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Caelyn & Warren: An Arynthel Origin Story

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Posted by crashdlanding in Fiction, Pretend Fantasy Novel

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She pulled on the muck boots left by the door leading out into the back garden. It had rained the previous night so the already messy garden was wet and muddy. She didn’t want to collect the eggs from the chicken coup, she was still sleepy and the big rooster was out and he doesn’t like people. But She did what she was told, and stepped out the back door.


The boots squished several inches into the muck as she walked, causing her to have to take bigger steps. She held her dress hem up—she hated dresses—so she didn’t get mud on it. She sloshed and squished her way to the hen house, keeping her eyes open for that mean old rooster.


She made it safely to the hen coop, unlatching the door and squeezing in before letting any hens out. Inside she began reaching for eggs and placing them gently in the pockets of her apron. Her mother had sewn it specifically for collecting eggs, from an old dress. “Waste not, want not” she always said.

She picked up an egg, and it felt different than the others. She looked at it before putting it in her apron. It looked blue, and dirty. She shrugged and thought nothing of it, and shoved it in a pocket.

Coming back out in the mud she had to walk much more slowly this time, being cautious not to break any of the eggs. Halfway back to the house, she heard that mean old rooster crow. “Oh no,” she moaned. She hoisted the apron up as best she could, taking wider steps in attempt to cover more ground. She heard him screech again and turned to look.

He was running at her, somehow the mud wasn’t a challenge for him.
Thinking on her feet she gave up on the boots and stepped right out of them. It wasn’t hard, they were sized for a man she was but a child. She felt the mud squish messily between her toes as she began to slide. She lost her balance and landed with her hands in the mud. Instead of trying to fumble her way back up, she grabbed a handful of mud. And just like when she threw rocks at the ripe apples in the tree in the front of the house, her aim was always true.

The handful of thick mud slapped the rooster right in the head. He toppled backward and flapped his wings in anger. “I can’t wait to cook at eat you!” she screamed at him. She launched herself up out of the mud, gained her balance quickly and rushed to the door. She’d just gotten herself inside when she heard him pecking aggressively at the wood door.

She stuck her tongue out, even though she knew a rooster couldn’t see through a door, and turned around to see her mother glaring angrily at her.

“Caelyn! Look at you!” her mother said. “You’re an awful mess!” She sighed, rolled her eyes, and shrugged. “Can you collect eggs without turning into a mud golem?”

“IT WAS THE ROOSTER!” she groaned. She untied the apron gently and put it in her mother’s outstretched hands. Her mother rolled her eyes, a twinkle in them despite the serious face.

“What in the devil?!” Her father walked in. “What happened to you?” He asked her, looking at both of them “And where are my boots?”

In attempt to distract him, she walked over to her mother, who was placing the safely gathered eggs into a bowl. “Pa, look at this!” She pulled the unique egg out of the pocket of the apron and showed him.

“It was in the roost with the other eggs.”

“Hmm,” he took the egg gently and looked it over. “Wonder how it got there.” He said. “It’s definitely not a chicken egg. Best throw it out, I’d say. There are birds who will leave their eggs in another’s nest to raise.

But it’s not been kept warm so it’s likely no good.” He handed it back to her and stood. “Still, I best go check the coop to make sure nothing else can get in or out.”

“Kick that rooster for me!” She told him.

She did not throw the egg out. It looked a little dirty, but she liked it. Something about it seemed special. She took it to her bed, wrapped it in an old rag, and set it on a shelf where her small siblings couldn’t bother it. By then her mother called, “Come dear, lets get the mud off before you start sprouting weeds!”

Later that evening, just before bed, Caelyn had practically forgotten about the little blue egg. When she climbed into bed, she saw it on the window seal. “Oh! I forgot about you!” She told the egg. She got it down and held it in her hands. “What will you be?” She asked it. She remembered what her father said, it had not been kept warm. So it might not become anything.

Every day she checked the egg. Held it in her hands. In the mornings when she woke, between chores, and before bed. And she’d place it in its nest of rags every night. A few times she had to shoo away her younger siblings. And one baby brother ran to their mother. “Momma momma!” He cried out. “I want a baby egg for keeps!”

