Amanda Helms

I still have weird stuff happening to me. It is not Meneire’s disease. It is supposedly Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo, but the treatments I’ve had have been ineffective. I now will see a neurologist.

(I’m not sure why I felt the urge to update people on that. Self-centeredness, I suppose.)

BUT! My important news is, I have a new site. Which may be unsurprising, considering that many of my recent posts have involved food. Check it out. It’s not your ordinary food blog.

My first thought was to call this post “Psychosomatic hypochondria.” Actually, my first first thought was to call it something clearer, like “Psychosomatism and hypochondria.” Only “psychosomatism” isn’t a real word, apparently, which makes little sense because etymologically speaking, nouns are usually created before adjectives. At least in the cases of words with all those Greek bits in them. You get your noun or your verb, and then you add on or change suffixes to create new derivations. To wit: psychology, psychologist, psychiatry, psychiatrist, etc. etc. etc. And “psychosomatism” seems like it’d be a rather useful word. Sure, it might more or less mean the same thing as hypochondria. But I figure, if the Inuits/Eskimos can have over 100 words for snow, United States citizens ought to have a couple decent words to choose from when describing mentally induced ailments.

But pschosomatism is not a word, and I was an English major. Hence the switch to “Psychosomatic hypochondria,” but the more I thought about that, I realized that the phrase technically means being in the state of having mentally induced or imagined the state of believing you have a bunch of diseases that you actually don’t. Which would then mean one’s ailments are, in fact, Real Things, because the imaginings of the various conditions is false. (Hey, it made sense in my head. I think.) Which isn’t what I’m going for.

All that preamble to move onto this: For the past month, I’ve been experiencing bouts of dizziness and vertigo. So far I haven’t detected an actual pattern or trigger. Movement can set it off, like when I bend over to brush my teeth, my head feels heavier than it is or should be and I have a sensation of tipping further forward than I actually have. But movement can also have nothing to do with it, like when I’m sitting on my core ball at work trying to think how I can write instruction for teaching vowel diphthongs in a vaguely interesting manner. There I sit, rather still, perhaps with a small frown of concentration on my face as I stare at “ea as in great, ea as in bread, ea as in eagle” and suddenly my brain goes, “Heeyyy! We’re tilting!” leaving me to go rather tense and vacant-eyed while I work to, literally, restore my equilibrium.

It’s become annoying and consistent enough that I’ve set up a doctor appointment. But the issue with these Vague Symptoms that Seemingly Have No Trigger is that you start to feel, well, embarrassed about them. Where do they come from? What’s inducing them? Are they really real at all, or is it truly all in your head? And that’s the jumping-off point for this post’s title.

I’ve been giving this some thought, as I truthfully have begun to wonder if these symptoms are psychosomatic and I am indulging in hypochondria. It can go something like this:

A Weird Thing happens. Huh, you* think. That was weird. I hope it doesn’t happen again. And sometimes it doesn’t, and you forget about it, and that is the end of that.

But sometimes the Weird Thing happens again. Oh, you think. There’s that Weird Thing again. It’s starting to worry me a bit. And then, sufficiently worried about the Weird Thing, you live in a state of anticipation, wondering if it will happen again or if everything will return to normal and weird will no longer have an impact on your life.

If the Weird Thing happens a third time, it’s clear there is a sort of pattern now. Even if the whys and the hows remain unknown. You now expect the Weird Thing to happen. And so it does, again and again. This is where the psychosomatism (see! It would be such a useful word) kicks in. Because I’m a visual learner, I’ve included a graphic.

And if you have a touch of hypochondria, you are likely on the lookout for other Weird Things. Hey, I sneezed and it’s not allergy season. And I don’t have a cold. Is sneezing a symptom of Ebola? Where does Ebola come from, again? Bug bites? Maybe that bump on my face I thought was a pimple is a bug bite. And if I have Ebola, do I have to have a fever? I’m feeling a bit warm; maybe I’d better go check…

Well, my temperature is normal, and I have to admit that pimple really does look like a pimple, not a bug bite. I probably don’t have Ebola. But now that I’m staring at myself in the mirror, do I have less hair than I used to? Maybe…

It doesn’t help that I’ve also had intermittent occasions of disassociation, such as the feelings of unreality one can experience when suffering from a high fever. Not to the extent depicted in this post, mind, but it’s there.

