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Organ: Part 1 of Organ-ized. (SEE WHAT I DID THERE?)

One sec— First! Go HERE.

I LOVE this blog. It’s where you take page 69 of your novel and see if it can REPRESENT #dorksign. I got to do it since A GROWN UP KIND OF PRETTY just came out in Paperback, and BY THE WAY, if you have not gotten your copy yet, put your eyes to the side (the left side) and see all the links for where to get it. (I think I need to add audible links, yes? Mr. Husband? Can this happen?)

Are you back, oh my beloveds? OKAY! On to ORGAN. As in Organ Failure. As in mine. This story’s arc starts with Five Full Plates, a group self improvement blog I dallied with, along with 4 other bloggers/writers. We began in 2009, all five of us trying to Im-Prov-O-Nate ourselves by taking on various challenges.

For more than six months, I failed every. single. one. Yep! 10 for 10. I blew them aaaalllll. Pretty spectacularly and, hey! GREAT idea to do it all publicly. That felt especially GREAT! Super, super GREAT.

Did you know that “GREAT” in Klingon means, “hugely demoralizing on every possible level?” *weak smile* (You have to kinda bark it.)

Here’s the part I didn’t know at the time. Before we even started, I was sick. I was sick, sick, sick, and getting sicker. I was, in fact, actively involved in the process of dying. I was just doing it verrrrry… verrrrrrrrrry… slowwwwwwwwwwwwwly, so I didn’t notice. I was the human version of How To Boil A Frog. A third of the way into 2010, after an exploratory surgery and a resulting life saving surgery, I spent a year oblivious that there might be consequences to all…THAT.

To me it seemed kind of great to have almost died. Not KLINGON great either. ACTUAL great. It was like a special card in my deck. A get-out-of-dumb-crap-free card.

It worked like this:

Random School Mom: Can you make cupcakes for homecoming? Every other mom is doing it—-not to pressure you, but you didn’t do any LAST homecoming either and you didn’t take a shift at the uniform sale.

Me: Oh! I’m sorry. I was very busy. BEING IN THE HOSPITAL. ALMOST DYING.

RSM: *shamed and chastened* I had no idea! I will make your cupcakes, and why don’t I drop off a casserole for your family? Can I pick up your dry cleaning?

See how that works? Awesome card. And I had not, in fact, DIED, so almost dying seemed kinda win-win. But then….


RSM: Can you make cupcakes for homecoming?


RSM: Mmm-hmm, I remember. Jill is doing yellow cake ones. Maybe make chocolate? And can you dye the icing school colors? THANKS!

The I ALMOST DIED Card has an expiration date. Like everything else on this planet. EVERYTHING else.

Even me.

Me, the girl who never knows what she is feeling—I do not know until I see what I do.

A year after the surgery, or there abouts, I finally did something that let me know I was having all kinds of feelings. The thing I did was this: I fell into teeny, tiny bite-size chunks of gibbering mental illness.

You: I thought this was about being unorganized?

Me: IT IS! We are getting there. It is taking me awhile because I don’t usually blog about things quite so close to home, and I am going to have to use a lot of digression and humor to SUPERDEFLECT MOST OF IT if I ever hope to get to the parts I want to say.

You: Okaaaay, but it just doesn’t seem all that related. It seems more li—


You: *pet pet soothe* Have a cupcake.

Part 2 Tomorrow—-And here on the Kudzu, as you well know, Tomorrow is used in the flexible, Klingon sense to mean “Soonish.”

13 comments to Organ: Part 1 of Organ-ized. (SEE WHAT I DID THERE?)

  • I have no idea where all of this is going, but you have me on the hook. And you are scaring me just a little bit with this dying talk.

  • Obnoxious Lulu

    You know, there really is a metric buttload of depression and other mental illness and nasties going around this year. I think it’s in the water. Everyone is struggling – even those of us who look like we’re doing all right.

    So hang in there, Toots, you’re not alone. And don’t feel like you have to rip the scabs off your soul in public here, unless of course, you know, you want to.

    You could simply post your grocery list & I’d keep reading (and posting obnoxious comments, sorry).

  • Obnoxious Lulu

    Crap. And now I want a cupcake. Chocolate with sprinkles.

  • Mr. Husband

    Audible links added for all books.

  • My disorganization is brought to you by Civilization:Revolution for the PS3 (not the super complicated PC version, no-NO!) and by homeschool and by FLL, but MAINLY…if I’m painfully, awfully honest by Civ which I’ve rationalized as OK because I’ve been taking care of sick kids, and there’s only so much you can do for them. But I need to be close, you know? Oh, and I only eat cookie that could actually be put in an oven and baked into cookies. THAT MEANS WITH RAW EGGS. There. My deep dark secrets are revealed. Maybe delving into yours won’t seem so daunting. /hugs

  • Wow. Just wow. That should read “I only eat cookie DOUGH, etc.”

  • And my response to Demanding Cupcake Lady would be, “I don’t bake. But I can bring the batter and the spoons!”

  • Brigitte

    Digression and humor to keep things as “lite n’ fluffy” as possible is always MY preferred method as well.
    Also, *pet pet soothe*
    I ate the cupcakes, however.

  • edj

    I am finding myself disliking the Cupcake Grump. Dye the icing in school colours? For real?

  • Me

    Um…so what’s the deal already!? And old cookie, epic sock failures, and color coded cupcakes…seriously? Where is this going? Must know more…

  • Is the pink icing on that cupcake a foreshadowing-ish shadow of pink “sox” in the GUISE of pink cupcake icing? I kid. I KID!!!! A little comic relief. You should know by now that I think you and your mental illness numbers and pink so(x)cks and eating of glove box cookies is AWESOMENESS personified. This weekend, alone, I told a friend of mine the cookie story (after she actually PUT a cookie in her glove box and said, “Don’t let me forget there is a cookie in there.”) AND used one of your expressionisms. I said to her, “You are SO full of WIN!!!” She looked at me and blinked. But she LOVED the cookie story.

    I think most hugemongous things in life (under which almost but not QUITE dying clearly falls) take a long, long, LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG time to process, because after the not dying, there was the recovery and weeping over your children’s sleeping heads and getting “back to normal” and being a mom/wife/author moving to a new city thing. You have now flat run out of of excuses not to do a little “dealing”–so be KIND to yourself. In fact, be kind with a Y. K-y-n-d. Take naps. Cry. Go buy AND EAT some FRESH cookies. Really and for true–be nice to yourself. We all think you are GREAT.

  • Here’s what you say to the Cupcake Mom: “Actually this year we’re not doing a bake. We’re selling a collection of literary short stories written by all the school moms. I’m the coordinator, so do you think you can get your two thousand words to me by Friday?”

  • “I was sick, sick, sick, and getting sicker. I was, in fact, actively involved in the process of dying. I was just doing it verrrrry… verrrrrrrrrry… slowwwwwwwwwwwwwly, so I didn’t notice. I was the human version of How To Boil A Frog. ”

    Yep. Know that one.

    What is the deal with cupcakes anyway> Okay, they are cute. Other than that they are just messy, from beginning to end.