“Shush Jonah Junior!” Caelyn groaned. She’d tried desperately to reach him before he’d gotten to their mother, who sat patching their father’s britches.

“Caelyn?” She asked. “What’s he on about?”

“I don’t know,” she said sheepishly. But she couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes, so she knew it was a lie. ”I kept the egg Papa told me to throw out.” She confessed. “I couldn’t just throw it away!”

At that moment Papa walked in. “What’s all the ruckus, now?” He asked, shaking off his jacket.

Caelyn looked at her mother, hoping for a reprieve from punishment, that her mother would keep her secret. But she wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Our eldest child has kept herself a friend.” She told him, reminding him of the little blue egg from a few weeks before.

“Don’t you understand that egg may not hatch?” He said kindly. “I don’t want your heart broken over a lifeless egg.”

“I know, Papa.” She said sadly. “But I must try, I couldn’t just throw him out!”

“Him?” He asked, eyebrow raised.

“I dunno.” She shrugged, “I just assumed!”

Both parents chucked and looked at their firstborn. “Okay,” Papa said,

“In the unlikely event that that egg hatches, if it comes out as something dangerous, we must get rid of it appropriately. But, anything else, it will likely find you to be its mother and will be your responsibility.” He told her firmly.

“So I can keep it?!” She was elated.

“I hope it’s a dragon!” Jonah Junior gigged.

Just a few days later, Caelyn had to pull yet another child away from her window seal nest. “But its making noises,” her little sister said.

“It’s what?!” She asked in disbelief. She climbed up and stared down at the egg, and sure enough tiny cracks had begun to form. She picked it up gently and held it. She could feel small movements inside, and see whatever was inside pushing its way through the cracks. It didn’t take long for all her siblings and her parents to be in the room standing over her as she held the egg.

“Well, that’s a surprise.” Her father said. She beamed up at him, until he broke the news. “It might take a while for it to fully hatch. You cannot hold it the entire time.” He told her. “Best put it back in a warm safe place, and go on about your day.”

“Ah,” she sighed, disappointed.

“You can come back and check on it later.” He told her.

She did as she was told, forbidding her siblings from even going near her bed, where she tucked in her precious egg, and checked on it, it seemed, every few minutes.

She even ignored that mean old rooster when she went out to collect eggs.

Several hours later, at bedtime, when everyone else had crawled into bed, Caelyn sat in her night gown, cradling the egg in its rag nest in her lap. She whispered to it quietly, “You can do it,” she said. “I’m not leaving you.” Soon she could not hold her eyes open any longer and she dosed off with the egg in the crook of her arm.

Just as the sun rose the next morning, she woke and looked down at her egg. A large crack had formed, and all that held the egg together was the thin white membrane inside the shell. Whatever wa inside was pecking—because it had a beak—rapidly at the inside.

Caelyn sat up and gently held the egg. The animal inside began to wiggle and push the halves of the shell apart. “You can do it!” She said. “Come on!” She encouraged it to move and keep going. Within a few moments, her entire family was awake and watching the event in awe.

Soon, out pushed a tiny pink, thing. “What is that?!” One of the children asked in disbelief. “Looks like a chicken with no feathers!”

It made tiny chirping noises as the family looked on. “Based on the shape of its very tiny beak,” Papa said, “It’s a bird of prey, of some type.”

“Does that mean I have to get rid of it?!” Caelyn asked in shock.

“Uh, not necessarily.” He told her. “But your not gonna like what you’ll have to do to feed it.”

She did, in fact, not like that she had to collect worms and other small bits of meat to feed her new featherless friend. She was also able to find caterpillars and Mama let her have scrambled hen eggs to feed them.

And soon, he began to grow feathers, black feathers that started fluffy and fuzzy.

But the most striking thing of all about her new friend, who they learned was a raven, was that he had oddly piercing blue eyes.

“I never imagined a bird could look so lovingly at a child,” Mama once said, as she watched Caelyn feed the blue eyed bird. “Or a girl love a bird as much as she loves this one.”

“Ravens are smart, if not mischievous birds,” Papa said. “If she’s good to him—and she is—he’ll be good to her.”