Should you have returned here from Allie’s fabulous site, allow me to continue.

I do mean disassociation, not delusion. Delusion is “If I jump off the top of this building, I will fly!” Disassociation is “If I jump off the top of this building, I won’t fly; I will fall many stories. But it doesn’t matter because this isn’t real.” (Pause.) “But just in case, I don’t want to test it.”

Even in the midst of the Weird Things happening repeatedly and other Weird Things popping up on your radar, if you’re marginally self-aware, it probably occurs to you that it could just be all in your head and you are, for some unfathomable reason, essentially doing this to yourself, thusly:

But even if it is all in your** head, it’s not a particularly comforting thought. Because you’re*** doing it to yourself†. You are making yourself miserable. Do you like sitting on your core ball, wracking your brain as to how many different ways you can say “ea as in great” in a way that doesn’t make instructors want to claw their eyes out when you suddenly feel like you’re about to topple off your core ball and slam into the ground? NO! Why would you do that to yourself? Is your subconscious really that masochistic or bored?

Oh, I’m really getting sick of all this “ea as in” crap, it says to itself while the rest of your brain remains blissfully unaware of its machinations. I need some sort of distraction. How about a touch of vertigo followed by slight nausea? 

“Oh dear. I can no longer concentrate on my work due to the sensation of tilting. Also, I want to puke.”

YAYYYYY!

My appointment is on Wednesday. If I happen to lead with “I gave it a lot of thought and I don’t think it’s all in my head because what sort of person would do this to herself!” perhaps I can simply point my doctor to this URL to explain why.

And I realize this doesn’t have any sort of proper ending. Sometimes that’s life, yo.

*Where you appears in this post, you [except that one] may safely replace the word with I or me, as grammatically appropriate. Just so we’re clear.

**And where your appears in this post, you may replace that with my. Because it’s all about me.

***I’m

†myself

‡Unless you’re suicidal, which I am not.

…in several rambling steps.

1

Foster a deep love of winter squash, pumpkin in particular, that leads to compulsive purchase of the gourds at grocery stores and farmers market, even though you receive more than enough vegetables through your CSA and will supposedly receive winter squash from the CSA in the near future. Develop collection of the gourds and roast and puree some.

2

Read too many food blogs. Become inspired to do something unusual with the pumpkin puree sitting in your fridge and document the process using your crappy, five-year-old point-and-shoot. Select pumpkin gnocchi because– Well. Actual reasons matter not.

3

Find several pumpkin gnocchi recipes on the Internet. Elect to cobble three of them into your own. Select one to refer to for measurements, but Google around for measurement conversions because it seems everybody still gets out the measuring cups even though they are much less accurate and more work than weighing things using a kitchen scale.

4

Find a weight equivalent that seems fairly accurate. Plop your pumpkin, flour, and egg yolk in a bowl. Realize the Microplane grater you need for the nutmeg is currently in the dishwasher, which is running. Remove grater from dishwasher and give it a cursory dry-off.

5

Decide that “a dash of nutmeg,” as two of the recipes call for, is not enough. Grate your whole nutmeg directly into the bowl until you have a nice little pile. Inhale and enjoy the aroma.

6

Begin mixing the dough together. Realize that it is much too wet. Add flour.

7

Realize the dough is still too wet. Add flour.

8

Suspect that the dough is still too wet. Find more recipes on Internet with pictures detailing what the dough should look like when it’s ready to roll out into logs. Conclude the dough is, indeed, still too wet. Add flour.

9

Develop sinking sense that the pumpkin gnocchi is unlikely to taste of much besides flour. Add more anyway, as the dough is still too wet.

10

Check time. Begin to panic as you have to leave in an hour and the whole making-pumpkin-gnocchi thing is taking longer than you anticipated. Add flour.

11

Spill flour on self. Tell self for the fifth time that self really needs to purchase one of those cute aprons for times such as these.

12

Cheer as the dough finally starts to look cohesive enough to roll into logs on a well-floured surface. Proceed to do so.

13

Cut logs into gnocchi-pieces. Cut corners on shaping by just quickly pressing them with the tines of a fork, rather than the whole pick up and place in palm while gently rolling the tines of a fork across the dumpling’s surface bit.

14

Pause to admire gnocchi and mentally tell them that even though several are misshapen and they all probably taste bad, they are still cute. Even with the strands of pumpkin sticking out of some. Make note that the stick blender is not the way to puree pumpkin for gnocchi-making.

