Okay, so maybe I have,... and often too.

The reputation that precedes me is as an airhead. Most people who hear stories about me before meeting me are often shocked to find that I am actually a brunette. (No die job here, just some sun highlights. One year I even had a streak of blond over my right ear from the sun and chlorine of the pool)

But I digress.

My blonde reputation has only really surfaced once in that last several years and that was just in the last week or so. I've taken on a much more serious personality over the last many years (not so much to my liking but more so because my then relationship was more remorse than fun). I've lost touch with my easy going, fun, light hearted side and had battled depression for more months than I had joyous days.

The last few weeks have been different. I've recently reconnected with a dear friend I hadn't spoken to in 18 years and he's reminding me of the free-spirit I had been. I'm realizing who my true friends are and thanking God every day, for them. I'm shedding unhealthy relationships. I'm no longer reading too much into the perfunctory relationships  And I'm taking better care of my emotional self these days.

Not so much the healthy side yet, mind you, though I'm making small strides in that area. I did just consume a white chocolate mocha (tall and not grande or trent) and a chocolate chip cookie.

I'm working on not sweating the small stuff. Especially at work. And I keep reminding myself that my job is not my career. I DO have a fallback position even though I'm far from able to fall back on it just now.

But I'm working on it.

I AM WRITING.

Today, I've spent some time editing Matthilda and plan to have it in the proverbial mail before ScriptFrenzy! starts on April 1st. (I've always thought it ironic that ScriptFrenzy! starts on April Fool's Day).

Wrote TWO blogs this week.

Several journal entries.

Submitted a short story for publication.

And worked on a WIP and edited another short story that will be submitted somewhere this week.

My coach says that I am "still writing prolifically and steadily" which was news to me. I felt like I've been stalled even though I've been writing "sporadically." Guess "they" are right when they say we're overly critical of our own behaviors and often discount our own achievements. I certainly am.

But the credit goes to my coach - with whom I've set up an agreement of accountability.

Credit also goes to Dr. Eric Maisel and his books, Coaching the Artist Within, Fearless Creating, and Van Gogh Blues. I have a greater understanding of why I am the way I am and the root cause of my depression/writer's block.

But especially, credit also goes to my writing buddy - with whom, I surely test his patience, and his family's. (Thank you, M, for sharing.) My writing buddy has given me many words of encouragement, especially over the last several weeks.

Thanks to all of you for the support I've received for my writing career.

But back to the point of my airheaded-ness: I was editing my script and the phrase "lease on life" entered my mind (pertaining to my character, not myself) and I realized that I've always said "leash on life."

To me, they were one in the same.

Duh.

Blonde moment.

But upon examination, how different are they, really?

One is from the stand point of freedom and the other is confinement.

But from a personal perspective, in this day and age, are they really all that different?

I heard someone on talk radio ranting the other day about personal liberties and freedoms here in America. We believe that we are free but are we really? A man living on the streets has more personal freedoms than a man living a "normal" or "proper" life. A homeless man is not restricted by the hours he's required to work at a job to earn a certain amount of money required to live in the lifestyle to which he's become accustom. So who has more freedom?

Lost my reputation as an airhead, haven't I?

One of my many best friends ( and I'm grateful to say that I've realized the truth in that statement) has dyed her hair blonde for many years and admits that there is some truth in the statement "blonds have more fun" and I have witnessed her complete shift from intelligence to airheaded-ness.

Clairol, anyone?

I'm sure this blog has left you even more confused than I apparently am.

They're kicking me out of the bookstore now....

More ramblings later.