Product of My Surroundings

Picture is unrelated

Saturday I came home from Tina’s house. Tina was kind enough to pretend she wasn’t happy to be rid of me, and my mom managed not to tell me she was happy I was home because the floor needed to be vacuumed. I know the score, though, but I am grateful for the ruses.

My Tina-cation has paid off already. I’ve started my third draft. I knocked out the first 20 pages last night.  I’m finding strange little difficulties, like reading my novella out loud while listening to music. If my focus slips a bit, I will start singing the songs on Spotify instead of reading the words, and I get all lost. If I don’t have music on, I totally lose focus in about three sentences. I’m convinced if I didn’t have focus issues, I would rule the world.

Speaking of things that will get me put on even more government watch lists, I went shooting for the first time Sunday. I know, I know. All good dirty hippies are supposed to hate guns. I’ve never been a good hippie. I like showering too much.

Anyway, my goal was to be less afraid of guns. I had this strange terror I would manage to accidentally kill everyone around me simply by picking up a gun. If you take in to consideration I broke my ankle walking from my kitchen to my living room, it doesn’t seem so far fetched. Some of the people around me love guns, though, and I felt it was far more dangerous for me to be ignorant and scared.  I decided to bite the bullet (har har gun pun) and strongly encourage my dad to teach me about guns. Saturday night, he taught me about the guns we would be firing and gun safety, and Sunday we went to a range.

I’m not going to lie, I was terrified. I am far too accident prone and flighty to be trusted with an instrument of death. We got into the lanes, and I spent the first five minutes jumping at every single BOOM. There was a woman watching us through a window, and she laughed at me. Dad shot the first couple of clips, and I slowly calmed down.

Finally, it was my turn. The first gun up was a tiny thing. I approached it like I would somehow look at it wrong and make it go off. I picked it up gingerly and slowly loaded the clip, cocked it, took aim (badly), and squeezed the trigger. The motherfucking hammer bit my thumb, and that gun and I became friends. With the next clip, my aim got even better. I had so much fun, even with the other guns I was bad with.

After we were done, I felt like I do after I bake; focused, centered, and exhilarated. I had no choice but to pay full attention to what I was doing. I was fully present. I spend most of my life with at least a small part of my mind elsewhere, thinking of other things, and it was so strange to spend so much time fully focused on my actions and my surroundings. Now, I just have to pester the Viking to take me again soon.

Now, if I could just get my sleep “schedule” back under control. I had a wonderful exciting two weeks, but this daylight crap is overrated.