blogging – Page 2 – Britt Skrabanek

Thursday Night

Something interesting happens on Thursday nights. I’m usually wiped out from the workweek, ready for the weekend.

But the self-doubt never fails. I ask myself…how in the hell will I be me again?

You know what I’m talking about, right?

That little bit of sacred time when you get to do whatever you want. Whatever that may be.

No deadlines. No meetings. No schedules.

And, cue panic.

The panic to live. To try to get everything done in a couple of days—the laundry, the grocery store, the exercise, the relaxing, the creativity, the lovemaking.

Thursday nights always happen the same way for me. I’m tired and moody, but after a couple of necessary beers and some laughs, I unlock myself. I remember what it’s like to be me again.

We never talk about Thursdays. We talk about Monday blues and Friday fun.

I don’t know why, but on Thursdays, a couple of hours before I go to bed, I become me again. Thinking about things that mean something, looking at my husband like I haven’t seen him in ages, realizing how damn beautiful he is.

A couple of months ago I started a new job and I remember thinking on a Thursday night—how am I going to keep up with it all? My marriage, my cats, my apartment, my family, my friends, my Yoga, my running, my blog, my novels, my “me”.

That night I wrote the opening scene to my next novel. Crazy as that sounds, after three books and no fame, I’m going to write another.

Because I have to. Because I can’t help myself. Because this is me.

This novel will be a departure from the historical fiction novelista many of you know me to be.

I’ve decided to go forward, just a little, to a time just beyond now when we haven’t learned from the mistakes of history, when we’ve become a world where the people in charge (the government, the dictator, the tyrant) forbid love.

Because love is the one thing THEY can’t control. And the funny thing is, if we all just loved more…the world could be so much better, perhaps peaceful even.

Hell, wouldn’t that be something?

The working title for my next novel is Virasana. It’s a Sanskrit word for one of the few Yoga poses I just cannot do, but an amazing one nonetheless.

For those who practice Yoga, you’ll smile at my choice. The English translation is pretty awesome.

The main character is a reluctant heroine with the power to command nature at her will—something she doesn’t understand, something she learns is her greatest power.

In the opening scene the main character is on the edge of a cliff, alone in a familiar place where her and her man used to be together, side by side. Everything is fragrant and green, the newness that comes with spring.

I can’t make any promises on a release timeframe, because I have very little time to write.

I haven’t touched this since I first wrote it that Thursday night, but I’ve looked at it many times and knew that it was right. I don’t have time to continue with it right now, but I hope to soon.

For some reason this particular Thursday night I decided it was time to share it.

This is what I have so far…

I got so used to you sitting beside me.
It was all a routine…like breakfast.
But you were better than breakfast. You nourished me like nothing else.
For a good while there—um—I guess I felt full. Maybe even stuffed.
Can you believe that?
Me.
Stuffed on love, on you.
Well, not anymore.
I’m always hungry for you.
Actually, I’m starving.
But, hey. You’re not here anymore, are you?
Come on.
Pretty please.
Say something, release me.
Really?
You’ve got nothing?
Alright, fine. So, where was I?
Oh, yeah. You’re not here anymore, are you?
No.
The grass and the dandelions have reclaimed your space. My tears have watered them, helped them grow. My lips have made them tender and alive.
How in the hell did I do that? I’m so dead.
No.
That would be too easy.
Under the earth where nobody can see me.
I’m dried out, alone.
Above the earth where everyone can see me. Everyone.
Yes.
That’s more like it. That’s hard.
Real hard.
Hey—um—I have a question for you.
Yeah, you. You’re the only one I know that can answer it, so listen up.
What’s this excuse for a world without you by my side?
Come on.
Pretty please.
Say something, release me.

Across the Sound

There’s something so awesomely crazy about driving, transporting your car on water, then driving away again. I mean, how often do you get to do that?

Okay, some get to do it often. The people of Seattle sure do.

For the rest of us, it’s kind of a miraculous feeling.

It was a few minutes before 8am last Saturday when me, Mr. H, and our car, Uschi, loaded onto the Edmonds-Kingston ferry in Washington.

We stepped out of the car to stretch our legs and watched the serene world go by through the big windows inside.

I love the inside of ferries, don’t you? They’re always so retro and battered, a great backdrop for some impromptu modeling shots.

I had been on a ferry once, maybe twice before, when I was a pup back in Southern California. But nothing could prepare me for taking a ferry across the Puget Sound on a January morning.

We scurried onto the freezing deck like a couple of kids.

It reminded me of running into the living room on Christmas morning, sneaking around at the crack of dawn so I could check out the pretty presents under the tree before Dad woke up.

Every possible shade of blue, purple, and grey surrounded me. Like I had opened a box of crayons with only a few options.

But I wasn’t disappointed. It was just too beautiful.

