Hey Thursday, how are you?
That’s how I woke up today because I’m trying to snap out of a drug induced stupor. What? Yes. NaNoWriMo left me with neck spasms. I had no idea that the sharp pain in my neck that would turn into migraines like I’ve never felt was due to neck strain, most likely from writing.
I went to the doctor yesterday and he gave me muscle relaxers (extended release) and high octane ibuprofen mixed with Prilosec. If I am not better in two weeks, well it’s the chiropractor or physical therapy. The muscle relaxer was supposed to make me groggy after 6 hours, so I was instructed to take it at 6pm, so I could sleep most of it off. Well, let.me.tell.you! I don’t listen to instructions well. I took it at 5pm thinking I know myself and I’ll need more sleep-it-off time. I finished making dinner, and then snuggled on the couch to watch, what else, Ink Masters, and I was out cold after 45 mins. COLD. As in, I think Mike told me to go up to bed and I responded “Don’t play with matches”. That was at 8pm. I took the meds thinking I had time to cross stitch, which I am totally loving, by the way. See?
I managed to get some stitching done, and then settled in for Ink Masters. And that was it. Good thing my husband told me to let the bossman (yes, I call my boss that) know that I would be working from home the next day. He had a feeling that I was going to be out like trout the next day, and I am.
My muscles were TOTALLY relaxed this morning. It took me 20 minutes to will myself out of bed. (Why is that any different from any other day, someone tell me?) As I am trying to get up, this is how my brain managed to help me. My brain, always playing these little games with me.
But let’s talk about other stuffs, and by other stuffs we, as in me and all of my toes, mean Serial. Only the most awesomely awesomest podcast that ever lived. EVER. Because podcasts live? I digress. I started listening to it, there are 10 podcasts up and you MUST start from the beginning, or no toe wiggling for you (have I exhausted this gif yet?) and yours truly, finished it in 24 hours. Each podcast is 28-55 minutes long. The website says that:
Serial is a podcast where we unfold one nonfiction story, week by week, over the course of a season. We’ll stay with each story for as long as it takes to get to the bottom of it.
But holy pancakes Batman, it’s more than that. It’s about the murder of a teenaged girl, well, let’s get Wikipedia to tell you, I’m still all muscle relaxed.
Season 1 is an investigation into a 1999 Baltimore murder. Koenig has said, Serial is “about the basics: love and death and justice and truth. All these big, big things.” She also has noted, “this is not an original idea. Maybe in podcast form it is, and trying to do it as a documentary story is really, really hard. But trying to do it as a serial, this is as old as Dickens.” Episodes are released weekly on Thursday, and vary in length.
Hae Min Lee was an 18 year old student at Woodlawn High School. Lee was last seen at approximately 3pm on January 13, 1999. Her corpse was discovered on February 9 in Leakin Park and identified two days later, with the case immediately being treated as a homicide. Lee’s ex-boyfriend Adnan Musud Syed was arrested on February 28 at 6 a.m. and charged with first-degree murder, which led to “some closure and some peace” for Lee’s family. A memorial service for Lee was held on March 11 at Woodlawn High School. Syed was found guilty of Lee’s murder on February 25, 2000 after a six-week trial, and was given a life sentence despite pleading his innocence.
If you ask me, and you are, I think Mr. S had more to do with this than we all know because, Ep. 3. A small tidbit that even Tiff didn’t remember, that stuck with me like, how did Ericka Clay say it in Chapter 1 of her new serialized novel on Wattpad (see what I did there?) like flypaper. It stuck to me like flypaper. Here’s the transcript
– – – SPOILER ALERT – – –
(thank you Reddit for the transcript)
The closest I got was, bear with me, I found out that Mr. S’s sister-in-law was a math teacher at Woodlawn back in 1999 when all this happened. So I called her. Hae was her student, she said. An excellent student. Top of the line. But she didn’t think Mr. S knew anything about the crime before he found the body. She put her husband on the phone, Mr. S’s younger half-brother. And he said, “you know what’s crazy? I used to live next door to the kid that did it!” That was back when Adnan was nine or ten.
I know enough to know, that this coincidence, is no coincidence. That’s too much, boo-boo (complete with hand claps over each syllable). I can’t overlook it.
So that, and cross stitching are like a delicious, mouthwatering cocktail for me. There was something else I wanted to gab about, what is it? Oh yes, my last post, where I mentioned that things would be changing around here. I was asked by my tribey peeps what that meant, and if I would be moving, etc. We all chatted a bit, and I shared some feelings about it. We decided that all it meant was a re-branding. Or at least that’s what I took from the conversation, I was hopped up on goofballs last night. But now, in the light of this here Christmas tree in my living room, I don’t know if I am a brand that needs re-ing. Know what I mean? Here’s the pickle, when I write about Catholicky-goodness, that fits here, right? When I don’t, and people who expect Catholicky-goodness come to read, they must be all “how the heck does NaNoWrimo have anything to do with faith” and they are, for the most part, right. How does it fit? It don’t fit, and I must acquit! Sorry, serving up too much Serial-realness.
I did say this in the secret-private-group-on-Facebook-that-I-absolutely-adore, “I feel like I finished FMPC” yeah man, that’s an acronym that Mary dropped like a mic last night. I kind of loved it too.
While I can’t say why (and Tiffany knows how much I e-hat cryptic messages like this, but alas I have been sworn to secrecy) I feel in my heart that it is. I want to have a space where I can write whateva’s clevah and not feel like I have plaid and paisley on. It doesn’t match.
This doesn’t mean that I am still not a writer of faith, or suddenly don’t want to share reflections about my faith, it just means that there’s more to me than that. More to this here writer than that, and I don’t fit into one box. Especially not after I chowed down last night on fried porkchops and a radioactive sized baked potato (it probably was too), they were gooooood. But where do I fit? What do I call the new place? What new place is that? I have a domain with my full name saved, but I don’t even know if I like that, because I like to be private sometimes.
So, that’s where I am with that, and I thought I should flesh out my sentiments from yesterday a bit more for you, because you know, we’re besties and what not.
In a way, my neck is reflecting what my innards already know. It’s screaming out for release. Who makes innard relaxers? If you know, tell them I prefer bubble gum flavored medicine.
Next time, on FMPC.
*cue Serial theme music*