Analytics

Technology is pretty amazing these days. It’s also informative and potentially scary. I’m writing a book that begins in the year 2002 and I couldn’t remember what technology was around back then so I did a little research. Did we have laptops? What kind of phones did we use? What about digital cameras? What I discovered is…I’m old and the technology of twenty years ago was primitive in comparison to what we have today. Back then we used flip phones to (slowly) text and call people. Remember those days? When we spoke to people instead of shooting off a quick text? Or voice to text? And then the geniuses in Silicon Valley added the (fuzzy) photo feature and before you know it, we’re carrying computers in our pockets that do everything from transferring money and editing photos, to reserving flights and making movies! I have all the news I could possibly read in the palm of my hand. That definitely falls in the ‘amazing’ category.

In the ‘informative’ and ‘potentially scary’ column, I include website analytics. Normally, anything with the word ‘analytics’ in it may as well be written in Sanskrit for my lack of understanding. But these website analytics are simpler to comprehend than the name suggests. Even I understand this stuff. For instance, every time someone clicks on my blog, these website analytics tell me not only what page they visit and when, but the IP address and town a reader lives in!

When I first opened these analytics, I thought…I don’t need to know this much information about my readers! Though I will say I’m continually amazed by the number of people who read my blog and the geographic diversity represented. To those readers, I say thank you! I’m flattered and still have no clue how you found me. I’m just a romance writer from little ol’ Rhode Island.

But here’s where the ‘scary’ comes in. One day, I noticed a lot of my visitors were from Warwick, RI. That seemed odd considering I know maybe two people who live in Warwick. So I scanned the IP addresses and the vast majority of those clicks were from one person who checked my blog sixty-seven times in a single day!  You read that right. Sixty-seven! I’m a pretty good writer, but I’m no Shakespeare. This person obsessively visited my blog from nine in the morning until close to midnight. Should I be worried? Would the police consider this stalking?

There are a few others who visit my blog a ‘potentially scary’ amount. People from my tiny home state. Based on these analytics, someone in Coventry could be considered stalker material. There are also a couple of potential suspects from East Greenwich and North Kingstown the police might want to question if anything ever happened to me or the people I care about. Just putting it out there because with these numbers, you never know! Visiting my site once or twice a day, sure, but sixty-seven times? Analytically speaking, you’re unhinged! I’m making sure my doors and windows are locked. I’m not parking in dark lots without a can of mace.

What’s the saying? Forewarned is forearmed? I give you fair warning? I don’t know…it’s something along those lines. Potential stalkers, you have been digitally noted. I’ll leave it at that.

Fishbowl

I had to eat some humble pie recently and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I remained silent until silence was no longer an option. When you fuck up, intended or not, sometimes you have to eat fucking pie to stop the situation for escalating further. So I did and only time will tell if my indigestion was worth it.

In the meantime, I’ve been living in my least favorite state: uncertainty. The in-between. Purgatory. Flux.

I was talking to a friend the other day, explaining how bizarre it feels not knowing where I stand amongst some members of the community. I’ve earned a reputation for working hard, honesty and integrity. For any one of these qualities to be questioned, unfairly or not, is unpleasant (to put it mildly). My friend’s response to my discomfort was “luckily your friends are antisocial” and I couldn’t help but laugh. Those closest to me don’t give a crap what anyone thinks. (Most of) my island friends are indeed antisocial and thank god for that!

It’s hard to live in a fishbowl, where everyone is up in everyone else’s business. My attitude over the years has been the less I know the better. I don’t need to know who slept with whom however many years ago, which person broke up so and so’s marriage, who’s a drunk or has overdosed in the past. Who’s been sober and for how long. It’s none of my business until it affects one of my students. Then I’m looped in, but without judgment. I leave that to others.

At the moment, I don’t know whether I blend into the scenery or am the exotic fish in the bowl. Will some people stare or have they moved on? Am I completely paranoid or right on the money? I just don’t know, and I always know! That’s the benefit of living a life above the fray! I know who likes me and who doesn’t (no one is universally liked. no one). I know who I can trust and who I can’t. Call me intuitive. When it comes to the important stuff…I just know. It must be horrible to live a life of uncertainty day in and out.

But time is on my side. If ever there was a moment to be completely misjudged, I couldn’t have picked a better one.

In this temporary state of uncertainty, I’ve kept a lower profile than usual (who knew it was possible?). Eating the frigging pie either worked or it didn’t. I know who I am.

Hmmm…typing those words felt good. I know who I am.

Damned straight, I know who I am! What the hell have I been afraid of? A dirty look? Bring it. If someone glares at me, I can glare right back. Shit, after a million years in the classroom, I’ve mastered the stare down. If anyone wants to have an uncomfortable conversation? Let’s chat. I can handle it. Why? Because I’m a formidable woman and can hold my own. Anytime. Anywhere.

Well…this little mind dump has been extremely helpful! I needed to remind myself who I’m dealing with here and it’s not the gossip hounds. I’m dealing with ME and I know I can handle just about anything. Been there. Done that.

Yeah…it’s time to wipe the crumbs off my face and take a leisurely stroll about town. Maybe smash the fishbowl while I’m at it.

Fuck humble pie. I’ve got this.

Modified Diet

What I’d like to write about today is far too incendiary. I wouldn’t want anyone to stroke out or have a nervous breakdown. So I’ll simply say this; cake is delicious. My relationship with cake has been complicated, this is true. I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to figure out the nuances of my connection with this particular baked good. Cake is enticing and has a lot to offer. The taste, texture and aroma of a good cake can overpower a person who has been deprived of sweets for many years.