“What shall I call you?” She asked the clever bird, who hopped around now, waiting for food. He tilted his head and looked at her in his curious way. “Warren,” she thought aloud. The first name that came to mind. “Mama, was that the name of the brave knight at the story you told us? The one who saved the land?”

“Hmm? Oh yes.” She replied.

“Then he shall be called Warren.”


For more about the #PretendFantasyNovel see my facebook group!

Thanks for Reading!

-C

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Millipedes on my pillows.

08 Wednesday Jun 2022

Posted by crashdlanding in Uncategorized

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bugs #creepycrawly, crash landing, crashdlanding, millipede, non-fiction, stories, story, video

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Millipedes on my pillows.

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Children Are Too Forgiving.

31 Tuesday May 2022

Posted by crashdlanding in Family, Motherhood, The Kid

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crash landing, crashdlanding, family, kids, love, Mo therhood, non-fiction, parenting, The Hubs, The Kid

Tonight my child didn’t want to take a bath.

This is not unusual she “hates” it. “I don’t want too!” She says.

So I gave her a warning. “You have until I get this bath run…”

So dad decides to walk in the room. I know full well he ain’t gonna be able to get her to do anything. And then I hear her crying over the sound of water running into the tub.

I go in there and cannot keep a straight face. The Hubs is just sitting in the chair and The Kid is crying in the loveseat. But I can tell (you just can as a parent) that these are not true tears. These are crocodile tears. She’s faking it. She’s getting really good at faking it.

So I straighten my face up, ask her if she’s done. She stops the fake tears, and I have to raise my voice. Not yelling or screaming. But clearly showing her I am the boss, not her.

Eventually she reluctantly comes to the bathroom for the bath. And no time later, she’s back to telling me, “you’re the meat mommy in the whole world.” And “guess whose my favorite in the whole world?” And the ever amazing, “you’re my favorite mommy.”

Kid I’m your only mommy. But I ain’t mad.

She is young yet. Less than ten. She has not been jaded or broken or wounded by the world, or worst of all, a parent. She’s not had her heart truly broken by someone she can trust, someone she loves.

It’ll happen one day. If it is by lort, punish me for eternity because I would never harm that child if I can help it. But if someone else does it they have me to deal with. And my wrath will be mighty.

But seeking vengeance for my baby’s broken heart will not heal it. And one day she will be hurt and she’ll see she cannot be so quick to forgive. Though I wish I could keep her pure and loving and happy for ever.

Love your babies, friends.

And beware the almighty wrath of the momma.


Thanks for reading!

-c

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Memorial Day

29 Sunday May 2022

Posted by crashdlanding in Family, Non-Fiction

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ask a mortician, commercialization, compost, crash landing, crashdlanding, cremation, family, flowers, funeral, honor, mass produced, Memorial Day, memories, non-fiction, YouTube

Memorial Day started as a day to remember and honor the lives of United States military personnel lost in service. But like all national holidays, Memorial Day has morphed into something else.

Now, every year families get together and purchase mass manufactured (questionable quality) Memorial Flowers from big box retailers.

Now while, in my decade plus of working in retail, I have seen the quality of these flowers improve, they’re still expensive. Especially if you’ve got a lot of graves to cover.

This post is not about Memorial Day. This post is about how life and death are both expensive.

Flower Power

My Mother-in-Law, a widow, every year spends hundreds of dollars on handmade memorial flowers. She buys them for her husband, her son, and her daughter-in-law, who all passed in the years I’ve known them. But she also buys them for her siblings and parents, and a little brother (I think) she lost when he was very young.

She usually buys them for her In-Laws, but another family member took care of those this year, making travel and expense easier. She purchases these off one of The Husband’s cousins.

I recently asked The Hubs, “when your mom is gone, are you going to buy all these flowers and put them on yourself?”

His answer was that probably definitely for his parents and brother and sister in law.

When my mother passed, she was cremated. It was one of the things she said she wanted, more than once. She had a habit of not making her mind up, and she also didn’t want a financial burden put on us. And she knew that cremation was much less expensive than burial.

And I’ve been asked on occasion if I’ve felt like I’m missing out because I have no where to put flowers, or visit her. My response is always no.

