Grand Finale

Well, here we are. Full circle. 365 entries later. Am I older? Technically. Wiser? Meh, perhaps. Have I learned a little from this experience?

I'd say so. Granted, it's only a very little bit, but it's something to take with me as a souvenir of That One Time When Jacquie Blogged Once A Day For A Year. I've come to the following conclusions:

Folks don't care about what I have to say. Now, hear me out on this one. I readily admit that I've kind of done this one to myself. In order for people to care about what I have to say, I have to write things that are, well, worth reading. I didn't exactly hold up my end of that bargain. Sure, I wrote one bit of hard-hitting, buffalo-style, editorial piece on the Chick-fil-A debacle, but other than that? A lot of narcissistic drivel. Bleh. We've become so self-serving with the Internet. It's always about us. What's relevant to me? What purpose does this serve me? Me me me. And don't give me that look; I'm guilty of it too. A side effect of the human condition is looking out for Number One first. Now, if I were to do this whole thing over again, and I had a theme of sorts, this might've worked out a little more differently. Which brings me to my next point:

I'm not much of a writer. I figure that, in order to be a writer, a real, honest-to-goodness, genuine article writer, you have to enjoy doing it even when you don't enjoy doing it. You don't mind trudging to your computer once a day to write a fat lot of nothing because, hey, you're a writer. This is your bread and butter. You hate that computer. Hate it. But write anyway. I love writing when I know I've got something good to say. When I don't? When it's obligatory? It's a chore. It's the worst. Still, I hope to paint pictures with my words one day, yet again, very soon.

I enjoy being a free spirit. Like so many American adults in the rat race, I look at a computer all day at work. When I come home from said rat race and settle down with my piece of cheese, what's the first thing I want to do? Oh, that's right. Not look at a glaring computer screen. Maybe a pen-and-paper journaling gig is more my speed. And certainly not once a day. None of that obligatory mess. Nope, just let me have my hair in the wind and be free as the dang wind blows.

I'm glad I did this. Yes, it was obligatory much of the time, but to say that I actually committed to a sorta-kinda New Year's resolution for a full year is pretty exciting, I'd say. Maybe I've unearthed a few more nuggets of wisdom and truth than I know. It ain't been so bad, really.

Will I come back to post occasionally? Sure. When I've got something valuable to say. Until those valuable things come along, you just sit tight.

I'll be back.

Dag nabbit

Well, see, I was going to post this lovely entry to culminate my 365-day journey. As it is, our internet's not working. So, I've composed that heartfelt piece offline and it's waiting in the wings.

So, consider this a placeholder until we get that back up and running. BONUS CONTENT TOMORROW, GANG.

Penultimate

Tomorrow's my last obligatory entry in the ol' blogosphere. Can't say I'm not a teensy, tiny, maybe-a-little-bit-bigger-than-tiny bit appreciative that I've just about fulfilled my resolution.

But you know, I'm also a little bit proud of myself for maintaining the one-blog-a-day gig for a full calendar year. That's not to say that I've been writing hard-hitting journalism by any stretch of the imagination. I've learned a lot, though.

My culminating entry will be tomorrow. A grand finale of sorts, if you will. Get excited, stay tuned, and you cats have a great upcoming Friday in the meantime.

NyQuil Ni'cap

Sometimes, the worst kind of "sick" you can be is when you're not exactly unable to function. If you're laid up in bed with a debilitating stomachache, at least people feel sorry for you. They leave you alone (or help take care of you, whichever is your particular love language).

But when you've got the usual autumnal run of a sore throat, occasional phlegmy cough and general fuzziness, it doesn't matter much. Nope, gotta put on your best and you stick out your chest and go off to the races again.

And again. And again.

For this reason, I've taken the last available dose of NyQuil in the cupboard. It's not even a full dose, but I'm hoping it'll help me sleep. Last night was wretched, let me tell you.

Peaceful

Tonight, I didn't crack open my laptop in a mad panic that I was missing anything on the usual social media outlets. (I still haven't cracked open my laptop; this here entry is composed on my phone.)

Instead, I walked to Suwanee town center with David, enjoyed the fall foliage, ate there (Five Guys, heavens yes), walked back, played some old school Sega Genesis, and took a relaxing bath.

And you know what? It was amazing.

Because reasons

We need to get a corgi, for the sole reason of these six seconds:

Side note: If you happen to watch this and are not filled with an outrageous desire to implode from sheer cute, I question your humanity. And, to a lesser extent, my ability to be your friend.

*Flop*

Been in go-go-go mode all day, and with zero time to really prepare for the utterly nutso week at work that's coming up.

Silver lining: next week is Thanksgiving week. Hello, three day work week. Until then, I'mma make like Leonard and:

Can do

Purchased a Ball Home Canning Discovery Kit today. Now, I'm no Millie Pontipee, but I think this might be a great idea.

Who wants a bulk batch of sweet apple cider butter? Don't shove; there'll be plenty for all.

Here it is

A bit of a twist on my usual moment of zen, mostly because I'm more and more coming to terms with my own introvert tendencies.

I love being by myself. I love my "me" time, when I don't have to worry about what people think of me, or whether what I do is cool enough, good enough. It's not that I don't like hanging out with people; I do. I love my friends. But I don't need a slew of them - just a small, significant, handful of people that I genuinely care about and that genuinely care about me. But being social doesn't give me energy. Being with myself does.

