail and whatnot. But right now, I'm in my air-conditioned office, which is quite lovely indeed.

7. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My little brother-in-law. Kawaii! ^_^

8. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX? Generally, I try to gauge how much they're going to annoy me in the future.

9. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT YOU THIS? Does anybody ever say "no" to this question? Of course I like her. I think she'd be fun to chill with if I ever saw her out of the office. :-D

10. HOW ARE YOU TODAY? Alive. Let's not press the issue. It's been a long week. (You can read previous posts for more details.)

11. FAVORITE NON-ALCOHOLIC DRINK? Earl Grey tea, hot and strong, with a little lemon and lots of sugar.

12. FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK? Crown and coke. Or maybe screwdrivers. I don't drink much anymore thanks to the fistfuls of pills I must take. Bummer, huh?

13. FAVORITE SPORT? I love watching football and gymnastics on TV. And while it's rattling around in my brain, why do they play the World Series of Poker (or whatever it's called) on ESPN? When did poker become a sport?

14. HAIR COLOR? Naturally? Almost black, but I like to change it often (see below). Right now, it's dyed its natural color, except for one patch of auburn I missed and didn't bother to fix. It adds character, or something. First picture: Blonde. Second picture: Purple (but the photo makes it hard to tell).



15. EYE COLOR? It's close enough to black to qualify as black.

16. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Glasses. After 10 years of the contacts, they started to bother me too much to wear on a daily basis.

17. SIBLINGS? Only child. And adopted, too. [Incidentally, Terre, did you notice you listed your siblings as "2 bothers"? That's a Freudian slip if I ever heard one!]

18. FAVORITE MONTH? Anything cold but not too cold. November's pretty nice.

19. FAVORITE FOOD? My grandmother's Glorious Potatoes. They are as good as the name implies.

20.. LAST FILM YOU WATCHED? Watched Office Space on TV today. God, I love that movie. Last movie I saw in a theater was The Spongebob Squarepants Movie.

22. ARE YOU TOO SHY TO ASK SOMEONE OUT? I'm married. But if the underlying theme of this question is "Do you take risks?" then the answer is yes. I met my hubby online when I was 16. We met in person outside Tilt in Wolfchase Galleria. He wasn't an axe murderer, but he could have been. Yes, I took that risk.

23. SUMMER OR WINTER? Winter, hands down.

24. HUGS or KISSES: Hugs. They're warmer.

25. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS? Relationships.

26. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Vanilla if it's ice cream. But chocolate if it's other stuff. I mean, they took Tootsie Rolls and made them all sorts of flavors like lime and cherry and vanilla -- and they all suck compared to the original chocolate flavor. Man, you don't mess with a classic.

27. DO YOU WANT YOUR FRIENDS TO WRITE BACK? I guess... :D

28. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I'm blogging it, so whoever memes it first.

29. WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I'm blogging it, so whoever doesn't bother to meme it. :)

30. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING? I'm editing Short Attention Span Mysteries right now. But my pleasure reading of late is The Book of Tea by Kakuzo Okakura. An amazing find. Glad it was recommended to me.

31. WHAT DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT? Played video games with hubby and bro-in-law (and all my gaming buddies). That's what I do every night, which is why this place is such a mess. Hey, I don't have pets or kids, and I worked hard to get where I am. Now I'm going to kick back for a while and live it up.

32. LAST PLACE YOU WENT ON VACATION? I spent a long January weekend in New Orleans. Hubby and I picked up the flu and I missed nearly two weeks of work. Worst. Vacation. Ever.

33. FAVORITE SMELLS? My teddy bear. Smells like hubby! ^_^ I also like the smell of tea first thing in the morning.

34. WHO/WHAT INSPIRES YOU? Oh, that's a hard question to answer in a short space! My parents and grandparents inspire me -- especially my grandparents. When I was growing up, all their stories about The Great Depression and WWII were lost on me. But now those stories are real gems. Both of my grandmothers are still alive and I cherish the things they tell me when I spend time with them. I wish I had talked more to my grandfathers before they died.

35. BUTTERED, PLAIN, OR SALTED POPCORN? What an inane question to follow such a serious one. Actually, popcorn gets caught in my teeth. However, I'm a sucker for fresh corn on the cob out of my grandmother's garden. Yum!

36. FAVORITE CAR? I'm digging my Saturn VUE. After years of having a really small car, I didn't think I'd like an SUV, but it's great having room for my stuff (and leg room, too!).