Why? Because not only do I have what I like to affectionately call a shrine—a little shelf on the wall with her picture, a framed lighthouse postcard from a friend (hi, Selena), a figurine of the lighthouse where we spread most of her ashes, a small bottle of her ashes, and a really weather beaten Pepsi can—but I feel like she’s with me every day.

But also, these physical forms we walk around in, these squishy, fragile, sacks of meat with faulty parts and an expiration date, these are nothing. Even those who are not religious know that we do not linger here when our bodies expire.

And eventually there will come a time when we are each forgotten. For some it may take long, some are forgotten in a single generation.

No, do not buy flowers for to decorate a marble or granite slab of stone resting atop six feet of dirt. You might on day but a body in that box, with a full suit, nicely done hair, and makeup to hide the death. But eventually that box will hold nothing but old bones and ratty textiles.

Not only do I not want to be an expense or a burden while alive—at some point I’ll no longer be able to work and will be taking up space—but don’t waste your hard earned money on something I’ve left behind.

Like a hermit crab out grows it’s shell and leaves it behind, once we die we don’t linger. So, unless necromancy becomes mainstream, compost me (unless of course state law STILL forbids it). Otherwise, toss me in an oven and roast me at 1400 degrees Fahrenheit until crispy.

Then take what’s left and do with it what you will. There are options.

Before mom died, she’d said, amount other things, to spread her ashes at a lighthouse. She had a particular one in mind but could never remember it. I know she’d have been happy with where we chose.

But, I also think, that despite her desire to not have money “wasted” on her, she would have been perfectly content with the money spent. Because all four of her kids were under the same roof, and did something together, because of her.

Amount of Money doesn’t determine how much love there is.

Just because you spend hundreds of dollars on flowers, every single year, to decorate a stone above a box in the ground, doesn’t mean that you’re honoring that memory any better than anyone else. There are more meaningful less commercial ways to do it.

But as I always say, I’m no expert, and I’m no one’s boss (except The Kid, but that’s a post for another time). If it makes you happy, and you have the means to do so, honor the memory of your loved one how you see fit. Just don’t judge others for the way they do it.

And don’t wait until THE WEEKEND OF MEMORIAL DAY to do it and expect YOUR LOCAL RETAILER to still have what you want.

Thanks for reading!

-c

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Ya Girl is BROKE broke

28 Saturday May 2022

Posted by crashdlanding in Arts & Crafts, Handmade Jewelry, jewelry, Non-Fiction, Products

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crafting, crafty, crash landing, crashdlanding, handmade, Handmade Jewelry, help me I’m broke tho., jewelry, jewelry making, non-fiction, YouTube

Link to my Store.

Broke like the broomstick of an elephant wizard learning to play quidditch. Okay I didn’t mean physically broke. I mean broke like I reach into my pockets and moths fly out cartoon style broke.

I’m adding images for posterity.

But the physically broke thing applies too. However, this post is amount money.

How many gifs can I fit in this post?

Despite the fact that I make a decent living at my Day Job, I have very little money at the end of the pay period. It’s mostly because of a truck with a growing list of problems and a thirst for expensive things.

Insert joke about gas prices.

I can’t just blame it though I eat and like to buy The Kid things.

Anyway, I’ve decided that I needed to engage one or more of my 72 side hustles. And since I can’t afford to upgrade this website suite to monetize it (I would LOVE TO), it’s gonna have to be one of the 71 others.

JEWELRY MAKING

Now, I know I have never made a significant amount of money off jewelry making in the past, and I’m not delusional enough to think I’m gonna ride a wave of earrings straight to the bank.

But I have several social media outlets at my disposal.

Feel free to, you know, check me out.

That time I made a YouTube video like I was about to do a series 🤦‍♀️

I enjoy jewelry making and I have probably about a thousand dollars worth of jewelry making stuff. Okay I might be exaggerating. But I might not.

I stopped making jewelry because I got disheartened that no one wanted anything. Or they all wanted the same thing and I didn’t have enough. Or the large pieces I made wouldn’t sell.

https://crashdlanding.com/2021/08/16/gray-is-glass/
Yeah. I tried to wear her to my brother’s wedding and the bracelet broke. Might fix might take apart.

