Eagles got lucky

The Eagles were SUPPOSED to lose yesterday. That first half was a dismal heartbreaker. But then, miraculously, the Giants fell apart in the second half. Everything that worked for the Giants in the first half suddenly unraveled in the second. Barkley wasn’t being used as much. Beckham complained about his play time. Barkley and Beckham, the two forces that caused the Eagles to stumble at first, were not used as often in the latter half of the game, giving the Eagles the edge they needed to get past the team that is now 3-8.

My personal MVP of the game? Jake Elliott. If it weren’t for that guy, the Eagles wouldn’t have gotten on the board for a while and he’s the one who put them over the top to break a tie score. Kickers just don’t get enough love.

If Doug Pederson didn’t just get the Lombardi last year, he’d be out of a job. But you know, all the other coaches may not be so lucky. The Eagles need a complete overhaul of the offense and defense to get back into shape.

And besides, this is Drew Brees’ year. Let’s give credit where credit is due. (Anyone but Brady, please.)

Your story is not over yet. ;

For years I’d been wanting to get a semicolon tattoo ever since I’d been introduced to the Semicolon Project. Not only am I a grammar nerd but I also love what the semicolon represents on a deeper level.

What’s the Semicolon Project?

The Semicolon Project was founded by Amy Bleuel in an effort to combat suicide and raise awareness about suicide. While Amy unfortunately succumbed to taking her own life, her work lives on.

Why does the Semicolon Project resonate with me?

I’ve been dealing with suicidal problems since I was 12. I remember being fascinated with a knife in the middle of the night, daring myself to either slit my wrists or plunge it through my abdomen. I did neither of those things at the time but it kicked off a lifelong obsession with death and taking my own life.

Suicide has always seemed to be the answer to everything. Are kids making fun of me? If I jump off the balcony, that’ll end that. Is work going terribly? Walking into oncoming traffic will solve that issue. Have my emotions plunged into the abyss of nothingness, never to resurface? Well, why don’t I just bring my physical self to where my emotions already are?

Enter the semicolon.

I tried explaining the meaning of the semicolon to my therapist who simply thought I got the tattoo because I love grammar so much. That’s the surface reason; but I love the fact that there’s a deeper meaning to it that reflects who I am.

What did I try telling my therapist?

A semicolon joins 2 complete thoughts. What really could’ve been a period, indicating finality, is replaced by a semicolon, which represents an interruption—a brief pause in the middle of a story.

Consider the placement of the semicolon. The first thought is complete and can stand alone. If someone wanted to, they could end their story (that first thought) right there. But the semicolon indicates that there’s more to the story—there’s more to come. A semicolon represents a “blip,” if you will, in the middle of the sentence. The sentence (like my life) could’ve ended there but it didn’t. The semicolon means that my story can continue, that the second half of the story (the second complete thought) can happen before a final ending (the period).

My story will end eventually (period), but the semicolon reminds me that I don’t have to be the one to end it. That I can continue my story. That whatever I’m going through is only a blip—an interruption—and that there’s more to come.

I suppose I suck at the layman’s terms for this. Basically it means “your story isn’t over.”

Myriad Monday

 

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Lack of posts recently? I can tell you why.

It’s because I’ve been dealing with a doggone migraine since Thursday. I’ve taken triptans twice a day nearly EVERY DAY to help alleviate the pain. And, taken Tylenol.

Why not Excedrin, Advil, or Aleve? Well, I just underwent (is that a word?) my frozen embryo transfer in the hopes of a successful pregnancy. I have a theory on why I might not be pregnant, but I’ll only reveal it if I think I’m right.

Regardless, I can’t take any NSAIDs during pregnancy (just in case I am pregnant) so Tylenol is IT for OTC. I’m lucky triptans are allowed.

I tried to get back into exercise this morning. I can do yoga and light activity so I thought I’d try my hand at yoga again. And reaffirmed that I hate it. I’ll keep doing it to stay active if I am pregnant but I could barely make it through 10 minutes of a 40-minute yoga video. I gave up at the 30-minute mark. Not that it wasn’t challenging—it was VERY challenging; I was sweating—but it’s just not my preferred activity. My preferred activities are the stuff that I can’t do: high-impact exercise, jogging, weight lifting, high-intensity aerobics. And I’m not sure how I’d avoid exercising my abs. (The last thing I need right now.)

If I’m not pregnant, that solves that dilemma. But if I am, then I can switch to some prenatal exercises that will be challenging in a different way. I tried them during my last pregnancy and found them appropriately difficult and engaging. Thank God for exercises that aren’t yoga.