Where does the water end? Where does the sky begin? I wanted to cry—my eyes barely knew how to handle visions like this…

Others on the boat were just as hypnotized as we were. Bundled up couples strolled the deck, physically attached to each other in some way, their bodies begging for warmth.

A man who has probably taken this route every single day for years couldn’t resist the temptation to step outside in the biting cold.

To marvel at all of it—the majesty, the simplicity.

Even with all of this power, somehow the Sound was soundless. Here was a welcoming haven from the boisterous world we knew all too well.

The water danced, only because it wanted to. The wind whispered poetry. The birds played it cool.

It was a foreign land, an exquisite secret. Nobody gets to stay here…you can only pass through.

We felt honored to be here, to breathe in this unexpected bliss as we glided across the Sound.

Be Free and Play

It was New Year’s Day, around 8:30am, and Mr. H and I were on the road to Seattle—tired and perhaps a little hungover.

Which is why we brought in 2015 with a 1995 throwback. For the first half of the journey we sang “Boom Boom Boom” by the Outhere Brothers.

Wayo!

It was the first time either of us had gone on a New Year’s Day adventure, because the other years were usually spent chilling around the house. You know…nursing a hangover.

Was this a better way to bring in a new year? You betcha!

The last time we were in Seattle it was summer—bright, sunny, blue skies, shorts, flip-flops—and pretty damn perfect. I also had WAY more hair.

(In case you missed Elegant Attitudes in Seattle.)

This time it was all about grey skies and the kind of biting cold that slices right through your clothes. Chilled to the bone, it’s rare when you don’t have a steaming cup of coffee warming up your sorry ass hands.

Luckily, the coffee in the Pacific Northwest is marvelous. So, it’s not all bad.

I have noticed that Seattle is much like Portland in one interesting way. Somehow these cities become more beautiful when it’s dreary out.

A trip to Pike Place Market took an unexpected turn when I decided it was time to do something I hadn’t done since I was a kid.

Ride a freaking ferris wheel.

I see some of you rolling your eyes right now. The Seattle ferris wheel on the pier is very touristy.

And, it’s also not cheap. I shed a little tear when I realized the admission was the price of a nice lunch.

It wasn’t the picturesque day from last summer. In fact, it started to snow a bit.

But it seemed too perfect to pass up, so I did it.

Taking the cheesy picture right after you hand over your ticket. Freezing your ass off in line but still embarrassingly excited. Stepping into the enclosed cabin and having a mild heart attack when you realize the thing rocks.

Then…lift-off.

Sometimes I fall into the role of travel snob.

I like to experience the world like a local whenever possible. I stay in apartments, avoid paying admissions for things, and wander on my own accord.

But sometimes you have to do the silly stuff too, because the experience is simply good.

As we get older, we move away from the innocence and abandon of being a kid. We need reminders to help us forget the bills and responsibilities, so we can be free and play.

How about you guys…any tourist traps that surprised you by being awesome?

Sensory Deprivation

flotation tank — Infinity Tank at The Float Shoppe

Overstimulation. You, me, we all know it too well.

I’ve always been sensitive to my physical surroundings. I don’t know if it’s the dancer in me, the Yogi in me, or the writer in me that makes me this way.

Bright lights, strong perfume, and big crowds have always been too much. On the other hand, I’ve lived in the city for the past decade or so.

Because this stimulation also provides inspiration. It teaches me about real life and real people. It shows me who I am as a survivor in the midst of all of this activity.

I get infatuated with the chaos. I think we all do in different ways.

How else can you explain why the world is like it is today? With so much chatter in our lives—the rushing, the busyness, the self-indulgence.

Those of you outside of the city, in your peaceful abodes, you participate too.

You’re online. The kingdom of overstimulation.

I started a new job last month—an amazing one. Through it all, more changes and stress were added to an already hectic year I’ve had since uprooting my life and moving across the country.

It had been an entire year since my last massage, back on my birthday of 2013 when I was still in Milwaukee. With the cross-country move came unemployment followed be a low-paying job.

The luxury of a massage was unspeakable. So, my birthday present this year wasn’t hard to pick out.

I was going to treat myself to not only a massage but a flotation tank as well.

Say what?

Floating is pretty popular here in Portland and I’ve been dying to try it. There’s a place right down the street from me, so I made my appointment.

I heard different things from different people. Some said it was like taking hallucinogenic drugs. Some said they were bored and restless, got out of their tanks after squirming for a half hour and left.

The thing that enticed me the most was the miraculous ability to float. I’ve never been able to. I’m an expert swimmer, but I sink like a damn rock.

See those legs up there? Boys in school used to say I had horse legs. And those horse legs ain’t light.

I was skeptical that it would work. But as soon as I laid back, I giggled as my body rose to the top of the heavily Epsom salted water.

The water is kept at skin temperature so that the body is comfortably cocooned. You want to float naked to avoid any swimsuit hassles. (Carrie Rubin, I know this sounds like an introvert’s biggest nightmare.)