15

Cover in plastic wrap and leave gnocchi in refrigerator while you’re out.

16

Return home three hours later hungry and wondering how you will make the gnocchi palatable. Worry again that gnocchi will taste of nothing but flour. Think of the pumpkin swirl loaf you made yesterday and how, despite the “swirl” bit not coming through, it was probably a better use of the pumpkin puree. Particularly with your inspired addition of cardamom. Remember that you never took a picture of the bread. Do so now, when it’s sliced for freezer storage.

17

Conclude the sauce will be the key in attempting even minor tastiness of the gnocchi. Wish you had the time, and the ingredients, for a sage brown butter sauce, of which several of the Internet recipes include a variation. Settle for thinning out some apple butter with water, tossing in some cinnamon, and heating in a small skillet.

18

Feel dubious about the “sauce’s” unattractive brown color, in addition to still feeling dubious about the gnocchi itself. Prepare salted water to boil gnocchi.

19

Remove gnocchi from fridge. Select several to toss in boiling water. Pray they actually float to the top within a few minutes, as they are supposed to.

20

Watch gnocchi float to top of boiling water. Cheer. Remove from heat and drain. Pour unattractive sauce on top.

21

Eat. Enjoy the flavor of nutmeg (see, it was good to ignore the “pinch of nutmeg” instruction). Think to self that the gnocchi actually isn’t half-bad. Nice mouthfeel. Firm, but with a bit of give. And the apple butter sauce, while a tad sweet, isn’t terrible either.

22

Chalk it up to a semi-success.

What with my near-continuous lack of writing, both in terms of my blog and with fiction, I’ve been doing some writerly soul searching. Mind, the soul searching has been sporadic, a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing and the ones I’ve got not matching up with each other. On the surface, it feels like my well of ideas is running dry–but I believe creativity is exponential, and that it’s also work. I haven’t been putting in the work, ergo the dearth of ideas.

Then when I do get ideas, little snippets will appeal, but the whole–if there is a whole, if the snippets have kindly knit themselves into something resembling An Actual Story–I wind up feeling meh about after a day, two, a week. Part of this could be related to fear–I always become daunted by the enormity of storytelling, of creating good storytelling, when I haven’t written in some time.

And again, the solution is to just write.

Then there’s the time issue. I joined a CSA this year, and while I’m enjoying the challenge of cooking with the seasons and experiencing new foods (kohlrabi! garlic scapes!) the food prep is time-consuming. As is the food preservation prep. I’m also committed to getting in my workouts , as I see them as an investment in my future and, yanno, not dying a premature death (well, outside of car accidents and other things over which I have no control).*

However, I also believe that there is always time for something you truly want to do. It’s a matter of priorities. And truthfully, it’s easier for me now when I’m single and don’t have a family to care for. I could give up, or at least cut down on, Netflix. I could shorten my leisure reading times (sniffle). I could start pawning off ginormous zucchini and extra wax beans on neighbors and coworkers.**

These excuses and negations of excuses are what I call hamster-wheel thoughts, the ones that keep spinning and spinning without ever going anywhere. I know there are no excuses. It’s not a recent revelation. I’ve known it since before “I’m not writing today” turned into “I’m not writing this season, except for the odd blog post or occasional addition to a WIP.” And yet I’m still not writing.

So. Next question. Do I want to stop writing? To be content with cooking and baking and Netflix and workouts and forget writing?

At which my soul, or my muse, or any other writing-related entity you care to envision, let out a wail of despair. Yes, I want to continue writing, and yes, I want to pursue publication, but even if I am not published, I don’t want to give up on it. I love stories too much, and regardless of whether superficially it seems my well of ideas is running dry, I have my own to tell.

Which means I’ve got to get off this Hamster Wheel of Doom. Even if it’s one paw at a time.

*My suspension trainer was one of the best purchases I made this year.†

**Though the selfish part of me cringes at that, because I spent a fair chunk of money on this CSA share, darn it!

†Ahh, footnoted footnotes! How I’ve missed you. I would hug you if you were tangible.

Anyway, I am too lazy to figure out how I made my footnotes smaller in previous posts, so I’m letting these go at the normal size.

… if it isn’t Amanda!

(coughs) Hey, website.

How are you? Seems like it’s been ages since you’ve graced my pages. I’d give you the exact number of months, but having to say it may cause me to have a brain aneurysm.