Anyway, I’m going to try to mass produce as many different kinds of earrings as possible and hope something sells. I’ll use my socials to advertise (freely not paid) and hope I make a dollar.

Wish me luck.


Thanks for reading

-c

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You Have Done A Bad Thing

26 Thursday May 2022

Posted by crashdlanding in Fiction, Uncategorized

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crash landing, crashdlanding, current events, dark, death, fiction, loss, pain, political, Politics, violent

His vision began to clear. He remembered everything being black moments ago. But was it moments? Or minutes? Or hours or days? He couldn’t be sure. He looked at his hands, empty. His shirt clean. Then his memories began to clear.

“They shot me.” He said aloud. His voice was there but not. I’d didn’t echo or carry. “They shot me, I remember that.” He remembered it but had no emotion. It was like a fact from the past. His past but not. Just something that happened to some one.

“Where am I?” He stood. He thought he’d be shaky or unsteady but he was not. He looked around the room. It was gray. Floor to ceiling. Not dark, but there was no light fixture to keep it from being dark, but somehow there was light.

“You did a bad thing.” A voice, from no where and everywhere said.

“What? Who is that!? Where are you?” He asked aloud. The voice echoed inside the room but his did not. It sat in the air around him.

“You did a very bad thing.” The voice spoke again. It’s tone was lower now. He sensed he should feel something but could not. “You did a very VERY BAD THING.” The voice seemed to roar those last words. The reverberated against the walls. And now he could feel something. He felt the voice echo in his bones.

He put his hands on his chest and torso, as if he could hold his insides, keep them from shaking. His hands felt wet. He pulled them away and they were bloody now. His shirt was covered in blood. He could feel the sting. It started as a sting.

“YOU HURT THOSE CHILDREN.” The voice shook the room. “INNOCENTS.”

Pain shot through him as his bones and guts vibrate inside him. He felt tears on his face as his eyes blurred and burned. He touched his face with shaky hands to wipe the tears but what he wiped away wasn’t tears but more blood. “I’m bleeding to death!” He screamed. But again his voice seemed to go no where.

“YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD.” The voice tore at him. “AND THAT IS NOT YOUR BLOOD.”

Then the screams started. Children’s screams. They ripped out of his ears, his eyes, his chest. They were coming out of him, tearing him to pieces. The pain he could not feel before received it’s revenge. It ripped its payment from the inside out. He could feel it clawing away at his chest.

“YOU ESCAPED EARTHLY PUNISHMENT. YOU SHALL NOT ESCAPE THE ETERNAL.” The voice boomed.

He fell to the floor. On his hands and knees he tried to squeeze his eyes closed. To not see the bloody gray floor before him. For a brief moment he wanted to beg.

Painful cries of broken hearts began in chorus with children’s screams, a dreadful song of fear and pain and sorrow.

He choked on blood now pouring from his mouth. “God,” he strangled out. “Please—” he began.

“I AM NO GOD.” The voice boomed. “YOU CANNOT REPENT YOUR SINS TO ME AND BE FORGIVEN.”

He gurgled a groan in misery. And then the voice was in his ears a whisper and and yet still so terrible.

“I AWAKEN WHEN INNOCENT VOICES ARE SILENCED WITH VIOLENCE. I RISE WHEN ACTS OF EVIL ARE COMMITTED. WHEN DEBTS MUST BE PAID.” The voice sliced at him like a whip. “I COME FOR THOSE WHO DO BAD THINGS.” The voice said. “AND YOU HAVE DONE A BAD THING.”

He writhed in pain. Wondered when it would stop. Wondered if it would ever stop. At the precipice of blackness, all sound stopped, and he heard nothing for a brief moment but his own struggling breath.

And then the voice spoke again. Quiet this time. “NOW HEAR THE SOUNDS YOU’VE SILENCED. HEAR WHAT YOU’VE TAKEN AWAY FROM THE WORLD. HEAR AND ANGUISH. FOR YOU WILL FOREVER ANGUISH LIKE THOSE WHOSE HEARTS YOU’VE BROKEN.

Then, one of the most beautiful sounds in all the world, the sweetest of sounds. Laughter and happiness, of children, of women, of men. For the innocent souls of those taken too soon suffer no more. In spite of what someone might want.

