Also, randomness: I’m pretty darn good at Russian on Duolingo. Apparently there were hidden subconscious benefits to spending a good amount of time in my toddler years in a college language lab, as Russian, Greek, and Spanish are all fairly intuitive in addition to the French I did actually study.
And, there’s a new job to get ready for, and I am glad.
And it’s nearly tax season, and I am glad about that, too.
But, it’s bedtime. And with said job on the horizon, routine is becoming super-duper important.
And apparently my back is really messed up. I don’t know why my spine is a corkscrew, but it is.
Poor Abby has to have a dental on February 2; she has an infection in her mouth and will have to have several teeth pulled too. I guess that comes from us not brushing her teeth– sorry girl. She’s been a trooper but we finally got her to the vet today. I am so thankful my therapy dog only has to have a dental and it was nothing worse to worry about. I was afraid she had kidney issues.
Aside from the trip to the vet, it was a good day.
I’m thankful to be getting back into the headspace that I can concentrate on writing. It’s been a long winter and I am grateful that the fictionalized memoir is still a project on the horizon. It may take me a decade to write, but will be well-worth it.
Some one (or more likely, some bot, or maybe some bot programmed by someone though that is a stretch I know) has been really interested in finding old content on this blog, content that doesn’t exist on this blog because it is old content that I wrote years ago at both other hosting, on other domain names.
And admittedly, I’ve let the mystery drive me nuts for several weeks now. But the game is getting tired, and honestly, I have much better things to do. And it’s stopped me from doing what I really like to do anyway, which is take pictures and write.
And we’ve tossed, Jared and I, theories around. Could it be someone poking around at my old Tickle the Sun domain? Not possible at the moment, as that points to Substack. And, I didn’t even own carolineprice.com the domain name until 2020 or so, or maybe 2021 (I don’t remember), but I know it was at least March of 2020 because we were sitting in the office (which was the dining room really) of the Holmes Drive house, while Jared was working remotely during the pandemic, when I bought that domain. So the content, which I did write and which these are titles or names of pictures of content that I did write, was never hosted at this domain name.
And I’ve never had solid luck uploading old XML files with old blog posts into new iterations of a blog, so I gave up on that probably 5 years or so more ago now.
So, my best guess is that someone somewhere out there has taken to the Wayback Machine to look at my old blog posts, and somehow those are being fed into some bot that is scraping my current site to see if any of it is active.
Why? I have no idea. I can only think of one person with the motive and expendable finances to do something like this, and that person hardly needs to haunt my analytics in some backward attempt to find. a way to make me look more unstable. I manage to freely admit that fact myself.
And so….. with that, I’m giving up the ghost and while I am not unhooking Google Analytics, I’m certainly going to take a long break from looking. It’s not that fun a game anymore.
But, the “My Me Too” post was one of the pages that was attempted (and doesn’t currently exist) two days ago, and seeing that prompted me to remember that it wasn’t here, and yes, I do actually have a copy of that post, and I think that’s the next up for re-publication.
I don’t know what’s up with my analytics; I know my life is not that interesting, my following is tiny, and anyone who might be inclined to haunt my analytics in this way should know me well enough to know that any antagonization will just make me double-down in my talking about the past and the really bizarre things I have experienced in my life.
And thankfully, before I posted this, I had a long chat with Jared about my history with paranoia and that yes, I really am okay, things really are weird with my analytics, and maybe it’s just time to get back to writing and taking pictures and in general enjoying my life. I really have gotten quite delayed in writing that lightly fictionalized memoir I am writing.
And in the meantime, my husband is being the safety professional at home that he is in his work life.
This winter is actually slightly more bearable because of the shears in the house.
Light helps.
And even though I am on the struggle bus, there are small mercies.
A new job.
A fun New Year’s Eve.
New tires on my car that make it formidable in the rain.
Mastering the French pin up-do.
Figuring out that why yes, I can live without cheese in my life. And be happier for it.
Figuring out that why yes, I can be happier without some people in my life, too.
Figuring out that even life without the GFX is pretty darn great.
My hair is growing. It’s longer now than it’s been in probably 11 years or so. I forgot that when it gets to a certain length, the ends in the front underneath get curly on their own. Completely forgot that at all. It’s well on its way to being as long as it was on the 404 page.
And there is terror, and I haven’t been writing.
It’s mostly been survival mode.
There are new routines with the new year, and the future is bright.
I don’t say that from a despondent sense. It’s true: last night, when we got home from taking Porter back to UGA, I hid in our bedroom, just after dark, telling Jared I was going to bed at about 6:45 PM. That it was a sleep emergency ( I have those).
But by about 7:15, I called for him, telling him I was hiding. He said he knew that.
I do that, too: I hide. Even in my own house. I retreat to the bedroom, to my bed, which is my haven when the world is too overwhelming.
Jared was able to coax me out from hiding about an hour later.
Back to the “interesting life” bit… Several weeks ago, I bought a fresh copy of Scrivener.
I had Scrivener several laptops ago, but I never did a whole lot with it the last go ‘round.
This time, though: there is already the pages for thirteen different chapters…
I’m going to write a fictionalized memoir.
My life would make an excellent fictionalized psychological thriller.
So anyway, that’s a thing that’s in process.
And maybe it will be an income-generating project eventually. But that’s not the primary purpose.
The primary purpose is therapeutic writing. I can pound out my heartache, my trauma, my life observations….all in fictionalized memoir format.
I can say things through fiction that I cannot say via a publication in real life.
And someday, it will be done. Probably someday sooner than later, if I can properly focus well enough this winter. I desperately need a project to channel my energy into, and writing has always been one of my stronger suits.
And goodness knows, my life story, drama-filled as it has been, is the perfect fodder fuel for a highly fictionalized work.
So yeah. That’s a thing. A thing I can sink my teeth into since gainful employment is elusive, to also vent my anger, heartache, hurt, grief, and trauma all at the same time.
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