Being the claustrophobic gal that I am, I chose the open tank where the room is quaint and steamy. Turning off the light is optional by the push of a white button attached to the tank.

There is no music and the room—or enclosed tank pod if you go that route—is soundproofed. Earplugs are provided so you can connect with the cadence of your heartbeat and breath.

Like many others, I spent the first half hour of the 90-minute session getting situated, my mind racing about the domestic tasks I should have been completing that Sunday instead of “wasting” my day at the spa.

Naturally there were some awkward moments, like earplug mishaps and salt in the eyes.

I was reluctant to turn off the light, because when you do…it’s pitch effing black. Seriously, you can’t see your hand in front of your face.

Eventually, I worked up the courage to push that button to become fully immersed in the sensory deprivation experience that I was paying for.

When I was thrown into absolute darkness, I was reminded of a time Mr. H and I were in a cave in Texas, just outside of Austin. Part of the tour has a very special treat for us claustrophobic types.

Once deep inside, the lights are shut off. Darkness encompasses everything—your body and your mind.

A tingling on my neck, face, and shoulders caused me to splash/flail into an upright position in my flotation tank. I punched the button to turn on the light and my eyes darted around the room, searching for the Boogie Man.

Cut me some slack. I was a die-hard believer in the Closet Monster well into my teen years.

But, it was just me. It turns out I had surrendered to a state of complete relaxation.

So, I tried again. I turned off the light and to comfort myself, I covered my belly with my hands to feel the rise and fall of my own breath.

I don’t really have a way to describe what happened next, because I don’t remember. I was in the zone of weightlessness—perhaps I dozed off for a bit.

All I know is that I reconnected with myself in an entirely new way. What was complicated became simple. What was stressful became serene. What was loud became hushed.

This sense of calm stayed with me throughout the week, and my sleep was on a whole other level. I tried something new, something a little kooky and scary, and I took myself to a place we adults don’t like to visit.

Vulnerable territory, where our only duties are to be naked, quiet, and still.

Will I ever float again? You bet your ass.

Goodbye, Kindle

Those of you who know me are used to this. I get attached to things—like, REALLY attached.

The time I tried to pretend that I was a real adult, somewhere around the age of 25, I declared to Mr. H that it was time to get rid of Ken the cow.

ken the cow on the road — (If you haven’t met him, this is Ken and he’s awesome.)

I made him put Ken in a duffel bag so I couldn’t see his face as he went out the front door, out of my life forever.

As you can imagine, that made it even worse. It was like my favorite stuffed animal friend was being carried off in a body bag.

Mr. H hesitated by the door, took one look at me, and brought Ken safely back inside. He knew.

I still have Ken the cow to this day. I’m in my thirties, I sleep with a stuffed animal—and dammit—I don’t care.

Today this post is about letting go of another friend, who simply goes by the name of Kindle.

My mom asked me if I wanted the new Kindle for my birthday next week, which is the sweetest gift she could ever offer me. Naturally, I hesitated before saying yes.

Me and Kindle go WAY back. My mom passed him on to me back in 2012 when she got an iPad.

It was a life-changing moment for me, when I finally decided to give ebooks a chance after being such a paperback purist.

But I wanted to read ebooks by other indie authors, to support them in the same way that some of them have supported me.

Kindle was the way to do it.

Me and Kindle got off to a rocky start. I was reluctant to give up real books in any way. Kindle knew our relationship would take some time and he was very patient with me.

But then, tragedy struck.

Hazel the cat murdered him, knocked him right off the top of our built-in cabinet. I found Kindle’s lifeless body on the floor. I pressed his power button repeatedly, trying to resuscitate him…but there was nothing.

Until that moment, I didn’t realize how close I had become to Kindle and I was very sad. I went back to regular books for a while, then months later—for shits and giggles—I tried turning Kindle back on.

And he was alive. Back from the dead!

After that we were inseparable, and I rarely left the house without Kindle by my side.

He showed me many wonderful novels on his little screen. He didn’t mind when I spilled beer on him and he never judged me when I was too tired to spend quality time with him in bed.

Kindle didn’t complain once during our cross-country move from Milwaukee to Portland. He was a real trooper and a stand-up guy.

New Kindle arrived on Thursday. It’s lightweight, tech savvy, and shiny.

The transition has been made. My library is now on New Kindle, but I haven’t read anything just yet. I needed to give Original Kindle a proper goodbye with this tribute.

Though I only captured a few moments, here are some of our fondest memories together…

Thanks for everything, Kindle. You will be missed!

P.S. In case you missed grabbing the Everything’s Not Bigger freebie last weekend, if you have Amazon prime, you can borrow two of my books completely free from the Owner’s Library—Everything’s Not Bigger and I just added Nola Fran Evie. Enjoy!