Milkshake Thoughts

12 PM: This lunch is crap; I’m going to get a milkshake this afternoon.

2:55 PM: I’ll type that contract when I get back. It’s milkshake time.

3:05 PM: “Chocolate Milkshake, please!”

Small or Large?” Um…small is probably the better choice. But small seems so…small. Is large too much? Ah, well. “Large!” Treat yo self!

Whipped cream? Cherry? Name for your order?” Why are you still asking questions? Just take my money and give me my milkshake.

3:07 PM: YASS, MILKSHAKE!

3:11 PM: Holy crap, why did I get a large?

3:15 PM: How have I already enjoyed half of this exceptionally large milkshake before I’ve made it the short walk back to the office? *shrug*

*Drink more*

3:55 PM: How is there still so much milkshake left? It’s like Mary Poppins’s magic Chick-Fil-A cup.

4:07 PM: Large milkshake…I’m a donkey, there’s no way I’m finishing this.

4:10 PM: I think I might explode. Milkshake everywhere.

That would be pretty funny, though. Spontaneous milkshake combustion.

Ah, it hurts to laugh.

4:15 PM: WHYYY?? I don’t ever want a milkshake again.

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Doing Math

That’s one of my favorite statements to yell when trash-talking another team in literally any type of competition. Rather than SCORE! or BOOM! or IN YOUR FACE!. It’s right up there with MONEY IN THE BANK! and the always fun (but least ladylike) SUCK IT!.

I don’t know why it always makes me laugh; maybe because when I really am doing math, it feels like something to shout about. Like, I’m achieving over here!

But that’s what I’m doing right now. Math. It’s why I’ve been a little quiet on the blog, and why I’ll continue to be less present for a little while. I have to do math.

My boss strongly encouraged (read: insisted) I actually start taking classes towards getting my RPA designation. It’s one of my professional goals for 2016, and (at least until I make enough writing to quit my day job) I am in the business of real estate, so getting some letters after my name is important if I want to continue to do well in my day job (read: bring home that bacon).

So, I’ve started taking a Real Estate Investment and Finance class. Because I’m all about going big or going home. I’ve pretty much chosen the most difficult of the RPA classes to start, mostly because it’s the only one currently offered at a discount by my own company, but also because I half-heartedly hoped I might be surprisingly good at Finance (spoiler alert: I’m not). And because if my husband ever decides to actually try his hand at investment properties and flipping homes, I want to be able to contribute beyond being the pretty face welcoming people into the finished project (because I sort of hate schmoozing and small-talking people in general).

The first class was overwhelming with letters divided by letters and all this talk about depreciation and capital vs. income and present value and my head is already spinning. Since we’re adults, they expect us to read the chapters in our own time and come prepared to class with intelligent questions and insights to share. It’s like a horrible senior capstone class in college. Except, my capstone was the History of Psychology which was incredibly interesting to me. Finance and investment is…not so much.

But it’s important, and it will be fantastic knowledge to have tucked away no matter where my day-job may take me, so I will be applying myself from now through the end of July. I’ll need to take creative breaks of course, so I don’t plan to neglect my blog completely, but for the stretches of silence between posts, I apologize in advance.

I’m doing math!

The Painful Joys of Writing: Introduction

I am a writer.

Can I just say that one more time? I am a writer.

I have a hard time owning that statement, probably because in the eyes of the world, I have nothing to back it up. When a stranger asks “what do you do?”, I freeze before mumbling some nonsense about property management and commercial real estate. It always comes out like an apology, like I’m sorry for wasting their time with my dull answer. Really, I think I’m apologizing to myself for lying.

Because I’m a writer. I write. Constantly. I’m in my head most of the day and all of the night. I put words on a page almost every day, usually the old fashioned pen-and-paper way.image

I craft worlds and nurture characters and explore life’s questions. When I’m stuck–when I hold a pen and my mind is blank–I feel like my soul is dead. Panic sets in and I start to sink into the depths of despair. Writing is that all-encompassing for me.

Sure, I get paid to sit in an office and make sure the lights are on in people’s workspaces. I type up service contracts and submit invoices for payment and answer phones.

But property management doesn’t consume me. It doesn’t make me get up in the morning (if anything, it makes me snuggle deeper under the covers). It doesn’t drive me. So why do I let it define me when answering the age old “what is it you do?” question?

Probably because I know the follow up question would be “Oh, what do you write?” or “Anything I might have heard of?”. And the answer to the first would lead to the terrifying scenario of me describing my current work-in-progress the only way I can: in the lame, detached voice one must use to protect the core of her heart from unnecessary exposure. The answer to the second would end the conversation abruptly with a self-deprecating “not yet,” which is far more preferable than shouting “I’M WORKING ON IT!” even though that’s the real answer. Like, relax world, I’ll get your stupid validation eventually.

But I’ve made up my mind to own who I am: I’m a writer. Maybe I’ll be published someday, maybe I’ll only write stories for myself, but regardless, I write. It’s what I do.image

And now, in answer to those follow up questions, I guess I can say I have this blog. Even if it only has one reader (hi, Mom).