Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Inconvenience Yourself Day, and Other Don’t Miss Holidays

I was doing some research the other day—OK, I was noodling online instead of doing what I was supposed to be doing, like writing—and I stumbled across lists of crazy holidays**. Or as one site titles them, “observances, awareness days, theme days, and celebrations.”

We all know Talk Like a Pirate Day, right? That’s September 19, in case you’re wondering. You’ve got another seven months before it be time, matey. But you wouldn’t believe the treasures this week alone offers:

Tuesday, February 22, was Single-Tasking Day. Honestly, I know some people for whom every day is single-tasking day. This didn’t excite me much.

Wednesday, February 23, is not only Curling is Cool Day (!), but also Inconvenience Yourself Day. I’m going to spend a lot of time Wednesday thinking about how to truly and best celebrate Inconvenience Yourself Day … which may be its own answer, really.

Thursday, February 24, is National Chili Day (I know what I’m having for lunch!) and National Personal Chef Day. That’s simply not nice. Why make me feel inferior because I can’t celebrate it?

Friday, February 25, is … nothing! Nothing, according to the bible of all weird days. But my backup Web site offered up this gem: Pistol Patent Day.

And that begs the question—about not only Pistol Patent Day, but National Tortilla Chip Day (Feb. 24), Be Humble Day (Feb. 22), and all the other days—do we really need these? OK, I could argue for Introduce a Girl to Engineering Day (Feb. 24), but the rest? What do you think? And what are your favorite “holidays”?

I leave you with February 26, For Pete’s Sake Day.

**After a bit of research (hey, this turned into its own quest), I decided that the most legitimate resource was the one published as a book for purchase (or available online daily): Chase’s Calendar of Events. Though occasionally I got distracted by crazy days from other sites … I mean, who doesn’t like International Dog Biscuit Appreciation Day?

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Undone by Sweater Pills

I’m six months out from the release of my first mystery novel—wait a minute, had to put my head between my knees for a minute, because that still makes me feel faint sometimes—and after a four-month crash course in “ohmigod, how do I promote this thing?!” I’m finally coming to terms with the scope of activities and opportunities available to me.

Notice that I said “coming to terms with.” I said nothing about “have a handle on,” nor “ready to confidently march forward and flog this bad boy.”

It’s been a long few months of research. But much like my fiction writing, I just have to keep forging ahead, keeping the faith that I can make it make sense someday. So yay, I’m starting to have a plan, to mark dates and options on a calendar. I’ve even kept writing on the second book a little bit. It’s just the rest of my life that’s falling apart.

The day job is fine. That pays the bills, so it has to remain fine. And I’ve slowly restarted my exercise regime. I’ve managed to keep my fingernails tidy and unbitten (if you know me, sadly, you know this is progress)—which is a point of personal pride and a mark of maturity.

But my house is a mess—and I mean dusty and disorganized both. I don’t manage to really cook (as much as you can call what I do “cooking”) more than once a week. I have piles of papers that represent tasks to complete, bills to pay, friends to follow up with—items to return, for Pete’s sake! But what really got me were the sweater pills.

Really. I can’t find the time to sit down with a lint roller or our battery-operated shaver (I even own one of those!) and shave the damn pills off my sweaters. Or worse, the little wormy-pill-logs under the armpits. Does this make me a bad person? Does it make me look hopelessly disheveled? Do I care? And why is this threatening my hard-won feeling of finally being in control of my life? Does anyone else go through this, or am I just insane?

Don’t answer that. Or do, and tell me what thing-you-know-you-should-do is the thing you never get to.