More likely me than you, seeing as I’m the one with an actual brain. (coughs)

True enough. I’d apologize for all the dust, but we both know that’s not my fault.

Yeah, yeah…

Anyway, so what’ve you been up to, lo, these many months?

Well, there was the move into the townhouse.

Mm-hmm. And as I recall, that was completed about two months ago.

But then there was the unpacking of boxes. And I’m still not done with that.

But you see your floor, right? You’re “done enough” to go shopping on the weekends and whatnot.

To the farmer’s market! I’m buying local! And I joined a CSA, so I have all this food prep to do to keep the food from going to waste.

Didn’t I also hear that you joined Netflix again?

Um, yeah. But I’m only on the one-out-a-time plan!

Oh, of course. And how about that satellite you were thinking you’d cancel as a result of rejoining Netflix?

Er. Still connected.

I see. And Netflix has greatly improved its streaming service since you were last a member. So I’m told.

(coughs)

I think you’ve already cleared away the dust, dear.

But I do much more stuff than watch movies! I’ve been working to improve my posture and mobility. And I bought a Freestyle Suspension Trainer to help with workouts. I mean, I don’t want to reach 60 and be unable to move due to sitting all the time.

Laudable goals, yes. And regarding that bit about sitting all the time–didn’t you have plans to purchase a treadmill and treadmill desk so you could walk while writing?

I’m waiting for my $8000 tax credit to come in.

All right, Amanda, let’s cut to the chase. How’s the writing coming along?

. . .

It’s not coming along, is it? What about Holly Lisle’s How to Think Sideways course that you signed up for as a means to–what was it? Jumpstart you?

(sighs) I’m still getting the lessons, but I’m about six weeks behind now. I think. It might be more. I discovered my pet idea that’s supposedly been percolating in my head since NaNoWriMo ’04 has no plot. Worse, I can’t give it one. Nothing fits. Everything I think of feels wrong. I don’t want to give up on it, website, but I think I need to shelve it again. And it’s not that I don’t have any other ideas to use for Think Sideways, but I just feel, stymied, you know? I mean, it’s a huge blow to one’s–well, my–writerly ego to realize I have problems with plot. I like Stephen King’s concept of Story and all, but I don’t think his method of write write write and let things flow really works for me. I mean, I can do it–I’ve finished NaNo that way–but then I wind up with a series of events that aren’t Story. And there’s a decided lack of conflict. So I need more structure upfront, I think. But at the same time, I feel like Think Sideways may be too structured for me, even though it’s supposed to be designed to walk the balance between left-brain and right-brain writing. (grabs a tissue and sniffles)

There, there. Let it all out. I’d pat you on the back if I had hands.

Thanks, website. (blows nose) But that’s not the worst of it. (lowers voice to a whisper) I think my muse left me.

Oh, my. That is serious. Please know that if I had arms, I would now give you a hug.

I appreciate it, website, particularly since I’ve been so remiss with you for the past, um, mumblety-something days/weeks/months. Like I said, I have other ideas I could use for Think Sideways, but they’re overall ideas that still need more plotting. And it also sucks that I’ve lost ground with Think Sideways since my original idea isn’t panning out. Now I have to go back and repeat some lessons.

Careful; you’re starting to whine.

But if I can’t whine to you, website, whom can I whine to? Then a while ago Miss Snark’s First Victim had a post called On Writing As Career. I get her point, I truly do. And I believe it. If I want to write for my career, I have to treat it as a career now. But what with the full-time job and the CSA and the cooking and the mobility work and–well, everything, I don’t have much more time to devote to writing. Then the prep work I do doesn’t feel like it’s writing, even though I know ostensibly it’s saving me time in the long run.

(sighs) Look, Amanda, you already know the responses to your excuses and the answers to your unspoken questions. You’ve said yourself that writers write, period. You’ve said that the only way to get past writer’s block is to write through it. If you really feel the prep work from Think Sideways isn’t helping you, or that it’s not “real” writing, then take a break from that and get back to the basics. Journal. Write a scene you do have in mind. Blather on for page after page about character development.

Um, but I don’t want to wind up in the Stephanie Meyer route, with lots and lots of  “characterization” but little to no actual plot. Particularly since I already show unfortunate tendencies in that direction.