37. FAVORITE FLOWER? Gerbera daisies. Daisies in general.

WHAT DID YOU DO FOR YOUR LAST BIRTHDAY? Hmm, year 24. Let's see here. I took the day off from work and celebrated with my family. Hubby's birthday is four days after mine (he married a slightly older woman!), so we celebrate together.

43. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING? "Morning already? Gotta take my meds." My first thought of any value is a short prayer that I'll have strength to make it through the day. And you know what? It hasn't failed me yet. :)

Well, that's that. Off to bed. <3

StumbleUpon

Thursday, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder. It's strange, really, how the past few years have been characterized by dealing less and worrying more.

I'm 24 years old. I fear that, in time, I won't be able to even handle simple things like going to work, mowing the lawn, tying my shoes.

And the fear perpetuates itself cyclically, like a spiraling shape hurling me towards a black hole of anxiety. I breathe deep, but the knot in my stomach only grows. The diagnosis has merely given a name to what I feel. It will take much longer to find a way out.

That's from my StumbleUpon blog. I really (really really) like Stumble. You choose categories in which you're interested, then it directs you to sites in those categories rated by other Stumblers. It's kind of like an ever-evolving Best of the Web meme. I have found some awesome sites (compelling, informative, funny, all-around-great) via Stumble. And I've made some new friends, too! ^_^

If you want to see my profile and reviews, visit http://katesink.stumbleupon.com.

If you want to visit the main site, go to http//www.stumbleupon.com.

Diagnosis: Crazy?

Well, I made it through the appointment. And Paul made it home safely from Florida. So the score is -- Us: 2; World: 0.

The diagnosis? Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Social Anxiety. Panic Disorder. The plan? More Klonopin. Even more EffexorXR. CBT, although I'm not pursuing it until I get back from next week's vacation.

Dr. Boyd talked to me (read: analyzed me) for nearly two hours yesterday. I was getting sick of talking about myself. I had already planned the first thing I was going to say to him to break the ice. It went something like this:
Me: So I have this friend who's a psychiatrist in Kentucky. And I was a little nervous about this appointment, so I got in touch with him to ask him what to expect.
Him: And what did he say?
Me: He said the goal of his first appointment is to get his patient to come back for a second appointment, so the first appointment is never too scary.
Him: (polite grin) That's cute.

Okay, so my anecdote didn't go over so well. Eh, I actually never intended for it to be funny OR cute -- I had held on to Tyler's words as my saving grace in the six weeks between the time I made my appointment and the time I saw the doctor. Maybe Tyler was just trying to keep me calm; if so, it worked. Or maybe my doctor just likes to jump in there and get the scary stuff out in the open.

I'm a little reluctant to talk about the diagnosis to my coworkers. I've never been terribly withdrawn around them, but I just don't know if I'm ready to lay my cards out yet on this one.

Scared sick

I'll be honest. I've got 14 legals sitting in front of me, and I'm taking a 3-minute break to write a little something in my blog. Consider it self-preservation.

For the first time in my life, I understand the term "scared sick." Folks, I can tell you firsthand that it's not a figure of speech. I feel like I'm gonna hurl any minute now, so I'm sipping a Pepsi in hopes that the carbonation will keep my stomach intact. Part of the problem with getting sick is that I usually throw up my medication, and that presents problems later on. I've seen my Effexor floating in the toilet, knowing that within two hours, the brain shivers will be visiting me.

You know what I think my problem is? I think it's the "M" word -- "mentally ill." (Okay, so that's actually two words -- perhaps the "M.I." words?) I don't want to be "mentally ill." I don't think of myself as "mentally ill." I'm just a nice, anal-retentive, overly apologetic girl who is having trouble dealing with normal stressors these days. But I'm not mentally ill, a la Ted Bundy or David Koresh. I don't have delusions of grandeur. I don't think my ceiling is talking to me. I don't want to kill anybody, and I don't think spaceships are going to take me to heaven.

Right now, it's T-minus 3.5 hours. My saving grace is Sherry, a coworker who has been there and done that, and isn't afraid to put her arm around me and tell me that it's going to be okay. That's about the closest I've come to a guardian angel all week, and it's nearly brought me to tears.

Well, I actually spent seven minutes typing all this, but I'm glad I've got it out of me. Hey, you know what else scares me? Going in and acting totally sane. I'm afraid that I'll act like everything's okay (like I did with Dr. Steffan) and nobody will realize how bad I feel on the inside until I explode. There's got to be a middle ground -- one in which I actually tell Dr. Boyd what's going on ... without the fear that he'll think I'm crazy. We'll see how it goes.

Of course, I'll post results.

Oh, I should probably tell Carrie at some point huh?