Introversion doesn't ever seem to be seen in a positive light, but boy howdy I love it.

Nine days

So sad that I'm counting, but it's a strain to write daily. I'm too far in (and way too dang close) to give up now.

Updates: I feel puffy. I made chicken caesar sandwiches in the Crock-Pot for dinner. I've been experiencing burnout at work for weeks on end, and I'm ready for it to end. I feel otherwise disconnected and somewhat inconsequential today, but I know that's largely my own doing.

Crabby. Grumblecakes.

Brighter

When my work day went from "hey, this isn't so bad" to "pardon me while I stammer helplessly at you through the phone because I simply cannot do anything for you," a few silver linings brightened my damp little cloud:

• Getting my hair cut for the first time since May (it's cute, shorter. I'd take a picture but I'm sans makeup and hair's sans-style. If I get enough demand from my adoring fans, I'll take one later.)
• Having leftover harvest stew for dinner but mostly a slice of Funfetti cake
• Doing a bit of eBay shopping for beauty items and a new iPhone case, because reasons
• My skin's finally on the mend and feels healthy and by golly, I feel more like myself because of it
• I have less than 10 entries left before I'm no longer obligated to this blog

Yeah, I'm a little bittersweet about that last one, but I'll be glad to not feel the pressing obligation of hammering out a blog entry each day. I'll still come back, y'know, when I have something valuable to add to the blogosphere.

That'll happen. I promise.

Electorally Introspective

As the polls are shuffling out their votes to be tallied and folks wait on edge to hear about each state's electoral outcome, just thought I'd pass along a little nonpartisan food for thought:

Consider casting aside political zeal and itchiness to call the other team a bunch of morons in favor of mutual respect and earnest, civil discussion.

Hey -- it's okay to be friends with people that have differing viewpoints. It's darn good for you, I think. Yes, there's an intrinsic value in being among friends that share your ideas (it provides some social affirmation, for starters), but don't let that warm and fuzzy group turn you into an ignorant, hyper-exclusive sort that can't hear the other folks out.

This presidential race is neck-and-neck enough that half of this country will be pretty disappointed come morning (or, y'know, whenever the final counts are made). Half. That's not a small number. Those people have souls. They might be on your "team" or they might not be, but don't be so quick to slander them if you're on the winning side of this election.

And if you're among the losing side, think before you condemn the nation to hell in a handbasket just because your guy didn't win (or re-gain) the presidency. Grumble a little, get it out of your system, then build a bridge. Life will go on. The sun will still rise and set. It will be okay. God's still in control, and God is still far more almighty than any jasper in a power suit.

Look, I know I'm a little all over the place. But just the same, I really wish that we the people would see ourselves as people. Not demographics, not neat and tidy categories, not wing-nuts. Just... people.

Give your political enemies a hug today. Deep down, you've got to agree on something. Maybe it's ice cream. Hey, it's a start.

Indecision 2012

Whoever wins the presidential election tomorrow isn't likely to win by a ginormous majority. If the split-right-down-the-middle polls aren't a total fabrication, approximately half the nation won't be doing a happy dance tomorrow night.

And what should the winning half do with the losing half? Rub their faces in their lack of electoral votes? Create even more ugly, divisive, name-calling behavior? Or can we hope to be a little less degrading to each other? Gasp --dare I say it? -- get along?

If nothing else, I know that we can all put up a united front in saying that thank HEAVEN this will all be over tomorrow. Bipartisanship right there. Kum ba ya and all that.

Happiness is

Watching Hey Arnold on Netflix and being snuggly with your sister.

Se-gaaaaaaa

David and I bought a collection of classic Sega Genesis games at Wal-Mart for like 20 smackers. It includes all of the Sonic games ever.

So, y'know, it's basically the best gaming purchase ever.

A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal

Your Friday moment of Zen is brought to you by "A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal," which has been playing approximately 5,302,288 times in a row as I'm milling about the kitchen this evening.

I don't even care that I don't know Scots Gaelic (or any Gaelic for that matter, save for fáilte, shillelagh, and bodhrán, and none of those can be strung together into a cohesive sentence). 

I'll seize my chunk of Scots/Irish/Celt mutt heritage (and my natural inclination to pronounce Gaelic words correctly), memorize this song, and sing it to my someday-daughter.

Oh, and grow my hair out like Elinor. Girlfriend has the ballingest locks I ever did see.

Burnout

As a sortakinda follow-up to yesterday's lamentations over why I decided not to participate in NaNoWriMo this year (or, y'know, participate any year), I came to the understanding that I'm kind of experiencing writer's burnout.

Not writer's block, mind. That's when nothing comes to mind. Writer's burnout is when you have ideas, sure, and certainly more than a few of them are worth writing about, but you're so tired of writing. It's become an obligation as opposed to a hobby. And you know what they say: when you feel obligated to do it, it's often just not fun anymore. In fact, it can be downright annoying.

Just like that one friend. We all have one. Maybe two; maybe more. Maybe it's me, even. You're fine, you're pals... When all of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere, straight-up everything they do drives you nuts and irritates the snot out of you. That's my writing muse, personified. She's all needy and junk. "We need to hang ouuuuut. Whenarewegonnahangouuuuuuut? How about tonight? No? Tomorrow?"

She probably needs a hug. I'll give her one, eventually, but she's gotta stop pestering so dang much.

So what's a creative soul to do but paint her nails with crackle polish and contemplate going to bed early? (Related note: I'm a champ.)