Says the unpublished writer regarding the multimillion-dollar author. You may not want to write like Stephanie Meyer, but she did manage to get published. Go thou and do likewise.

(thoughtful silence) Hey, website?

Yes?

You’re not my muse, are you?

Do you want the psychobabble/metaficition bit about me being part of your subconscious that you have consciously employed in order to write this post, or do you want to stick with the simpler “you’re weird”?

Weird’s good for writing. If you mean weird in terms of creativity, I mean.

Weird it is, then.*

Hey! I see that footnote!

Go away and write something.

…particularly when they occur just in time for me to seriously consider getting in on the first-time homebuyer tax credit. Which means my writing is, sadly, taking a backseat for the moment to number crunching and researching of various loans and housing options. I do have a goal, though, to finish Disenchantment by the end of February. It could still happen.

But for now, back to budgeting.

Post titles, that is. Were authors to stop titling their books, leaving blank spine after blank spine on the shelves of my local Borders, there would be havoc. Geeky, bibliophiliac havoc, which I suppose isn’t as havoc-like as what one might find at an anarchist meeting, but still. Havoc of a sort. So titles are important for some things.

But for this post, eh.

Anyway, I’m somewhat rethinking the direction of this blog/site after reading yet again about folding publishers, closing agencies, and the general decline of the traditionally published word. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not one of those doomsayers who thinks books are dying. Or rather, that the written word is dying. I think there will always be a need for stories. I’m just not so naive as to suspect the medium in which we get our stories is static. Or that the type of stories people want to read is static.

I have no hard plans yet, but I may discontinue my Thursday 300 posts. Or at least decrease the frequency. While I do believe that the “story-medium” is changing, there are still quite a few publishers out there who won’t accept works that have appeared on the Internet, as they consider that “published.” I’m trying to be realistic about what avenues I have of getting my work out there, but being realistic doesn’t mean I have to light a match and toss it on the bridges behind me. Even if they are already decrepit.

Right, that made sense as I was typing it. It may not in the morning.

As for the possible new direction, I’m keeping that to myself for the moment while I decide if it’s actually something I want to do or not. I don’t figure there’s much point in blathering about it here when it’s still a big question mark.

So yeah, not much going on with this post. Now you see why I didn’t have a real title for it.

I thought about calling this “The Obligatory Thanksgiving Post,” but decided that had too negative a connotation, like it’s just something I need to check off my list: “Oh, it’s Thanksgiving; time to be thankful,” since of course we ought to always be mindful of the blessings we’ve received. Still, thankfulness is the core of the holiday, and honestly coming up with these Miscellany Monday posts is harder than I thought it’d be. That whole thing about boundaries freeing you, I guess. When you can write about anything, it can actually be harder to come up with ideas. So yeah, I’m not above looking to the season for inspiration.

Here it is, in no particular order.

I’m thankful…

1. That I’m solvent. Maybe my safety cushion isn’t as big as I’d like, but I’m not living paycheck to paycheck. I do have a buffer. A tiny one, but I have it. And that I still have enough leftover to feed my book edition and buy various baking accessories.
2. That my parents have always supported my dreams. I’m sure it helps that I see the necessity of a day job and not mooching off them while I purse my goal of publication, but still. They’ve always encouraged me to figure out what I want to do, without trying to impart their ideas on me. (Though I’m sure my dad is still somewhat regretful that I didn’t prove to be physics- or math-inclined.)
3. For Christ’s sacrifice.
4. For my senses, which allow me to perceive beauty. Harmony is a lovely thing. Sunsets are lovely things. The smell of cinnamon is a lovely thing. So is the taste of cinnamon, but of course most of what we taste is actually smell. But still. Lovely. Hugs. Hugs can be beautiful, too. *pauses to count* Yup. That’s all five senses. If I had a sixth sense I’d go into that, but no, I don’t see dead people.
5. That I don’t see dead people. It’d freak me out.
6. That I have a job which, even in the midst of a merger, is relatively secure. It’s good to work directly on what makes money for the company.
7. That even if I were to lose my job, I have people I could turn to for help.
8. That even if I were to lose my job, I still know where my meals are coming from for at least a month. I am sure I have that much food in my kitchen, which is not the case for many people in this country and abroad.
9. For my dear college roommates, to whom I know I can say anything and still receive unconditional love. (Well, unless I told one roommate that Batman is the worst superhero ever, she might not forgive me. Luckily I don’t feel that strongly about Batman, so I’m safe.)
10. That I still have a local support system of friends and family, since my dear college roommates have not deigned to move to Colorado. *sniff*
11. That I have the time to indulge in activities that make me happy–writing and baking. (I’d be happier yet if the calories derived from eating what I bake didn’t affect me, but oh well.)
12. For my health. And that I have decent health insurance in case something were to go wrong.
13. That I’m a permanent employee. I have been a temp, and it sucks. A lot.
14. For my family, both immediate and extended. I am blessed to have a family that gets along with everyone.
15. That my uncle’s blocked artery was caught relatively quickly, and that the balloon angioplasty went well. Still praying about the aneurysm they found, and thankful that they did find it while he was still in the hospital.
16. For dogs, even though I don’t have one living with me right now. Dogs are a perfect example of unconditional love.
17. That zombies aren’t real. The idea of having ambulatory, rotting corpses pursuing me to eat my brains does not appeal.*
18. That I live in Colorado. I love our mountains and 300 days of sunshine. I have been without, and did not enjoy it.
19. To have a roof over my head and central heating.
20. For fuzzy socks, a cup of hot chai tea, and a book to read.

