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Philadelphia Row is a term used, not only in Philadelphia neighborhoods, but elsewhere to refer to orderly rows of regularized housing.  
But there is nothing orderly or regular about any of the goings on in a Philadelphia Row.


READ SOME FICTION

Delay Because of Madness

4/12/2018

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I like calling my mental illness Madness.  ​

Madness (as defined by Merriam Webster:

the state of being mentally ill, especially severely.
synonyms:insanity, mental illness, dementia, derangement; More
extremely foolish behavior.
plural noun: madnesses
synonyms:  folly, foolishness, idiocy, stupidity, insanity, lunacy, silliness; 
informal craziness

a state of frenzied or chaotic activity.

synonyms:  bedlam, mayhem, chaos, pandemonium, craziness, uproar, turmoil, disorder, all hell broken loose, (three-ring) circus


My April writing project this year is entitled Faith in Madness.  I feel like the only thing that has been constant in my life, long-term as well as short, has been the chaotic spinning in my brain.  I'm currently in treatment, and truth be told, I am terrified of getting well.  I am frightened of being boring, both inside and out.  The medication i am on does not let me skip doses.  I am without a doubt, in need of the chemical change that occurs in my brain and body when i take my meds.  So it was my intention to journal daily about the trek through my moods and my mood disorder.  I, of course, have a disappointing word count and many blank days between the productive ones. 

Physical illness has me changing my diet and I've joined a gym to combat a few physical changes that have happened with age and the meds.  I even found a group situation with which i feel comfortable discussing my madness openly, although i have only been to the meeting once. (I will be back though.) 

In registering for Camp Nanowrimo (the month of writing), I see plainly some of the projects I abandoned.  I blame.  I blame the lack of writing on exhaustion, or life, or time, or the dogs, or my ex, or my job, or whatever else I have in front of me on any given day.  

My doctor asked, "Why now?"  Why is it that I seek mental health treatment now?  I have no one else to blame.  "Why now?"  Why have I beat myself up for not writing enough?"  I have no one else to blame.  I'm fixing my broken house.  "Why now?  I have no one else to blame.  I am fixing my body.  "Why now?"  I have no one else to blame.  And yes, if you're reading this on the Writing in a Row House page, thinking it should be over on the Heating a Home on a Hot Plate, you'd be absolutely correct.  

I have a ton of guilt for not being my best in my past, but it was the best i could do in my circumstance.  I have to become comfortable with that acceptance of what's done is done, even though i feel like a tremendous failure as a mother, partner, sibling, friend, employee, co-worker, writer, home-owner, bike-rider, and anything else i have put my hands upon in my life.  The word sorry falls from my mouth so often, I've become an apologist, truly seeking exculpation, with every expression. 

I made this website to keep me on track with my writing.  I want to move from working for someone else full-time, and myself part-time, to working for myself full-time, and someone else part-time.  I've neglected this site.  And maybe part of the reason, is that I have this fear of failure, or even worse, success.  I am afraid if there are people who like my work, i will change.  I have been writing.  Still in a chaotic fashion - not keeping to one project for completion, but at least ten manuscripts.   I finished a play in a weekend and edited it over the course of a few weeks to sit on it.  I found a play-writing contest to which i submitted the piece and i'm waiting to hear from the organization that put out the call.  I don't know if i want acceptance or rejection. 

Every day, i think about the words that will come from my fingers and when i have the time, I sit and turn on someone else's story (TV, Movie, Book...) instead of writing my own. 

So why today?  Why today did i open this neglected website and put this declaration that i'm going to do better today?  I feel empty.  I finally feel like i'm just sleep-walking through my days.  I've become boring in my brain.  I don't want to be boring in my steps.  So before that boring becomes a veil around my need for exploration of my world and my thoughts, i want to revisit the creativity i know remains. 

I saw a lovely dead bird yesterday.  It was a reminder of finishing something.  Sevy's Cosmica Sidera mentioned Dead Bird Season and i needed a reminder of that.  In the moment i photographed this hollow passerine, i wanted to revisit the ending of Sevy,.  I wanted to edit it for the eighth time, instead of working to finish Defame Thy Neighbor, about which I'm really excited.  There is no reason i am not finished the writing on that story.  I've even commissioned a cover artist and I could not be happier with the progression of the artwork.  I want to push myself to finish the compilation of words before they become as boring as I. 

I need to set aside time in every day to write.  I need to get back on track with journaling on this website.  I need to get back on track with making notes everywhere and then making sense of them later.  I don't want to blame my madness, but explain that the delay has been the attempt to ease some of the internal chaos so i can function in the outside world.     

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    Picture
    When Sevy realizes the pharmaceuticals keeping their bodies young are weened from those deemed to have exhausted their usefulness, he believes he must delve into the purpose of this synthesized society believing it is not much different than the life he lived on earth. 

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    Esther Elizabeth Buck 

    i'm halfway through my life with the stifled stories stirring.  i should have done it earlier, but i am on the
     write path finally.

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