Uncountable moments or minutes or hours or days later, blackness turned to blur, blur turned to a gray room with light but no light. And a booming a voice from no where and everywhere. “You have done a bad thing.”


There is a conversation that needs to be had. But too many opinions of what needs to be said make peace and compromise impossible. I feign no knowledge or authority on any subject matter. I only know what I feel and believe. At some point I’ll share my options on the subject matter. But for now I’ll keep those lost, those hurt, and those left behind in my thoughts. As always. Thanks for reading.

-c

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At what point do I let myself stop being so strong?

23 Monday May 2022

Posted by crashdlanding in Non-Fiction, Truth, Uncategorized

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back pain, crash landing, crashdlanding, exhaustion, life, non-fiction, pain, retail, work

Ok that came out weird. Three days ago my back went out. Well, not completely, just enough for me to be in constant pain if I’m not in precisely the right position, but not enough for me to take time off to recuperate.

Honestly you can just add it to the growing list of aches and pains I deal with on a daily basis. Things like what I think is plantar fasciitis in my left foot, or how sometimes when I take a step with either foot I get a pain in my ankle joint and for a split second I cannot put weight on it. How about the fact that MY ARMS HURT. I am a side sleeper and I cannot sleep on my arms anymore without pain.

My hips hurt from compensating with my feet. My knees hurt because walking and bending and crawling in the floor.

The back pain right now is currently top of my list of “Why If Sucks To Be Me.”

Honestly if I had a pill I could take that would make all my aches abs pains disappear long enough for me to be a functioning adult, I’d probably develop a dependency. Honestly having a moment where I have absolutely no pain would be absolute freaking bliss. A high I will never achieve.

So at what point can I stop the “grin and bear it” thing I’ve been doing for, honestly, years now? Because I’m tired. I am not just physically but emotionally and mentally exhausted.

I’ve gone to work every day I’ve worked since my back went out. I spend the entire rest of the day when it happened at work. I went in the next day because “my brother’s getting married, if I can attend a wedding I can work.” When it should have been “if I can finish out my day after hurting my back, I can work another and attend a wedding.

Actually it should have been neither.

But because I am stubborn I didn’t want to miss work. Because

  1. Last time I hurt my back I had to take a leave. And it was deemed “not medically necessary” by the company that controls leave of absences for my Employer. Those missed days weren’t approved and I nearly lost my job because of it.
  2. I don’t like to think I’m letting someone else down or leaving more work for them to do.
  3. I’m a stubborn ass.

At some point I will break, in some form. I get home from work and can’t walk anyway, and now I’ve got this back pain to deal with.

Hopefully in a week or so it’ll let up. Probably would quicker if I had some time. But I don’t.


Thanks for reading.

-c

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I woke up this morning and my body chose violence.

19 Thursday May 2022

Posted by crashdlanding in Uncategorized

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back pain, clearance, crash landing, crashdlanding, injury, life, melatonin, non-fiction, remodel, retail, work

First off, I woke up with a headache. That shouldn’t even be a thing.

Second, I forgot pants. No, I didn’t leave the house without them, I’m pretty sure my Day Job wouldn’t let me get into the building without them. These are unattractive legs. They’re mine, but unattractive.

I realized I forgot to ensure I had clean pants for work. So I sat on the throne (🚽) and “read the news” (but also read the news because smartphones exhaust), just… pantless.

Then, I got up because it was time for The Hubby to “read the news” and I proceeded to drop things. My deodorant into the sink, the box of cotton swabs on to the floor, my shoes. my thought aloud to my spouse were, “is this how my day is gonna go? The universe is telling me it is.”

Honestly it was lucky I took my morning dose of ibuprofen. I’ve taken it every morning for the last few days hoping to minimize foot pain. Aside from everything else on my feet hurting, I’ve be blessed (and I mean that sarcastically) what I believe is plantar fasciitis. Nothing I do helps it, except staying off my feet as much as possible. But guess what? That’s my whole job.

Anyway I make it to work on time-ish. I plan for a productive day, but lo the Remod crew has been hard at work to destroy that which we know so well. Leaving my team (of which I do not lead) to clean up.