Twenty is a nice number, so I’ll leave it at that. Happy Thanksgiving, whatever readers I have!

*And for those who might say that zombies are real, well then fine; I’m thankful I’ve never encountered one.

1. Getting in over 9000 words (and not even including the 843 I lost when my computer crashed during a Write or Die session) during the weekend means I’m caught up on NaNoWriMo after switching ideas on Day 3 last week. And if I get in approximately 2650 each day, I’ll hit 75k by the end of the month. Not a record for me (which was last year at 81k-some-odd), but still pretty good, I think, considering the idea switch and that I’m not taking the full week of Thanksgiving off of work, like I did last year.

2. My FREE KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer arrived today, just six days after I ordered it last week. Charging groceries and the like to my credit card and paying it off each month can be a good thing. Baking of some sort will have to figure into my weekend so I can test it out. Right now I’m thinking a basic chocolate chip cookie dough recipe, but with dark-chocolate covered goji berries replacing the chips. That way I will get at least some of them out of my kitchen, as they’ve proven to be a snacking food.

That is all. I have a write-in to get to.

(I trust my readers are title-readers, but if not, go back and read it.

Done? Okay.)

I had a cold and was traveling to Abilene, TX, for my five year college reunion. That’s why.

The following came about while waiting in the airport Friday morning (I was supposed to arrive in Abilene Thursday night, but circumstances beyond my control as I do not have godlike powers, or even Superman-like powers that would enable me to fly around the world and turn back time, caused me to miss my connecting flight from DFW to Abilene Thursday night). On a second read, it more or less makes sense, and this way I won’t have to worry about getting in a Monday Miscellany post once I’m back home and concerned about things like buying groceries for the week and laundry. Yes, I am lazy.

So. Here it is.

Notes from airport 10/16/09

Sitting in the airport after missing my flight into Abilene last night. Issues with the flight out from Denver to DFW–wound up leaving about an hour and ten minutes later than we were supposed to, and though the flight made up about forty minutes en route, it wasn’t enough for me to make my connecting flight. At least American Airlines cashed out for a hotel room, though my stay at the Days Inn and Suites was hardly what I would call primo conditions. Also I am spending more money than I would have otherwise, just from tipping the shuttle drivers. Not like it’s their fault my flight was delayed and then missed, and of course they have those “Tips constitute majority of drivers compensation and are greatly appreciated thank you” signs.

I can forgive the run-on and lack of plural possessive apostrophe. I have reached the point of frustration where it actually shifts from frustration to a sort of benign neglect/nascent zen-like benevolence toward the world at large. So I tipped the drivers a couple of bucks going from and to the airport.

Shuttle was named RC Express. Maybe it was the tiredness kicking in, but last night as I waited forty minutes for my shuttle to arrive (though the American Airlines desk worker who handled my missed-flight issues had assured me it would be fifteen) I found myself wondering what the “RC” stands for. Royal Crown? Royal Crest? No, I think those are the names of dairies back home.

Righteous… something. Righteous Custard.

It was then I realized the missed flight had addled me more than I thought. “Righteous Custard.” What would that even be? Supercilious ice cream treats?

