I'm a recovering book addict since Katniss glorified killing.

I've been a voracious reader all my life. Mystery, biography, romance, horror, literature, political & medical thrillers, travel, how-to, I didn’t discriminate. I loved reading and all the places it could take you.

No longer. I’ve changed to a hard-core discriminating reader. Even though I loved Game of Thrones, I’ve grown weary of all the venomous stories. Books filled with "necessary killings," unethical lawyers, doctors in “over their heads,” death, destruction, lives ruined, crimes so heinous and described by novelists in garish detail I began to suspect only the perpetrator of that crime could describe it in such vivid detail. Then there were numerous books about children committing vile acts making the best-seller list. It felt like almost every book had characters that deemed it socially and legally acceptable to commit everything from vulgar graffiti to mass murder if another character disagreed with their political or social beliefs. And...to do it over and over and over again, page after page after page.

Not even the reads I’d come to rely on to ease my stress fulfilled me. No more 1800s westerns. Neither time-travel nor other galaxies held my interest. Romances seemed more unbelievable than science fiction.

Therefore, right now I'm choosing to search the seven to twelve year-old classification of books. While not always high-drama, these authors write well and tell stories that keep you interested. They manage to do it without making my ears bleed from the violence or my brain implode from pretending to tell a story when in reality they are preaching some view they think needs to be pounded into our brains since readers are too stupid to form an intelligent thought without their help. (Note to writers: read Harry Potter till YOUR ears bleed and learn the genius of J.K. Rowling.)

I’m no pussy. Trust me I can out cuss most characters. I’m not grossed out by authors’ gruesome descriptions on page after page of their books; I’m bored with the sensationalism and desensitization. And since I’m completely aware of the world around me, I don’t need 300 pages cramming a social or political message down my throat. Great stories…real or fiction are told with grace…whether the story is Pollyanna sweet or Grapes of Wrath harsh.

Sorry world, but I’ll take The Pit and the Pendulum over Hunger Games every day! Call me an old fart; I don’t fucking care, but kids killing kids for sport is getting fucking annoying. The next pre-teen girl I meet who tells me she wants to be Katniss I’m going to hand a bow and tell her if that’s true then why don’t you kill that little kid for fun.

What really bothers me is she just might!

No electronic fat butt monitors allowed!

“Did you know we walked six miles today by simply running around on this project?” My friend said.

Another friend looked at the electronic fat butt monitor on her wrist. “Mine says we walked eight flights of steps in the process.”

“I’m never volunteering to work at this event again because it was just a trick to get me to exercise.” Of course…that was me.

A local spin instructor shook her head at us. “This doesn’t count as a workout. You three need to come to my class tonight.”

“The only thing I’ll be doing tonight is soaking my feet in Epsom salt and drinking a margarita.” Again me, in case there was any doubt.

If the exercise-till-you-have-a-stroke instructor is correct and the four hours I just spent racing around a field and hillside non-stop as a volunteer, ironically at a sporting event, doesn’t count as exercise then why should I spend $150 for one of those electronic wrist daily exercise monitors?

For me those are a waste of money on all levels. First, I don’t want a “chain” around my wrist reminding me every day what a lazy, non-exercising, fat ass I am. And second, if all the time I spend on my feet, lifting heavy shit up and down steep hills, cutting and stacking firewood, and all the other outside work we do for ourselves and helping our neighbors in our little pioneer valley isn’t a workout then why wear one?

Many of my family were farmers and ranchers and never “worked out” a day in their ninety to one hundred year lives. They were outside daily in the fresh air.  They were lean, muscular and a hundred times stronger than all those I use to follow out of the gym. (Yes, there was a time I went to the gym five days a week. Luckily, I cured that addiction.)

You won’t see me obsessing over a monitor on my wrist. And you won’t see me at a spin class with a detox juice. You’ll know me by my cowboy hat, chaps, the hay bale I’m throwing, and cold beer in my hand.

We Survived Vacation!

That may not sound like an accomplishment to you, but to those who diligently plan and still end up with the vacation from hell…YOU know what I mean.

This year I salute the vacay Gods, as this one was damn uneventful. I almost miss the calamities. (I said almost!) Other than the bug that crawled off George’s dinner plate and up his arm, and the golf ball that he chipped and the wind blew it back into his face, we got nothing. And for once a big fat nothing was delightful. No floods, tornadoes, car stuck in mud in the backcountry, elk running us over, stranded in airport for two days in snowstorm, credit card numbers stolen, phones left in hotel, and not even a fall while hiking that drew blood. Now that I think about it, we had a shitty time.

It’s not the ease of the trip that relaxes and rejuvenates me it’s the insanity. We’ve been home four days and every day my anxiety level has risen. My heart races, I’m short of breath, I’m sure something awful is about to happen…what the fuck. I’m swallowing Xanex like a kid swallows M&Ms. I count on the crazy happenings on vacation to clear my slate so when I arrive home I know all will settle down and be right in my world. Even AAA called to ask if we were okay since they hadn’t heard from us in a year. (I promised to take the truck mudding next week so they could come pull me out.)

Most people thrive on calm. I thrive on anxiety and lunacy. If I’m not screwing something up or the world throwing shit balls at me I start to panic. Most of my life has been one shit storm after another. I don’t let it depress me; I simply embrace it and move on. It’s when the shit storms recede and calm ensues that I get bat shit crazy. I have no idea what to do when all is right in my world. 

It makes me wonder what big catastrophe the world is building up to…

Nuclear bomb? Cabelas no longer has post-season sales? Ice Age returns to cover the earth? Giant mice from Mars take over the FBI? World flu pandemic?  Justin Bieber elected President?

You know, it’s not easy being this fucking crazy.