Boss works on that while I do other time sensitive tasks. he later asks me ti help with his work, and I commence. Which requires a whole load of bending in picking.

And then it happens.

The Twinge.

A tingling, jarring, unnerving split second of pain. Now the first twinge is nothing. It’s a whisper of what could be. So, as always when I get The Twinge, I stand perfectly still. I think, “is this it? Am I down for the count? Is my life over? Will this be the one that paralyzes me for good?” You know, because anxiety.

So I test the water. There it is again but not quite as there. Subtle. Now is when I think, “this could go one of two ways. Either it goes away never to bother me again… until the next time.” There’s always a next time. They’re just not always close together.

Or. This is the end.

Well, the problem was that I still had a great deal of bending and picking to do. Like a lot. And I was barely two hours into my day. And because I am the type of person to not want to let anyone down because it makes me feel like I’m not doing what I should be doing, I know I will not leave.

Because the last time I injured my back (did I mention this was my back) I was out of work for four days, could not physically move without pain. But I did not get approved for leave from work and I nearly lost my job because my absences were not approved. Apparently leave was not medically necessary.

Horseradish.

So I was not leaving work so I could get in trouble for leaving work. Well I had PPTO so I would have been fine.

But as I told my much younger than me boss: I have been ignoring concerning aches and pains for decades. I’ll be fine.

I made it though my shift. Mostly whining, groaning, and banging non-fragile items on hard surfaces because sometimes you hurt and want to break thinks like you are broken.

I even managed to come home and make a crafty wedding gift.

And now my melatonin has slapped me in the face and is trying to pull down my eyelids. I’ll update tomorrow if I’m able to roll out if the bed tomorrow morning.

Goodnight

-c

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There’s a reminder on my phone to tell me to blog

18 Wednesday May 2022

Posted by crashdlanding in Uncategorized

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Tags

blogger mom, cleaning, crash landing, crashdlanding, depression, life, non-fiction, stress

I can’t remember how often I have it set to remind me, because I ignore it most of the time.

But a few days ago I decided that enough was enough and I was gonna make a change. No. Not more blogging. Although I need to.

Between undiagnosed depression, being a parent, a full time job, and all the things I’ve expected of myself, and exhaustion from all those things combined, my home has suffered.

Yes, I can fix a broken kitchen drawer slide. Yes, I have installed a ceiling fan and a dishwasher, and most recently a doggy door (that last one almost made me lose my mind). I am a handy wife.

But I absolutely hate cleaning. It’s exhausting and never ending. And so, every single room in my home is a mess.

Surprise surprise, I am not a Blogger Mom. You see all these people with fancy beautiful spotless homes on the internet and YouTube and tiktok and they have clean homes and it’s absolutely depressing.

I’ve spent many a day stumbling through the house on my bad feet, wondering “if I trip and fall and break an ankle, and I have to call an ambulance, Will they report me and take my child away?” Or “if I die tomorrow, there’s going to be nothing but garbage and dirty laundry left of me.”

Maybe I could just fake a home invasion and robbery and “accidental arson”? No, wait, prison is bad.

I come home from work and think I need to clean. But it has become so overwhelming that it seems absolutely pointless. I’ve tried to just clean my room, the room I spend the most time in. But it seems that the mess grows back like dandelions after a rain storm on a freshly cut yard.

So I decided, two nights ago, that on my next day off from work (today), I was going to start small. The smallest room in my house, that I can move around in semi comfortable (so not the laundry room) is the bathroom.

In the bathroom is a floor carpeted with TP and laundry. The Kid stopped using her potty seat months and months ago, yet it’s still here.

The sink area is covered with fast food cups and beauty supplies. I have a drill in the floor.

Hey. Drill brushes are fun.

So, I’m gonna start here. and I’m going to work my butt off. Hopefully the endorphins from actually cleaning and getting it done help encourage me to choose another room.

But dang. The laundry is going to be never ending.

Wish me luck.


Thanks for reading.

-c

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This makes me laugh. It’s ok to laugh at your own videos right?

04 Wednesday May 2022

Posted by crashdlanding in Uncategorized

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Tags

aggression, clay, crafts, crash landing, crashdlanding, create, polymer clay

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This makes me laugh. It’s ok to laugh at your own videos right?

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