Shuttle itself looked run-down. “RC Express” in blue lettering across a white van. Dusty all over, minor dents in the door, and a few rust spots. Shuttle driver popped out and asked me where I was going. I knew this and told him.

“North or South?”

“Ummm…” Vaguely remembered seeing on my room voucher one of those directions, but couldn’t remember which, spent several seconds scanning my voucher and wondering why my hotel name with the crucial directional designation had faded from my voucher in the 35 minutes since I’d last looked at it.

Driver came to peer at the voucher with me, and eventually found it. “North. Good. Because sometimes it’s South and we don’t service South.”

I also discovered that the Righteous Custard Express serviced several hotels in the area aside from the Days Inn. This was because we picked up other people who had missed their flight and were also put up in a hotel by American. I tend to externalize my problems and assume that others are dealing with the same difficulties I am–maybe because it makes me feel less alone in the world, I don’t know. There’s likely a philosophical take on it that would reveal the depths of my psyche, but I’m running on around five hours of sleep and still fighting a head cold, so I’m disinclined to spend much time pondering things that may give me headaches.

So yeah, maybe not everyone on that shuttle–six of us all told once we finished hitting up every terminal, during which time my driver found it necessary to pull over to the curb and get out to ask people where they were going. I guess he suspected that, unlike me, his potential passengers took a lackadaisical attitude as to their hotel transport. “What was my shuttle called? Ringling Circus Express? Ranger Cowboy Express? Oh well; I’ll just assume that rather than having to watch for the shuttle myself, the driver will pop out and ask me where I want to go.”

Just realized I never truly finished the first sentence of that paragraph. Maybe not everyone on that shuttle had missed their flight and was relegated to spending the night in a Dallas-area airport. But at least one other was, because I noticed the familiar logo on his voucher. And I noticed the way the shuttle driver also peered at this guy’s voucher, much as he had mine, and I recognized the “North or South?” confusion on the passenger’s face that must have graced my own just ten minutes prior.

Only this guy’s voucher turned out to be for Wyndham Hotel, which, from the outside, looked much nicer than what I knew to expect from Days Inn. Which made me wonder if American had blacklisted me for having bought my tickets off Priceline rather than directly through American’s site. Maybe-fellow flight-misser was even a first-class passenger.

Oh well, thought I, it’s only one night.

And it was only one night, with a complimentary breakfast. Breakfast also required a voucher, procured simply by showing my card at the front desk, otherwise it would’ve been $5.95. Which made me wonder–people who stay at the hotel get the breakfast for free. Do the fine folks of Days Inn truly expect outsiders to come in for their breakfast? “You know, honey, I have a hankering for the tasty reconstituted eggs, dubious sausage, and toast made from Every Day Value bread* from Days Inn. Totally worth the $5.95. Whaddya think?”

The whole spread reminded me of a post by Cheeseslave on what makes real food in America. This wasn’t it.

Because I like to know exactly what I’m putting into my body, while obtaining my “foodstuffs” from the breakfast, I read the ingredients of the little Country Crock spread tubs.

“That’s water,” I thought I heard the waitperson–whose job it was to ask me if I wanted coffee (“Do you have tea?”) and stir the gravy at regular intervals to keep it from forming a skin–say.

“Pardon?” I asked. Surely he wasn’t telling me that if I wanted water, I should open up several of those little tablespoon-sized containers of Country Crock and toss ’em back, like trans-fatty shots.

“That’s water.”

I went for the neutral “Oh.”

It took me another few seconds to realize he was truly saying “That’s butter,” as if I were too stupid to identify what was in the Country Crock tub. Which I’m not, because it’s clearly not butter. Real butter has one ingredient: Cream. And salt if it’s salted butter. Real butter doesn’t have an ingredient list so long I haven’t finished reading it before gravy-stirring waitpeople observe me staring at the packet, think, “Poor lady is unfamiliar with the breakfast stylings of Days Inn and must be informed of what she is looking at,” and so kindly enlighten me.

Anyway.

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*I saw the bag. And I judged. I get judgy when I’m tired.

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From there, my babblings segue into semicoherent rambles about NaNoWriMo and stuff that is theoretically helpful in plot development and character building, but which, if I do post here, I’ll save for my Thursday 300, since it’s more writing-related rather than complaints about missed flights and fake food and musings on the potential meaning of an initialism. Next week’s Miscellany Monday should be more put-together. I hope.