Sometimes cake tells you what it thinks you want to hear. For instance, you won’t gain a pound if you eat the whole damned cake. Everyone knows that’s a pipe dream! You’ll gain a shit ton of weight if you eat more than a slice, day after day after day. I understood this, but shoveled it down whole anyways. I ate the entire cake instead of being honest with myself; I can only handle a slice at a time. I packed on pounds I couldn’t afford and carried around that weight for too long.

But what is life without cake? Is it an either or situation? Every problem has a solution and there is indeed an antidote to this complex equation.

I don’t have to cut cake out of my diet entirely. My relationship with cake can change if we’re both willing to redefine the parameters. I’ve done my part by establishing boundaries, setting limits and controlling how much I eat. Cake, in turn, has changed up its ingredients and produced a new variation that’s organic and unassuming. It scraped off the rich sugary icing and no longer overwhelms the senses. As an added bonus, cake finally recognizes its value and won’t let just anyone take a bite.

I now have a more honest relationship with cake and am happy to once again partake of a slice on this new modified diet.

*this is a work of fiction; any resemblance to actual individuals or events is purely coincidental

Control

It’s quiet in here. I’ve been in constant motion, surrounded by people every day for almost a month. Now? Everyone is gone and I could sleep for a week. Some people don’t like to be alone but I’ve never been one of them. Oh, I have lonely moments now and then, but for the most part, I enjoy my own company. That’s when I get to create a whole other universe where I control everyone and everything. In my stories I can be the person I always wanted to be, eat whatever I want and never gain an ounce, live in my dream house, travel to far off places, explore different professions, create the ideal man, choose my motherhood status, bring my mother and brother back to life. Where I exist in an alternate reality, one in which I’m pulling all the strings for hours at a stretch.

After reading those words some may conclude I’m not a happy person, but they’d be wrong. I am happy most days. I’m a silver lining kind of gal, the cup is half full. I’m an optimist, a dreamer. Even when things are shitty, I know the feeling or situation will pass. It always does. Generally speaking, I don’t let other people bring me down. I may get pissed off for a spell, but I stopped caring what other people think about me a long time ago. I have nothing left to prove to anyone but myself.

I firmly believe whatever we put out into the world, is what we receive. If the past fifty-one years have taught me anything, it’s that. Spread hate, hate comes back to you. Spread love, you get love in return. I have a lot of love in my life, so I must be doing something right. My friends are my family. This isn’t to impugn my blood relatives, they are good people, but would we hang out together if not connected by DNA? Maybe? Maybe not? My friends, however, we cheer each other on and lift each other up when life gets hard. If I hit a bump in the road, all I have to do is send out the SOS and my people, my chosen family, are there for me. It helps that I’m a good judge of character and don’t allow fake people into my orbit.

Other people aren’t as fortunate. I feel sorry for good folks who allow toxic people into their lives. For whatever reason, they don’t know the difference and have been made to feel like they deserve less than loyalty and kindness. It’s unfortunate when they’re blind to the bad intentions of others. My bullshit-o-meter is finely tuned and for that I say ‘thank you, god!’ What’s glaringly obvious to me isn’t necessarily apparent to others. But bad apples eventually fall to the ground and it brings a smile to my face when good people shake the rotten fruit from their branches.

What makes a person toxic? How did they get that way? Some may argue they had shitty childhoods or were abused by people who were supposed to love them and I can see that. I understand how that could make a person unpleasant. But we all have within ourselves the ability to overcome the circumstances of our childhood and/or unkind, even abusive, lovers. It isn’t easy, but it’s possible if one is willing to put in the work.

I think toxic adults (people in the 40+ bracket) are fueled by one thing: jealousy. They want what others have instead of appreciating what’s within their reach. Toxic people are never satisfied and feed off others’ misery. If they can’t be happy then no one else should experience joy. It’s the poor-me syndrome. Grown-ups whining and wincing, gossiping and sniping, when they should be in intensive therapy. Or at the very least, doing some serious self-reflection.

I’ve taught my kids that jealousy is a wasted emotion. It makes people bitter, resentful and cruel. To those who feel the need to tear others down, I share one piece of advice; life is long (knock wood) and in the end the only person you’re competing against is yourself. Choose love and acceptance. You’ll be a happier, more contented person.

Happiness doesn’t guarantee a life of ease, even for a cockeyed optimist like me. Grief has long tentacles and tightens its’ grip more often than I’d like (to put it mildly). There have been many days over the past year I’ve had to push myself to do the simplest things, like get out of bed and go to work, brush my hair and teeth, make dinner, wash the dishes, do the laundry. Vacuum. Dust (that’s the hardest for some reason). Grade the papers. Simply being present for the people in my life is a struggle on those occasions. Grief empties the vessel and drains my energy.

Yet even on those dark days, I believe better days are ahead, that this too shall pass.

There’s very little in this world we have total control over. I can’t control the weather or fix the state of our broken democracy. I can’t control other people’s behavior or words. I can’t make people fall in or out of love. I can’t control the aging process, wrinkles, menopause…the whole nine. But I can control what happens in my books. I can play ‘god’ and create characters who reflect the attributes of people in my life or aspects of my own personality. I can unleash the demons inside and change the trajectory of the story with the tap, tap, tap of my keyboard. It helps to know there’s always a place where I call the shots, even if it’s an imaginary world I’ve created out of thin air. A world that only comes to life for others once I’ve purged the story from my being, start to finish, in the form of a book.