Creative writing catch-22

I live in a catch-22 when it comes to writing YA novels. I struggle with the fact that I don’t read enough YA novels, but then I think I’m not qualified to write YA novels if I don’t read enough of them! (As if I haven’t read enough in my life.)

Truth is, I’m probably terrified to put in the hard work of rewriting and reworking a novel I’ve written, perhaps, tons of times. (No lie; I have 6 different versions, including first person and third person POVs.)

But I want to get back to writing. Pumping those creative juices. Escaping from my reality and crafting a world that consists entirely of weirdness and inanity.

But alas, I’d rather stay in bed and have a freak out over what I could do rather than do it.

The Tree of Life shooting hits home for me

Tree of Life victims

I recently attended a bar mitzvah and entered a synagogue for the first time in my life. It was an enriching experience. Considering that Christianity is a religion based on Judaism, it was eye-opening to gain a glimpse of a service that Jesus was a part of. Reading the Torah and the prophets. Carrying the Torah. Imagine Jesus having a bar mitzvah at 13! The reverence for scripture is amazing.

It was also fascinating to hear Hebrew songs and read along with the lyrics in Hebrew (English translation provided on the other side of the page). Of course, none of the Hebrew characters made sense to me but to be exposed to them—reading an ancient language that Jesus would have read—was incredible. I really enjoyed attending a Shabbat service and definitely wouldn’t mind doing it again if presented with the opportunity.

While I was at synagogue in Philadelphia, on the other side of the state in Pittsburgh, an anti-Semitic man decided to bring his hate into the Tree of Life synagogue, killing 11 innocent people. The shooting hit close to home for me because it reminded me that it could easily have been the synagogue I attended. I sat on the train with profound sadness for those attending a routine Shabbat service, only to have it destroyed during at 20-minute hate crime. To be honest, I don’t think I would’ve experienced the deep sympathy I felt if I hadn’t been partaking in a Judaic service that very morning. As if Jewish people haven’t endured enough in history, to have such a terrible assault simply because of who they are and their religious faith was astounding. I shouldn’t be surprised by hate given what I believe about sin and the depraved souls of humans, but the depth of and actions from hate never cease to amaze me.

My deepest sympathies and prayers are with the Tree of Life congregation. May the Lord have mercy on the shooter’s soul. And I won’t go into the need for practical actions, such as gun restriction legislation, including mental health records in firearm background checks. I’ll save that post for another day.

 

Stories I tell myself

There’s a Christian children’s song called “Jesus Loves Me.” The simple lyrics are as follows:

Jesus loves me
This I know
For the Bible tells me so
Little ones to him belong
They are weak when he is strong
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
Yes, Jesus loves me
The Bible tells me so

Sometimes my mind likes to twist and pervert the lyrics.

No one loves me
This I know
Because I tell myself so
I belong down in a grave
Where no one can help or save
No, no one loves me
No, no one loves me
No, no one loves me
Because I tell me so

Of course this is not true. But it feels true. Distinguishing between what is true and what is false is sometimes a hard task for me.

Impostor Syndrome

nervousI’m an editor with 14 years of experience. (FOURTEEN YEARS? WOW. Where did the time go?) Because of my “expertise,” I’ve been asked to give presentations at work about the importance of editing and why project managers at my ad agency should use it. (Utilize? haha) I put expertise in quotation marks because I don’t feel like I’m much of an expert with less than 20 years of experience. But even with 20 years of experience, I still think I’d feel like a novice.

I try to tell myself that I’m qualified to speak on editing in medicine and pharma. I’ve been copy editing since 2004. I’m good, right? I’ve worked in the ad industry for 10 years. I successfully freelanced for the majority of that time.

But I still struggle with the idea of what makes me qualified to speak on editing. What do I bring to the table that no one else does? And I can’t figure that out. Maybe it’s my experience in pharma? My experience in marketing & advertising?

I also realize that I have impostor syndrome. Even though I probably know more than I think I do, I project this air of confidence that I’m so smart and know what I’m talking about. You can take the impostor syndrome test here.

I’m scared of failure. I’m scared of someone saying,”That doesn’t make sense at all. Do you really know what you’re talking about?” I’ve been told I’m a good presenter, but I loathe it because I think I’m never good enough. (I could’ve said this differently or I could’ve done that differently.) I always reflect on the things that went wrong rather than the things that went right. I’m SUPER aware of my flaws (uh, um, ah, well) and maybe have a poor read on the audience’s reaction. (Although I don’t think I do. They tend to look otherwise occupied or bored.)

All I want to do is make myself proud. Feel content with where I am professionally. And I don’t know that I ever will.