K

10 Things I've Done That You Probably Haven't

Okay. I've officially become the latest victim of the silly little TTIDTYPH meme floating around LiveJournal. It's all Johanna's fault. Swear.

10 Things I've Done That You Probably Haven't:

1. I've named a Crayola crayon that is now sold all over the United States.
2. I've interviewed Scooby Doo (well, the voice of Scooby and Shaggy, at least).
3. I've teetered around on a catwalk so a giraffe could eat out of my hand. (Did you know they don't have any top teeth?)
4. I took somebody's stitches out when I was four years old.
5. I wrote a college thesis on the power of Blue's Clues.
6. I've been on the field in the Superdome ... with a broken foot.
7. I volunteered to work at a presidential campaign headquarters before I could vote. (I was 16.)
8. I've taken a college-level class on comic books (and honest to God, it was one of the hardest classes I've ever taken).
9. I spent the night in a zoo.
10. I started programming BASIC at age 8 and took my first computer class at a university at age 10.

The Next Big Author?

Johanna's book signing was last night. Over 150 people showed up. It was awesome. I'm just so darn impressed with her and how she's done so well. Also, I got to see tons of people I haven't seen in a couple of years -- Candy and Bob, Matt Presson, Christy, David Arant ... the list goes on. Good times.

I did learn something from Johanna about the publishing process: You can't always trust what you read in the books. She thought it was going to take six months to hear back from agents, so she wrote three chapters of her book and started sending out queries. (Incidentally, her e-mail queries were much more successful than her mail queries -- she didn't hear back from any of the agents she queried through U.S. Mail.) Within 24 hours, she'd heard back from the agent of her dreams ... and she didn't have a book written. So she threw it together in two weeks. TWO WEEKS. I can't tell you how little I've accomplished in the last two weeks ... but suffice to say, I haven't come close to writing a book. A month after that, she'd sold the book for nearly $200,000. And now they're shopping the movie rights. Oh, and the annoying thing: Her 27th birthday was last week. She was 25 when all this went down. I've got a lot to accomplish in the next year, I guess. :-)

The book is called The Next Big Thing. Johanna Edwards is the author. The book costs $13. Buy it already, OK?

Anywho, last week in her blog, Johanna posted a "10 things" question that's making the rounds with bloggers. Figured in honor of the release of her book, I'd take a stab at it. Of course, it won't be nearly as interesting as hers!

(now moved to its own post for easy meme lovin')

Interview with an editor (Answer, Part Two)

(Answers, Part One, available here.)

7. What other editing positions do you hold? (Didn’t you say you were editor of another Downtown publication?? Besides being copy editor of The Daily News, I "moonlight" in two other positions. First of all, I proofread Memphis Downtowner Magazine once a month. Secondly, I edit book manuscripts for a small Memphis publishing company called Kerlak, which is really just getting off the ground.

8. Your opinion on the opportunities that are available in Memphis (the South) for students interested in publishing, either in newspaper or other markets? Honestly, I believe Memphis is an underserved market in print publishing of all forms. When it comes to newspapers, there's only one large one, The Commercial Appeal, plus a number of small ones -- The Memphis Flyer, MBJ, The Daily News, The Tri-State Defender. The same goes for publishing houses -- there just aren't a lot of them! But if you're good and you're driven, it won't be hard to find a job. Sometimes it takes a minor change in your job plans. Let's use the example that Jane Doe is looking for a job editing books, but none of the Memphis publishing houses have an opening. (1.) Jane could take a position editing newsletters for a corporation or a non-profit, using the clips to bolster her resume. (2.) Jane could advertise her book editing services in Poets&Writers Magazine, or to local writers' groups, etc. (3.) Jane could broaden her job search to metro and national companies. As telecommuting and e-mail become more popular, it's becoming less vital that you live in New York, for example, in order to work for a New York company.

9. Tell me about how you came to work on the anthology. I'll give you the long version, and you can trim as needed. ;-) When I was working at Barnes & Noble, I met a guy who was working on a book about HIPAA laws. I told him I edited on the side and gave him a card. A month later, I left the bookstore to work at The Daily News. A few months after that, TDN hired a database administrator -- and it turned out it was the same guy I'd met at the bookstore! His name is Chuck Dinkins, and along with three or four other people, he's running a fledgling publishing company called Kerlak here in Memphis. I started copy editing for Kerlak -- first a book titled Best of Memphis 2004, then Small-Town Gay. Soon after, I met with several of the Kerlak leaders. They asked me what I was interested in, what I thought was big right now. I told them "five-minute mysteries," were big -- you know, mysteries around 1,000 words long. They liked the idea. They told me to send out a call for stories ... and that was that.